#scientists should study me in a lab

[reallapiscake12]

idfk i was bored and got the idea of like Elsen fusion/hybrid abominations with spectres and whatever

it's not very good at walking or standing up, only really thriving in parts of Alma unihabitated by Troquantaries

[seasonal-depression-of-punk]

Pinterest finds with Kat

[terrestrialnoob]

Damian had never seen another person his age before.

“Wow, you're good at that.”

Damian froze in his practice and looked over at the boy. It was after his lesson, his instructor had other students to teach, and Damian had his own private training area. Well, it was supposed to be private. “Who are you?”

“Danny, what's your name?”

Damian glared at the boy. Who doesn't know who he is? “I am Damian Al-Ghoul, grandson of the Demon's Head, son of the Bat, heir to the League of Assassins.”

“Wow, that's a lot... Can I just call you Damian?”

“Servants call me Master. How did you get here?”

Danny shrugged, “I was just looking around.”

“Just looking around...”

“Yeah, my parents are in the science lab down in the bottom basement with the weird lake and I was helping them, but then I got board and Jazz said I wasn't allowed to leave the lab, but when I asked Dad, he said I could do what I want as long as I don't get in trouble.”

“Oh, the idiot scientists.” Damian remembered how his mother had described the new scientists hired to study the Lazarus Pools. A pair of geniuses when it came to the scientific study of magic but idiots in all other fields. Surely only idiots would bring their children to live with the League of Assassins.

“What do you mean? If you're a scientist you can't be an idiot?”

Damian huffed at the boy. “You can be smart at one thing and dumb at others. Like you could be good at reading but bad at numbers.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. But I'm pretty good at reading and numbers.” Danny then smiled brightly, “It looks like you're really good at swording though.”

“It's called swordplay. And yes, I am good at it. Better at it at my age than many who are older.”

“Can you show me how to do it?”

Damian contemplated for a moment, “As long as you don't get in the way of my practice, I don't see why not.”

Danny cheered as he ran up to where Damian was standing, but Damian pointed to the side of the training area, “There should be a spare sword over there you can use.”

Danny nodded and ran to get it then ran back.

Damian wasn't sure if he'd like showing Danny how to use a sword, but he liked how Danny followed all his instructions. It was different than how the servants followed his orders, but Damian couldn't place why. It became common place, for Danny to show up after Damian's lessons and Damian would show him what he'd learned. It actually made learning new things easier because Damian had to figure out how exactly something worked in order to show Danny how to do it. Not only that, but when they practiced the moves on each other, Danny would change them and make it harder to beat him. Damian did win every time, but Danny wasn't half bad.

[catboybiologist]

A rant to the void. I'm transgender. I've been doing molecular biology and genetics research for over 8 years. Those are not in conflict with each other.

(this is a copy/paste of a post I made to r/labrats last night, a subreddit for lab scientists. Its directed towards scientists. I'll link it at the end if you want to see the positive reception from other scientists, but I thought it would be worth posting here, to my predominantly transgender userbase.)

I'm exhausted.

I'm laughing and memeing about the transgender mice as much as the next person, but there's genuine pain and grief here. I'm in grad school right now, and I've been doing research since my freshman year of undergrad. I started estrogen hormone replacement therapy in 2023, and I've been living openly as a transgender woman since summer last year.

I attribute my studies in biology, and my ability to read primary sources about the biology of sex determination, hormonal physiology, and my background with fundamental concepts like gene expression as key reasons why I was able to finally feel comfortable enough to transition, both medically and socially.

I've received nothing but love and support from other biologists. Mostly a few fun nerdy rambles while catching up with old colleagues about the precise biology of what I'm doing to myself right now, and over sharing about my own changing gene expression and physiology.

The growing hate coming from outside the field, from nonscientists, from stupid fucks who've never picked up a pipette in their fucking life, who've never seen a fasta file, who would struggle to pronounce two words in a paper... I can't even begin to articulate how simultaneously stupid and heartbreaking it is.

My career, my passion, my contributions to the world, are being gutted, censored, and used against me. I'm trying to be as grounded and practical as possible, but sometimes I break and feel like I need space for the genuine grief I'm feeling, for lack of a better word.

I feel like I'm in a unique position to do something, say something, but I'm in such a whirlwhind myself and trying to figure out what to do with my own life and survive through these years, that I really don't know what I can or should do.

So I guess I'll scream into the void with this post, attend a march on Friday, survive, and see what I can do later. Fuck.

[liketolaugh-writes]

Bruce looking past the fact that (recently adopted) Danny is a powerhouse and recognizing that he has other skills also. <3

Danny is a STEM kid and just as brilliant as his sister, you cannot convince me otherwise

Danny gave Bruce the handwritten list of powers in the morning. Bruce stared at it over his cup of coffee, then gave Danny a flat, somewhat disbelieving look. Danny shrugged sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said, perching on one of the stools. “I can point out the ones I don’t use if you just want to work on the ones I do. At least I have an idea of what needs improving with those.” Alfred gave him a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and French toast, and Danny smiled at him. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“We’ll have to prioritize your training,” Bruce allowed after a moment, frowning down at the paper. Dick leaned over to look and whistled. “But all of these will be addressed eventually. You should have at least a moderate grasp of every tool at your disposal.” He looked up. “You intended to work in the lab today, correct?”

Danny nodded, playing with a strip of bacon. “I’ll probably spend most of today making a big batch of phaseproof coating,” he said. “Then I can experiment with mixing it with paint and maybe coat some of your spare weapons in it? That should work for the bo staff and escrima sticks, maybe a set of brass knuckles. But I’ll need to make a different solution for the edged weapons.” His mind wandered, thinking of how he could adapt what he knew of the Bats’ gear to work against ghosts.

“Who’re the brass knuckles for?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow at Danny. Danny flushed and shrugged.

“Batman,” he said. “You don’t really use a weapon, right?” Bruce grunted. “But phaseproof cloth isn’t something my parents ever really figured out. I can work on it, maybe, but I thought brass knuckles would be an okay compromise for now.”

“Hn.”

“Good thinking,” Dick praised with a smile. “It’ll be easy to add to the utility belt too. Should we ghostproof my main set or a spare?”

“The main, I think, if you’re okay with it,” Danny said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You probably won’t even notice. But the edged weapons should all be spares. Ecto-treated metal tends to glow.”

“Not great for stealth,” Dick nodded. “Whatever you think is best, baby spook. We have the resources.”

“You’re hyper-specialized,” Bruce noted without inflection, sipping from his coffee. Danny winced.

“Sorry,” he muttered. It was easy to forget that all this was pretty useless outside of Amity Park. Bruce shook his head.

“It’s not a problem. But we’ll need to diversify your skillset. Your talent for chemistry and engineering should expand beyond ectoscience alone.” He studied Danny contemplatively. “Higher education might be beneficial, perhaps a PhD.”

Danny’s eyes went wide. “What? I’m barely passing high school!”

“I had Casper High send over your transcripts,” Bruce said. Danny flinched. “You had a B+ average in middle school, with a particular bent for math and science. You also participated in several advanced extracurriculars, including a junior astronaut program, space camp, and competitive robotics. Further, you clearly have a comprehensive understanding of your parents’ work, which eludes both the Justice League engineers and JL Dark. You had these talents prior to acquiring your powers, and it would be a waste to discard them in favor of your raw combat ability.”

Danny stared at Bruce, open-mouthed and speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered even the possibility that he could have a future outside of his hero career.

“…Do you think I could do that and be a superhero?” he managed after a minute, quieter than he’d meant to.

Bruce nodded sharply. “Most Justice League heroes maintain a career outside of heroics,” he reminded Danny, without even sounding like he thought Danny was an idiot for asking. “Aside from myself, there is also a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist, a museum curator, a forensic scientist, and a fighter pilot.”

Danny had known that on some level, but it had always seemed unreal. Practically a myth. “When am I going back to school?” he asked, hardly able to believe that he was suddenly looking forward to it.

“At the beginning of next semester,” Bruce said. “Your parents’ trial should be completed by then. I assume you don’t want to be announced publicly until that happens.” Danny shook his head fervently. “You may need to complete some make-up classes online, but we can discuss that next week.”

“Thanks,” Danny said sincerely. He was talking about a lot more than his re-enrollment.

[dadsbongos]

studying birds and bees

3.5 k words / warnings - penetrative sex (i imagined a vag but there's no anatomy listed), riding

summary - viktor, alone and glum, is not comforted by the company of a fellow scientist at a hextech exhibition party. not until you mention taking him home, at least.

Gold drenches each wall in streamers and plates. Curtains shimmer overhead. Silver platters dazzle each passing caterer’s hand -- specialties half the size of his palm gleam fresh and dewy. Clear coupes and flutes pass, full of wheat sparkles. Sour, no doubt, but sure enough to waste a man as thin as he.

So surely, in fact, that Viktor actively avoids drinking anything besides water. He’s a common lightweight, never finding time to flex tolerance between working hours, and he distrusts anything he can’t see through. Anything that has a smell, whether it’s sour or sweet, he staunchly avoids.

Similarly, he refuses to follow conversation: people unreasonable or unfortunate in nature that approach are limited to singular, curt responses. Thankfully he’s smart enough, well-regarded enough, famed enough that it has no bearing on his life outside these miserable hours. Hours he’s sure are better spent down in the lab. Nose buried into his work: he’s most comfortable that way, living as he always has.

Viktor believes his hate is layered beneath several swathes of cool. An expression he believes to be neutral -passive, if anything- is actually a scathing scowl that has many guests rushing off to inform Jayce of his unapproachable partner.

He hears that a lot.

He’s impersonal, strange, distant.

He likes living that way. It makes working easier.

Jayce is everything he is not: warm, talkative, generous. His face is on porcelain mugs.

Viktor would know that, he got one for a generous discount of Free. It’s sitting in his sink at this very moment, coffee dribbling the rim and baked into the bottom. It could risk a stain if he doesn’t wash it before bed tonight.

But then, who knows? Perhaps he’ll be too exhausted from standing all night and straining a smile whenever he makes eye contact with Jayce. At some point, the muscles in his cheeks become too sore, so he begins ignoring the man wrapped around Mel Medarda.

If he’s lucky, Jayce will not try waltzing over to ask for the third time if Viktor is enjoying the night.

And if he’s unlucky, as he suspects he is, then someone else is rapidly crossing the shiny tiles toward him. Two glasses, one in either hand, glinting beneath ball lights. Shoe heels clicking closer and closer until it’s pounding right beside his ear.

“Never saw anything like this back home, did we?”

You say it so familiarly, as if you know anything about Viktor’s home. Maybe you do. But not like that.

“No,” he answers politely enough despite pointedly ignoring the glass you offer him, “we didn’t.”

“I got a real drink for you,” you’re not content to be ignored though, “I noticed you’ve been nursing an empty cup.”

“We didn’t have anything like that in the undercity, I don’t know if I trust it.”

“Then trust me,” you sip from your glass, leaving a dewy smear around the lip, “It’s not bad. Sharp, but not bad.”

Viktor leans more weight onto his cane as he leans, grabbing the glass from you before slanting back, “Sharp, but not bad.”

You swing another sip, watching from the corner of your eye as his arm remains stationary -though you don’t comment, “You seemed incredibly lonely.”

“So you thought it’d be generous to bother me.”

“Practically,” you clink glasses, “You strike me as a man who doesn’t get bothered often. Someone should keep you upright.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” not even he can tell whether he means that genuinely or not. Maybe he does, but only as long as it isn’t you providing the company. His eyes flutter and he imagines: if it were Sky, would he be satisfied?

Jayce?

Mel?

Heimerdinger?

His long disgraced mentor?

“You finally get to leave the lab and you insist on spending the time alone, I wonder why…” you say with enough wisp in your tone to excuse it as a non-question.

Viktor puffs a laugh, weighed down by annoyance -- do you have no eyes? Are you ignorant to your surroundings? Scratch that, his laugh was a total scoff by the time it breached his throat.

“I’m not interested in people,” Viktor briefs, then sighs, “Especially the types that feel the need to keep me company- like I’m some sad thing on the side of the road.”

“You don’t want to feel pitied?”

“Who would?”

“People who’ve never experienced harshities.”

Viktor shakes his head, swirling the glass flute and watching the bubbles twirl, “I don’t care for any of this conversation.”

“Then what conversation would you care for?”

“Why are you here?” he forces himself to remain quiet, afraid that raising his voice could attract attention.

“Like I said, you looked lonely,” you turn onto your shoulder, budding it against the wall to solely stare at Viktor, “I wanted to find solidarity between two Zaunites.”

He shoots you a wary look at that; nobody in Piltover refers to the undercity by that name -it would sling a series of implications the council hasn’t even begun to tackle. Hearing it here, no less, strikes him unpleasantly -- are you being bold or defiant? Is this earnest support of underground independence or are you mocking the Piltover riches that fund his life’s work?

Either way, you’re foolish to declare yourselves Zaunites in the back of this room.

“Sky is also from the undercity,” Viktor jerks his chin toward her, as if you can’t spot her defined curls and moonglasses from where you are.

“I’m not interested in Sky, lovely as she is,” you shrug, “I’m interested in you. I was hoping to see the brain let loose.”

“I don’t get loose.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“So, you’ll die having never gotten ‘loose’.”

“I’ll die having not done lots of things, but I will have been part of Hextech’s creation.”

“That’s all you want to do before you die?”

“I want to give Hextech to the people, anything other than that…” he shakes his head and taps a blunt nail against the glass stem, “I will die in any case.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Dying?”

“Yourself dying.”

“It will happen eventually,” Viktor shrugs, “Probably sooner than others. Heimerdinger says the brighter sparks, they go the fastest,” he lets the sentiment sit a moment before awkwardly flipping it back unto you, “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t think you should ever die.”

“Flattering, but unlikely.”

“Then why do you work like you’ll live forever?” when the only response you get is a single thick eyebrow raise you continue, “Really, you work like a man without time, as if you could just come back into the world after locking yourself away for years. You worry only about the science behind Hextech rather than the humanity in you that wanted you to create it.”

Softly, you cup his shoulder. Regardless of how bold the gesture is he doesn’t find himself wanting you gone.

Perhaps because of the gentle furrow in your brows, your pout accentuated with reddish stains.

“Why don’t you enjoy yourself, Viktor?”

Viktor has so much he needs to do, but nothing as pressing as easing you. He holds his hand over yours, kindly massaging the flat plain across the back of your hand, “I enjoy myself plenty.”

“Alone?” your gaze flicks toward his hand with no subtly, “With only your own hands?”

“Where did that come from?” he gasps, squeezing your hand tighter in shock, eyes widening with stained cheeks.

“Nowhere, I suppose. Just curiosity,” you shrug coyly, about as innocent as your prior question wasn’t, “You have no date, after all. And I never see your arm occupied with anything besides your cane.”

“I’m content with my work.”

Unabashedly, almost sneered, you speak without grace for the first time all night, “What a sad way to live.”

“Excuse you?” Viktor scoffs, “Do you not work for the same goal?”

“I’m a person, too.”

“I’m not?”

“Not as you are,” you shake your head, eyes now downtrodden as you finish off the glass in your hand, swallowing without cringe before saying, “If you’re so dedicated to living for Hextech instead of yourself, then I’ll take your drink for you. My only plan tomorrow was to nurse a hangover anyway.”

Viktor instinctually swivels so his drink is out of reach, which is something he cannot explain. Why does he suddenly want it? Why does he suddenly care?

But, more importantly, when did he decide he should never want it- decide that he should never care?

Was it before or after clawing his way into Piltover under Heimerdinger’s wing? Was it before or after Jayce blew up an apartment? Was it before or after Jayce began leaving his side to become a political head?

Or was it everything -- slowly one thing upon the other before he realized he had a carefully alphabetized and numerically categorized library of all the reasons he shouldn’t and couldn’t abandon Hextech. Maybe it’s not advancement now, but the security of a purpose. A goal he’ll die to achieve, and at the rate he’s burning: die before achieving.

Perhaps, one night as a man rather than a scientist wouldn’t hurt?

Viktor gags the champagne in a single swing, startling you to pat his back as he hisses and coughs.

“Viktor! What’re you doing?!” you whisper with all the venom of an outraged mother.

“I’m living,” he shoulders you off and straightens out. Chin jutting with all the dignity of a man who didn’t choke down alcohol at an expensive gala.

“Is that so?” you giggle, silently expecting him to back away, “And does life have you for the whole night? Or just until the party’s over?”

Viktor looks down at his empty glass, then toward yours. Then to the lipstick marring the rim -- it’s smudged at the corner of your lip. It’s darker than the more neutral shade you swipe on before venturing into the lab. Suddenly, his belly is warming and his head is fuzzy -for once nothing but pleasant thoughts consume him. He smiles to one side and clicks your empty flutes,

“I have no plans tomorrow, either, wouldn’t you know?”

“For once.”

Waving away the bitter thought, Viktor leans just that touch closer that sends your sweet perfume up his nose. He feels like maybe he should get another drink and step a little more into your space, if you’ll let him.

“Let’s make the night of it, then?” he’s the one bravely going forward, certain you’ll trail after as he paves toward the bar, “You sounded eager to get me into the world, now what?”

“Oh, Viktor,” you coo, “Don’t ask things like that.”

“Why not?” he’s a little cocky now with some booze in his empty belly, he forgets how unashamed the new assistant is, “Second thoughts?”

“No, I’ll just tell you that I really wanted you in my bed tonight.”

You’re grinning- he’s blushing now, a little surprised and a little delighted. But you just smile that devilish way that always has him distracted.

A new assistant hadn’t been Victor’s idea, and if Jayce had bothered conferring with Viktor at all then you especially wouldn’t have been the hired candidate.

“Or did you intend to die a virgin, as well?” you lull into the shell of his ear, soft and warm lips just grazing clammy flesh.

“You’re forward.”

“Am I? Is it too much?” if not for the slightest concerned twitch in your brow, he could’ve thought maybe you were just laying another harsh tease.

“I find it incredibly attractive,” finally, finally Viktor says the terrible thing out loud. Vivid and bright and all things he is not -temptress! he declared when you two first met.

***

Viktor paused, eyes widening from the doorway and fingers tightening around his cane, “Who are you?”

“The assistant,” you smiled in a way he was sure you meant as warm and welcoming, “Viktor, right?”

How he stared at you, however, told you that maybe you’d bared teeth too sharp. So your lips shut, hands clasping and shoulders straightening. Your name but a whisper into the lab, bouncing off each wall before awkwardly cluttering to the ground. Melting in chunks into the grouts.

“I have an assistant,” he murmured, sights scattered across the area, “Where is Sky?”

“Her day off,” then you groaned, baffled by how confused such a famed brain could get over a truly simple concept, “I can show you my qualifications, if you need to be convinced?”

Your frustration seemed to snap him straight, his jaw unhinged and he flubbed for a nice way to retract himself, “No. No. I’m…” he cleared his throat and glanced away pointedly, “You’re my assistant for today, then?”

“Of course.”

“Ah, perfect,” it was not, in fact, perfect. Viktor dreaded your stay; lingering over his shoulder and invading between his eyes with your perfume. You’re cursed with curves and full lips and fluttery eyelashes.

A temptress!

***

A temptress without trying- or you are trying and you play dirty. Either way…

“I want to see more of your shamelessness, show me how much I’ve missed not living,” he means the last part as a jest, but it seems to make you happy.

…he wants you so bad it makes his gut ache.

You gnaw your bottom lip and nod, “Shall we leave now then? I can certainly make you a drink at home you’d like more anyway.”

Propriety flies out the window.

If Jayce wanted Viktor to enjoy himself, then he damn well would! And he wouldn’t bother with acknowledgments or goodbyes or gratitude, not when your hand tangles with his. Fingers locking with all the familiarity of seasoned lovers, you even add the tiniest swing though sure to not jostle his balance. Peachy streetlights cast the most flattering flushed glow upon you, stray hairs catching gold beneath the beaming bulb. Shining in stressed loops around your head, not like a halo but just… you. Graceful in all the misaligned strands and smudged makeup.

Whether you’re tethered off in a clinical coat with a clipboard perched on one hip or strapped to the finest in this little black number -something you could never pray to pull out of a dump in Zaun.

“I think…” you muse while sliding the front door open, your home smells like vanilla and the space is so precisely spotless he’s not sure you even live here, “I’ll need some help out of this dress.”

Your bedroom is worse off -or would it be better?- not a single article of clothing on the floor, no crumpled notes or mugs of shame decorating the nightstand. Eerily empty until, then, he notices the faint orange flame twinkling over his shoulder.

“Did you leave that burning while you were gone?” he’s too focused on the fire risk of it all that he doesn’t notice you’re stretching out over the bed.

“I figured I wouldn’t be out long,” you prop your head on a fist, the other hand perking onto your cocked hip, “Whether or not I’d be alone when I returned was the only mystery.”

He swivels in place, a humored so that’s why it’s so clean! dying on his lips as soon as he sees you splayed out. Stuttering back and clutching his chest as if scandalized -- as if he didn’t come here for the exact kind of modeling you’re doing. Viktor clears his throat, heat swelling up from the comfortable bubbly in his gut and all up toward his reddening forehead. Brows shooting upward.

Silken sheets caressing your bare skin. Moonlight carding through the askew curtains and layering you in a thin pale gleam. Your hair cascaded down your forearm. And that rouge smudge at the bottom corner of your lip. Tempting.

Viktor lets his cane drift back until it’s slanted against the wall, kneeling onto your bed. Hands trembling as if he’ll sink through and wake in his own sheets. But the feeling of his cold dress buttons beneath his fingertips is real enough; peeling layers from sinewy limbs feels real enough. Nails scrape wrists and hips as he removes his vest, and shirt, and long pants.

“Can I… “ he pauses, swallows, and assesses the curiosity in your eyes. Then, before finishing the question, surges forward -one hand gluing to either of your cheeks, tenderly tilting your face to press his lips to yours. Brows knotting toward the center of his face and cheeks flaming with embarrassment. His lips are incredibly soft, though, and they slot smoothly against yours like gears rolling into one fluid motion. You wonder how familiar that is to him.

Sliding up onto your knees, you tangle your fingers between his and pry his hands from your face. Squeezing him affectionately before using the leverage to lay him onto his back slowly so as to not break the kiss.

Straddling Viktor with both hands still wrapped together, at least until you slip one of his hands onto your chest and the other your thigh. He squeezes, not not affectionately just with something a little… murkier. Hips jump up toward yours -- he sighs, frustrated, and takes it out on your nipple -rolling the bud around his thumb before sucking it into his mouth. Cheeks hollowing around, tongue searing up, bright gold eyes peek over wetly.

You arch your back into his face, lifting off his lap with the encouragement of his spare hand shifting toward your ass. Something soft and thick twitches between your thighs, ripping an earnest gasp from you. Viktor snorts, you feel him smiling into your chest.

not expecting that?

You yank his hair at the base, curling a whine through his throat.

shut up!

Leaky and hot red at the tip, Viktor only thickens toward the base. Maybe just longer than your palm, but certainly fatter than you can hold in one palm. Reaching down just to rut his tip along your slit, both of you huffy messes as you drool down his cock.

Viktor sags back, glaring at you with his ruddy lips -- juicy with raw saliva.

“Enough teasing,” he grunts, trying to force you down with his grip on your hip, “You bring me here just to watch me squirm?”

“I do enjoy the sight,” you mewl softly, swirling his tip around your hole, “Don’t you?”

His head swivels in a very lumpy circle, caught between nodding and shaking before he attempts pushing you down again, “Not as much as I want to be inside you.”

You’re prepared to tease more when he abruptly snaps up while shoving your hips low. His whole face twinges at the sudden movement in his thighs but it’s soon overshadowed by the complete, all-melting mellow of having his cock sucked into velveteen walls. Head thrown back and chestnut hair splintering across the dark headboard -- he grins as you loudly gasp and scramble to grasp his shoulders for purchase.

“Ah- Vik- !” you hiccup, scratching into his shoulder blades.

He hisses, lips curled with utter bliss and eyes fluttering shut, “Feels much better.”

Now both of his hands circle your waist, coaxing your movement with firmly pressed fingers. You pray he leaves bruises.

Viktor chases your warmth every time you squelch off, the most he can manage without an uncomfortable cringe is teeny jumps focused in the pelvis but it’s more than desperate enough. Any concern he could have of you finding his display anything except arousing is tossed out the window as your pace hastens. Leisurely drags rapidly devolving to full bounces, little splatters of your wetness painting up his abdomen. And he fucking thrives on it: sticky and lewd and thick, hearing each thrust hammers him closer to the purest release he’s had in years.

He can’t even pluck grains of thought to discern when the last time he felt so good was- not when you’re canting and wailing.

On a particular grind, you could feel his dick slam into some open-wire spot inside you. White neon sparks crackling so bright your whole body snaps above Viktor while he watches starry-eyed. Bopping that spot impetuously, clinging to frayed energy if it means watching you split apart again. You moan -broken vowels and breathy vik- vi- uh, viktor! vik- vik- vvvv- and shudder, clutching him like you’ll fly off without such an iron hold. Openly tearing up inside you before his eyes are wetting too, and webs of spend sprawl into you.

Viktor greedily snatches you by the neck and wrings you forward, lips spreading until he can lick inside your mouth. Moaning shamelessly into you as he fucks the last of his orgasm out on you.

Left humming, content and pliant, you and Viktor break the sloppy kiss to play more politely. You peck the corner of his mouth, wiping the dazzling threads of spit tying you two by the mouths. Viktor blinks up at you in a haze, smiling aimlessly.

“Happy?” you unceremoniously roll off the man, grimacing as he and everything he buried slide out onto your thigh.

“Very,” he remains slick back on the headboard, moist skin skidding against wood as he slides onto the mattress.

You twist an arm over his waist, chin piking his ribs as you give the most outrageously sweet, “I’m sure you can stay the night, then?”

And as Viktor’s discovered, trying to deny your power over him is useless. Why not indulge just a little more?

“Maybe even for breakfast,” he muses.

tagging those who asked/seemed interested :3

@lpvmal + @im-just-a-simp-le-whore + @littleenglishfangirl + @fortheharbingers + @duffycrow + @zemosbunny + @urmommt + @crocwork-clockodile + @petti-fry + @sparklygreentrash + @marshy-moo

[zaczenemiji]

Can you do a spiderwomen x kenji sato. Maybe she was sent to retrieve emi and then got caught by kenji, and she was put into a jail like thing. So now she's just stuck there. She starts flirting with him. If yk what i mean 😏👉🏿👈🏿🎀💓🌸

Have an ice cream cone. 🍦

Thanks ♡♡♡♡

Kaiju Heist

Kenji Sato x Spiderwoman!Reader

Word Count: 1,066

Genre/Warnings: Anti-hero, Flirting, Imprisonment, Morally Grey/Ambiguous Reader

Author’s Note: This one was a bit challenging, I hope it’s to your liking. Thank you for the ice cream, I offer you this fic.

MASTERLIST

Your plan was simple: sneak in, grab the baby kaiju, and get out. But things rarely went according to plan.

Let’s begin where it all started—that damn spider.

Long story short, your parents were scientists doing experiments on radioactive spiders. You help in their lab and one day, an earthquake enormous kaiju shook the city, causing a containment breach. The next thing you know, a particularly aggressive spider bit your hand.

Of course, you gained extraordinary abilities. Others would’ve loved this and used them for good—be like Ultraman or whatever. But to you, it’s more like a curse. Seriously, you didn’t ask for this so ain’t no way were you going to become a selfless heroine.

So you did nothing with your abilities; you didn’t hone it whatsoever. You looked at it as if it’s just another arm that grew out of your body. Like grabbing a bag of chips from across the room, you’d shoot spider webs out to get it without standing.

Despite living your life as privately as you could, somehow, the Kaiju Defense Force was still able to find you. So here you are now, in their headquarters.

You stood there, arms crossed. “I’ve told you before, Dr. Onda,” you said. “I’m not looking to be a hero. I just want to be left alone.”

Dr. Onda, chief officer of the KDF, and old acquaintance of your parents, leaned forward. “I know. But this isn’t about heroism,” he replied. “This is a highly sensitive mission and you’re the only one who can pull it off.”

"And why should I care?" you replied coolly. "What's in it for me?"

"Payment, of course. A substantial one. Enough to ensure you can continue living the peaceful life you desire without any further interference from us,” Dr. Onda answered.

“And more importantly, it's a one-time deal. Complete this mission, and you'll never hear from the KDF again."

Your face expressed a guarded neutrality but inside, you found it so tempting—the promise of financial security and freedom from future obligations.

“What’s the job?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Dr. Onda tapped a few keys on his desk console, and a holographic image of a baby kaiju appeared, rotating slowly.

“It’s an entity of importance for the goals of KDF to be fulfilled,” he said. “Recently, it fell into the hands of Kenji Sato. We need you to retrieve it and bring it back to us.”

You studied the hologram, noting the details. "And how exactly am I supposed to move a 20-foot-tall kaiju baby without causing a scene?"

Dr. Onda leaned back, a small smile playing on his lips. "We have a special containment unit designed specifically for it. It's portable and can be deployed with your help. Your task is to get close enough to activate it and secure the kaiju.”

"And the payment?" you pressed.

Dr. Onda named a figure that made your eyes widen slightly. It was more than enough to ensure your financial independence for years to come.

"Alright," you said finally. "I'll do it. But remember, this is a one-time deal. After this, I want nothing more to do with the KDF."

Dr. Onda smiled, “You have my word."

You turned to leave but paused at the door, and glanced back. "I hope you're right about this, Dr. Onda,” you said. “Because if this goes sideways, I won't be the one paying the price."

Going back to the present—here you are, in Kenji Sato’s basement, trapped in a cylindrical glass containment unit, similar to the one the baby kaiju you were supposed to retrieve was held in.

A floating spherical robot circled around you. “We knew they would send someone,” it said in a mechanically feminine voice.

Suddenly, it projected a red light over your body, scanning you. “But I didn’t expect a spider-woman.”

You pressed your hands against the glass, testing its strength. "Nice trap," you said. “But it's going to take more than that to keep me here."

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” a voice came out of nowhere. Turning around, you see THE Kenji Sato with an eyebrow raised and his gaze locked with yours.

The biggest mystery that bothered you upon accepting this mission was how the hell did this famous baseball star had a giant baby in his basement.

You leaned back, crossing your arms over your chest. "So, what's the plan, Kenji? Keep me here forever?” you asked. “Or do you have something else in mind?"

Kenji smirked. "Depends. Why are you here?"

"Why do you think?" you replied, your tone flirtatious. "I was sent to retrieve that kaiju baby. But now, it seems I've found something else worth my attention."

Kenji's eyes narrowed slightly, "And what might that be?"

You gave him a slow, knowing smile. "You, of course,” you answered. “You're much more interesting than a simple retrieval mission."

Kenji chuckled, though he tried to hide it. "Flirting isn't going to get you out of there."

"Maybe not," you conceded, stepping closer to the glass, "But it does make this whole situation a lot more entertaining, don't you think?"

Kenji took a step closer, his eyes studying you. "You're not what I expected."

You tilted your head, your smile widening. "Good. I'd hate to be predictable."

There was a moment of silence as the two of you sized each other up. Finally, Kenji spoke. "You know, if you weren't here to take Emi, we might have been able to get along."

"Oh, I think we still can," you said, your voice low and seductive. "Besides, I never said I was strictly here for Emi."

Kenji looked at you, his expression softening just a fraction. "And what if I let you out?"

You pressed yourself against the glass, your eyes locked on his. "Then maybe, just maybe, we can help each other."

Kenji pondered this for a moment before shaking his head. "Nice try,” he said. “But I need to know more about you before I make that decision."

"Fair enough," you replied, leaning back once more. "But remember, Kenji, sometimes the spider catches more than just her prey."

Kenji turned away, a small smile playing on his lips. "We'll see about that."

You didn’t wanna include this in your escape plan because things rarely went according to plan. But in your mind, you noted: flirt, make him fall for you, and escape.

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@moonlight-starlight-lady01 @eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan

[starrygazers]

the in-betweens: studies and alchemy.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ hi I've been reading isekai romance manhwas with the dukes and I cannot for the life of me stop thinking about duke anaxa. here have this.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ tags : royalty au, love rectangle???

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ featuring : DUKE! Anaxa, PRINCE! Mydei, KNIGHT! Phainon.

This story is best read after you've read my previous ROYALTY! AU featuring PRINCE! Mydei and KNIGHT! Phainon.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Duke ANAXA is one of the most notorious aristocrats in the Kingdom of Amphoreus, or so you’ve been told by Royal Advisor Aglaea in more than one of your tea sessions. She warns you of the man who resides in Grove of Epiphany, the scholars’ city – to avoid him unless you want your ears chewed off about his latest mad scientist research. After hearing what Aglaea had to say about the man, you plan on steering clear of him. Unfortunately, fate has twisted plans for you.

MYDEIMOS is the one to break the news to you; the elders in the council aren’t satisfied with the future king getting married to someone who barely knows the history of Amphoreus. Alas, they’ve made the decision to send you to the Grove of Epiphany to study.

MYDEIMOS assures you that it’s not your fault, that you aren’t less qualified to be his betrothed just because you’re of foreign royalty. Should you wish to not leave, he will find a way to make you stay. He gives you time to make the decision.

PHAINON almost drops his cup when you tell him that you agree to study at The Grove. He asks you if you’re sure, but he’s witnessed firsthand your thirst for knowledge, and he also knows that you’d rather inconvenience yourself than MYDEIMOS. PHAINON looks sullen for the rest of the day.

MYDEIMOS tells you that you’ll be studying only for a few months. He’s arranged for your stay in Duke ANAXA’s estate, much to your anxiousness. MYDEIMOS tells you that should Duke be a thorn on your side, he will swiftly take you back to Okhema.

The first time you step into the Murmuring Woods, you are greeted by the large tree that stands out in the middle of the forest. Duke ANAXA is waiting for you as you exit the carriage, and he introduces himself as ANAXAGORAS.

PHAINON, your escort for the journey, is still a Chrysos Knight stationed in Okhema and cannot stay with you, much to his dismay. Despite that, he tells you to write often, and that he’ll be anticipating your return; the Palace will be much lonelier without you.

Contrary to your expectations of the cold Duke, he is surprisingly welcoming in his own aloof way. ANAXAGORAS gives you a tour around his estate; his great library, his off-limits laboratory, and his Luminary Garden. You can tell that despite his huffs and puffs of having to “take care of the council’s whims”, he always accepts those who are eager to learn — a true scholar’s spirit.

The Duke is pleasantly surprised when you call him Duke ANAXAGORAS instead of his shortened name. You say it along with your gratitude for the welcome, and a promise that you’ll study hard during your stay. He brushes off the small smile threatening to pull on his face.

Days with Duke ANAXAGORAS are slow; when you wake up, ANAXAGORAS has left to Nousporist before you, and when you return, he’s locked himself in his lab. There are rare moments where you catch him walking out of his lab, and you invite him to eat dinner together. He wants to refuse, but remembers that you’re MYDEIMOS’ betrothed, and grumbles under his breath before accepting your invitation.

Dinners are a little awkward. He brushes off your attempts of small talk, trying to eat quickly so he can return to his research. Despite this, you still make an effort to talk about what subjects have been interesting you (he doesn’t care, he knows all the things taught in The Grove by heart) and ask him about his research (he says that you’re aeons too early to understand, no offense to your intelligence). Finally, you brave yourself to say that it’s less lonely to eat with ANAXAGORAS than eating alone.

This is what catches ANAXAGORAS off guard; he runs calculations in his mind all the time, tasks to assign the maids, classmates, and professors for your best comfort, but has never once taken into account of how lonely you might feel being in such an unfamiliar place. He clears his throat, but you notice he snaps back at you less.

The next morning, you find ANAXAGORAS by the estate doors, looking bored. When he sees you, he clicks his tongue, quipping about how you’ll be late if you’d taken just another second. Nevertheless, he walks with you to Nousporist.

On the way, he tells you that he cannot walk home with you, but to knock on his laboratory door once it’s dinnertime. ANAXAGORAS swears he’s never seen someone sporting a brighter smile when you nod excitedly, telling him that you’ll be looking forward to dinner.

ANAXAGORAS slowly opens up to you about his own bank of knowledge, and is surprised to find out about your interest in learning alchemy. You’d learned from your peers that ANAXAGORAS is the most skilled alchemist, and you tell him that you want to learn from the best.

This is how ANAXAGORAS ends up staying up with you late into the nights, practicing basic alchemy in the Luminary Garden. He scoffs when you get excited after learning a basic transmutation, taking his hands in yours and jumping around giddily, but he can’t deny you a small smile and a pat on the head.

With your little time in The Grove, you work hard to finish your studies. ANAXAGORAS have always liked diligent students, but he’s especially fond of you, offering small praises whenever you ace a quiz. Though it’ll be a backhanded compliment most of the time, you can feel the sincerity of it.

One day, MYDEIMOS and PHAINON drops by for a diplomatic visit. You greet both the Prince and the Knight with a hug before running your mouth about the great time you’ve had thus far as a student. Amidst the catch-up, you miss how Duke ANAXAGORAS’ face scrunches ever so slightly. It doesn’t take a genius to see how smitten the Prince is, as well as how clingy the Knight seems to be around you.

When you tell MYDEIMOS and PHAINON about how the Duke’s been taking good care of you, ANAXAGORAS can’t help the smirk that creeps on his face, especially seeing the glare that MYDEIMOS shoots him and the way PHAINON’s smile drops.

But what can they do? In The Grove, Duke ANAXAGORAS is more respected than the Prince, nevermind the Knights. As long as you’re still on his turf, MYDEIMOS and PHAINON can do nothing but await your return. And Duke ANAXAGORAS will make sure to take great care of you, for as long as you’re around.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

check out my other royalty au works on my masterlist!

©2025 starrygazers. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ if you liked this, consider buying me a ko-fi! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[nyoomerr]

If drabble requests are still open, but fluffy octobing merman content would be cute

I LOVE MER AUS SO MUCH!!! here's some octo-mer!binghe and his beleaguered favorite scientist!sy ehehe

---

Shen Yuan finds himself in the lab at three in the morning on a Sunday, facing the helpless expressions of the lab assistants who were scheduled for that particular night shift.

“We’re so sorry, Shen-ge,” one of them says miserably. “We just - he won’t eat, and he starts screaming whenever we try to clean his enclosure, and then -”

“-And then he threw a rock at me!” Interrupts the other, with far less remorse. He’s nursing a particularly nasty bruise on his forehead.

Inwardly, Shen Yuan itches for his notebook. Demonstrations of good aim and understanding of which parts of human anatomy are vital, he thinks absently, and then shakes the thought away. He isn’t here for any studying; he’s just going to take care of the issue he was called in for and go home to go back to sleep.

“It’s fine,” he says, dismissing the lab assistants’ apologies. “I’ll go feed him now, and his tank can be cleaned on Monday.”

“But, the procedure -”

“- states that no one should be working overtime,” Shen Yuan interrupts, feeling only a little bit irritated. 

The lab assistants shut up and let Shen Yuan past without further mention of tank-cleaning schedules.

Ahead, there’s a group of a couple other scientists and one more lab assistant crowding around the door to the lab. When they see Shen Yuan coming, they make way for him, and then immediately crowd back around the doorway to watch him.

Not one of them dares to step foot inside, though. 

“Binghe, come out and apologize to everyone!” Shen Yuan calls over his shoulder, not bothering to look up at the tank as he washes his hands. 

Silence.

Shen Yuan sighs, drying off his hands and moving over to the fish cooler. 

“If you haven’t apologized by the time I finish preparing your - fuck, ass-o-clock in the morning breakfast - then I won’t come up to the tank to feed it to you,” Shen Yuan warns. “I’ll just toss it over the top, and then I’ll leave.”

There’s a small splash; the sound of a head breaching water.

“...Shen-ge…”

Finally, Shen Yuan looks up from his food prep to glance at the tank. Near the top of it, Luo Binghe is staring at him with bright ruby eyes, some of his massive tentacles rhythmically sticking and un-sticking to the glass of the tank, slowly pushing his body up closer to the top of the tank. 

Shen Yuan gives him a stern glare. “Luo Binghe,” he says, meaning every bit of the threat in his voice, “if you push yourself up out of that tank and make me clean up the mess you make doing so, I will handle your food with gloves on for a week.”

“Shen-ge!” Luo Binghe cries, horrified. “I hate the rubber taste! And I only want to taste Shen-ge’s touch, no one else’s! Why should I apologize to anyone who offers me food with their touch all over it!”

“You just said you hate the taste of rubber from the gloves,” Shen Yuan points out. “They’re following my lead in preparing your meals bare-handed, you know.”

Luo Binghe visibly wavers. Shen Yuan finishes cutting up the fish he’d grabbed and dumps it in a bucket, then looks up at Luo Binghe and tilts his head in the direction of the door to the lab pointedly.

“...Sorry,” Luo Binghe mumbles.

“For what?” Shen Yuan prompts.

“For refusing the food they tried to give me, even though Shen-ge should be the one to give me all his courting gifts himself,” Luo Binghe says, very obviously sulking.

Shen Yuan sighs, feeling a bit hopeless. 

“How many times do I have to tell you, ah - food isn’t a courting gift for humans!”

Luo Binghe frowns, glaring at Shen Yuan suspiciously. “But it is when Shen-ge gives it to me, right?”

Shen Yuan rolls his eyes. “I’m not accompanying you during your mating season,” he deadpans. “We’ve gone over this a hundred times. I’m human. You’re a sea creature. We’re incompatible even before you consider our sexes.”

Luo Binghe perks up. Shen Yuan immediately becomes wary.

“I’ve been working on that,” Luo Binghe says, looking especially pleased with himself. “Maybe Shen-ge would like to come up here and document the changes to my reproductive organs himself?”

Shen Yuan feels his face go through several colors that a face has no business being. It only gets worse when he manages a moment of self reflection and realizes he does want to take a look, if only because no such sex change has ever been documented on a mer creature before. 

Mortified, Shen Yuan glances towards the door to the lab. Everyone is watching the exchange between Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe with rapt expressions. One of the scientists has their clipboard out and is taking notes. The other makes an eager little shooing motion at Shen Yuan, as if to say ‘yes, go look, quick! Luo Binghe won’t let any of us look, after all!’

Shen Yuan sighs heavily. This really… really was not what he was expecting when he applied for this job. 

“Alright, alright, I’m coming up. Good job apologizing to everyone, I guess,” Shen Yuan says half heartedly, beginning to lug the bucket of fish up the rickety stairs leading to the top of Luo Binghe’s tank. “But I’m not examining your biology tonight. We’ll wait to do that until we can schedule a proper examination. With others present, because it will be professional and educational, not for mating.”

Luo Binghe sulks. “If Shen-ge prefers to be watched…”

Irritated, Shen Yuan slaps at the side of the tank as he continues his trek up the stairs, feeling a bit vindicated when Luo Binghe’s expression twists in annoyance at the feeling of the vibrations so close to him. 

“No mating, no innuendos, and none of your tentacles getting wrapped up around me,” Shen Yuan warns as he finally makes his way to the top of the tank and has to immediately swat away one of Luo Binghe’s massive tentacles as it dips out of the water and starts to reach for him. “Your suction cups leave awful welts - last time, my brother asked me if I was being abused by a secret lover!”

“Why am I a secret?!” Luo Binghe cries, ignoring every other part of what Shen Yuan had said. 

Shen Yuan grimaces, decides that this isn’t a fight worth having at three in the morning, and sets the bucket of fish down on the edge of the tank. 

Luo Binghe looks at it, then back at Shen Yuan expectantly. 

…Damn it!!

Against his better judgment, Shen Yuan sighs and picks up a piece of fish, extending it out towards Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe’s expression instantly turns pleased, his tentacles curling beneath him - and creeping up out of the water again - as he takes the fish directly into his mouth from Shen Yuan’s hands. 

The weight of everyone’s stares from the lab doorway is especially heavy. Shen Yuan picks up a second piece. 

“You’re making me into a gossip piece,” he complains quietly to Luo Binghe.

Luo Binghe predictably responds to this by nibbling at Shen Yuan’s fingers instead of taking the piece of fish gently. Shen Yuan cuffs him over the head in a direct violation of every lab rule against touching the specimens there is. Fuck the rule; it isn’t as if Luo Binghe doesn’t break it himself every single day!!

…As he thinks this, Shen Yuan feels one of Luo Binghe tentacles coil around his ankle. Fuck. There’s no way Shen Yuan is going to manage unsticking Luo Binghe for at least several hours. 

Resigned, Shen Yuan settles down properly onto the observation deck at the top of the tank, only giving Luo Binghe a half hearted glare when the mer responds by eagerly wrapping several more of his tentacles around what parts of Shen Yuan they can reach. The weight of them is massive; Luo Binghe is no small creature. 

Happily, Luo Binghe opens his mouth expectantly. Shen Yuan sighs, and picks up another piece of fish. 

It’s going to be a long night.

[sunflower1experiment]

Children (Risk's Prequel 2.0)

Prev

Harley is so full of himself, sometimes dating him was like dipping your hand in a rose bush. Like him they were beautiful. charming, hell you even considered the relationship with him to be a thorn bush without the roses. But it was the day something happened in the labs, you went in and noticed the toys were crying? "What happened?"

You march by and comfort them, "What is wrong with them!?" The other scientist who fails to answer at first, backs away but then she feels you lean in. "What happened? Answer."

"You really don't know? Of course not, not when you're busy playing work wife for Sawyer." You glance at Leith, eyes filling with animosity.

"Mind running that by me? What is wrong with my children?"

"Ah so you claim them. Well, let me break it down, your children, they are not just toys. You of all people should have noticed the vast majority of the new high rise of emotions and tension between them and us." What is he spouting about!? You look at Stelle with a curious eyebrow quirk, she avoids your gaze and once more you return to Leith's cold side glance.

"Sawyer didn't....inform me..."

"Of course not, why would he want to break his favorite sentimental experiment's heart." It goes quiet.

The toys who coward behind you, look up as he leaves, as everyone leaves. You kneel down to study them, then your eyes begin to well up. "......Prototype was serious."

The little ones start to hug your feeble form, while you realize how terrible and naive you are the sounds of shoes fill your ears. "You, you're different..." A pink hand holds your shoulder, a long arm follows after and hugs you.

"No need to cry, Mommy's here." You look at this so-called Mommy, and realize why you recognize this voice, it couldn't be, not her.

"Marie Payne?" She backs up with a slight chuckle and the little toys cling to your hand sadly while Mommy stands on the ground, "So you know, or you did know. What makes you think you're different from them?"

"I'm not, I failed...I-"

"Then stop wallowing and do something!" Mommy's hand punches the ground, this was obviously Marie talking. You firmly nod but then hug the toys again, Banzo bunny, the mini huggys, Daisy, Cat-Bee, so many of these little ones.

When you leave the toys behind you take one more glance at them, Mommy watches with a somber stare, Harley took you for a fool didn't he? Or did he simply know how senstive you were.

You couldn't let these children starve, going back home, it meant missing dinner, breakfast, sure but they had to eat. Risking your job would be worth it regardless, Leith calling you an experiment was one thing but to be embarrassed by everyone? Over his dead body, whenever you returned to work with food, you'd just make a simple curt excuse, then place the boxes and containers down.

"What is this?" Mommy grabs the food, "This will feed you all, starvation leads to difficult actions. Now come on. We have to take care of the kids."

She was in shock, for you to get back up after a day, why weren't the adults who hurt her like you? Even if you played a role, the willingness to do better still prevails. Maybe, she looks at your lab coat while you feed the children fruits, "Maybe there are some good people."

It was a lot to handle, a bit overwhelming even but you didn't pull any punches, but when you met with Harley, you both were quiet. He was sent to sleep on the couch that night. Three days would pass, and he’d check on you, “Dear?”

“What did you do with those orphans I cared for?” Harley kicks himself, cursing Leith, Stella and Eddie. Those three were told to keep you away, how can he adore you if you know too much!? Your face of revulsion or disappointment, so he gently holds your hand, “What do you mean?”

“Harley, do not play dumb with me, you’re smart and that's what I love about you…” Of course, of course he should be honest…. “I, well Elliot said we should do this for the betterment of humanity, I’m simply following orders.” The audacity, you were there when he argued with Elliot and everyone knew he had anger issues. 

That was why you chose to avoid Harley but you both attracted each other, he was enamored by your genuine curiosity and adoration for simplistics, meanwhile he always had such charisma with that gentle tone, polite demeanor and fascination with anatomy. Were you in love with a facade perhaps? “So you knew, and didn’t tell me?”

 He didn’t deny the knowledge but to deliberately not tell you, why? So Kissy, her stress, Mommy, Huggy, and who else? Harley hated it when you cried, he knew when the tears fell that you’d rebel or probably not speak to him. Relationships were complicated, but you both communicated and that was what made Harley stay, yet this time he knew you’d speak your mind. So he did what he could to try and change the perception of the situation.”You know I love you, I would never lie.” 

His hand falls flat and he clutches it, your face wasn’t shedding tears but they looked disappointed. You then hold your stomach before hugging him sadly, “.....One more question, what did you do…with him?”

No, not him, not the boy… 

“Him?” That was the answer you needed, “How can I trust you if you won't even tell me the truth?"

Why? Why were you so sentimental!? Did you not realize the risks? No, of course not.

--

NSFW, CW and TW // Minors DNI (signs of pregnancy, intimacy for NSFW)

CW// Signs of emotional abuse, self-loathing, child experimenting, and abuse

TW// Slight suicidal thoughts. (If you ever feel this way, be sure to call a trusted friend/adult or the hotline, know that you are not alone, you are deserving of care and to be heard.)

"I'm sorry, I’ll make sure to do better..." You nod into his hand while his gentle gaze remains on you, he may be a liar but Harley knew he adored you, you’re perfect. His perfect experiment, the only one who understands him, the only responsive and reactionary force he wished to invest in after he was tired from his other sets of experiments. He slept in the bed beside you, his larger hands resting along  the arm while you remained in Harley’s arms, you were naive even when you held so much unconditional love for him. His lips travel to your neck, hands intertwined together in the moment where Harley’s lips touch, he notices how much your lips embellish his growing adoration. 

When things start to heat up, Harley is there, his arms will wrap around your waist while you admire him, those worry wrinkles, his gentle hands with calluses, and most of all his gaze. Bed creaking, your soft sounds of breathing filling the doctor’s ears whenever those hands of his would roam your frame. At some point he had a moment of lingering, a longing, and it makes him wonder what would you have done if he told the truth? Would you love him enough to fix things, perhaps give him a chance. It was wishful thinking on his end, especially when it comes to his lover. In the intensity of this heated moment between you both, he could feel your hands resting along his face or they’d move to hold him close. 

His deep chuckles and breaths, while you both share more kisses than one can count, Harley would let himself sink into your arms while he indulges in everything he loves. About you, it was strange to be in love with someone, someone of his intellect falling for you. A scientist with a bleeding heart and someone who was always willing to cater to him.

Harley would simply lose his mind at the idea of not being able to cradle your form, in life or death maybe but, he simply wouldn't allow it. Not when someone as perfect as you, could fit his standards of experimentation.

Every fiber of your being knew something was wrong, even after you began cuddling again, his grasp of you was firm with the iron grip. The way he’d kiss your forehead while you lean into his bare chest, “Hey....if Leith ever talks to you poorly, let me know…and, try not to worry about the toys. You should be focused on our work.” It goes silent, as you cuddle into him with a distant sad gaze, taking note of his slightly serious tone. 

“Okay..”

--

You lied, now you were worrying for the children more than ever, feeding them and then the visit to Kissy’s room, carefully feeding her you note the long gaze. Kissy slowly moves forward and then her slender arm moves carefully; she begins hugging you close. “It's okay Kissy, I’m fine.”

How could someone of your caliber be so naive and caring? Especially when she and these children rely on you, the only adult to make this right?

"So, you and Harley?" Stella tries to make conversation, you merely nod in agreement, even if he had to sleep on the couch for a couple of days. Somehow it always worked out, because you'd still feed him, tend to him, you could be angry right now and he's already slipping through those cracks and crevices. But when he was angry, he was never one to aim it at you but when he did, you'd offer a hug, some time alone or just to talk.

The thing is this anger wasn't ever aiming to you: his partner, but instead your coworkers who could feign innocent all they want, yet none of them were any better than you or Harley. That is why you hated your sense of morals; how could you date a potential child abuser? What if, he hurts....

"Mz.?" You startle when Stella speaks again, gently moving the Candy-cat toy so he wouldn't get hurt. "I- need to check on the children."

She frowns, "Hey, um...If...Harley is..."

"What?"

"You'll come to me if he does anything right?" Stelle asks, you pause then turn to her while she gives a somber smile to assure any form of Desolate emotions that threaten to spill out.

"Stelle, you and Leith know what he is doing. You never told me; we are no better than him and you shouldn't try to be of help when these children are being treated this way. The least I can do is comfort, nurture and love them." As your back turns to the woman who watches your retesting form she looks down, gripping the Zinnia while Harley, as if to mock her walks by with a Tuberose flower.

He places it in your vase, then looks to Stella, "You should focus on work. I'm sure you both will find a way to rekindle whatever friendship you had."

Whatever Harley told you it was obvious he didn't realize how much it would hurt you at the end, Stella saw the signs clear as day. She was your friend, easy to socialize with, but you always took the time to listen to her dreams and desire to care for the children. As you place more food down for the little ones, Mommy finally speaks again.

"I saw you with Kissy, she's being moved...further down, and... there are more...down below."

"Down, below?" Mommy couldn't help but scowl at your naivety, she felt sorry for you. ".....That boy, Quinn?"

What about Quinn? She tells you softly while you listen, her hands grip your arms to keep you from running. Being outraged, it was quiet...

Down below, Quinn, Marie, how many children...

One last thing to do.

You step into the lab, where Prototype remains. "gOoD tO sEe-E you, mY dEAr.." His metallic hands carefully hold your soft fleshy ones.

But you merely look away, he senses the hesitation to speak and realizes how much you knew. "s0 thE dOcTeR t-TRu-TRULY! Truly did fail, you know a lot but how much?"

Enough to where you were sitting before his creation, "I...I am not any better than him. I asked him to stop hurting you, he was...."

"Angry?" The experiment says in his voice to which you wince and then nod slowly, "Yes but it wasn't enough, you and I both know that." Prototype lifts your chin up.

"oF cOurSe."

"I'm sorry, I cannot apologize enough, I so badly wanted to think that, not everyone is truly a monster, and these children deserve the best....as many have said: Children deserve parents, but parents do not deserve children or deserve to even be parents. But I was truly naive, Mommy knows this." As the Prototype listens, he also twitches.

Harley was coming, so he gently shushes you and then points. You stand, grabbing the files but before you leave. You speak one more time, "Please do not hurt the children, and don't let vengeance cloud your perception."

With that you leave with the door shutting behind you, Harley walks in and notices the files. At first, he wanted to start a long lecture about his experiments being disturbed but you hand him the files. "Sorry, I wanted to help you work..."

Harley smiles at you for a quick moment but then you both go your separate ways, until you stop. "Harley."

"Yes?"

"Have you ever considered the thought of children?"

He pauses at the question, thinking of the implications of you having his child...the thought occurred to him during your intimate nights together. But he truly didn't see the resolve, especially when there are children surrounding you every day. "No, not when we have the Playtime Co. You and I are truly different."

It goes quiet and you leave, but not after chuckling to his little banter. Of course, Harley Sawyer is so full of himself. Very apathetic, very....

Foolish.

Sometimes, life felt like grappling at a thread just to see you survive, the more food you'd distribute the more guilt you felt.

The last straw was probably when you asked him to go down below. ".....Of course, is there a reason?"

"Of course, I want to see my partner's work up close." Harley couldn't help but crack a smile, he holds your hand, like always as if trying to form some sort of emotional power balance. Then his lips connect to your head, "I'd be happy to."

.....

What have you done?

Next

[fishbonex]

Sharp thoughts 2/2

Mel Medarda x fem!reader

Summary: Things are starting to turn around again.

Word Count: 0,8K

Warning: insecurities

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

When you realized the way you had spoken to Mel the day before, you wanted to disappear.

What were you thinking? How did you think it was appropriate to talk to a Counselor like that?

Burying your face in your hands, you sighed audibly. Maybe you should start packing your things.

Entering the lab was like committing a crime, walking through the halls was like being wanted. Well, it was all in your head, you knew, in a way. But nothing could stop it from becoming reality.

Losing your privileges and sponsorships, being expelled from your lab and being forgotten were things that could happen if you displeased one of the Council members.

With a dramatic groan, you leaned your head back against the workbench. The richest person in Piltover? You weren't thinking that at all.

At least you were lucky enough not to run into her in the days that followed, which gave you time to think about what to do.

But luck wasn't so great, it seems, because Heimerdinger requested a Council meeting with some of the scientists who occupied the main building. And of course you were among them.

Wearing your formal clothes was still stifling, even after all the time you had been in your profession. Walking and standing in front of the gigantic table with the most important people in the city was even worse.

And there she was. Sitting in all her glory. Her elegant, smooth demeanor was the same, but you didn’t miss the way her expression fell slightly when she laid her eyes on you.

You looked away and swallowed hard, waiting for your turn to speak, which didn't take long because Heimerdinger preferred to interrupt your colleagues whenever he got too excited about their projects.

"Oh yes, you! Come, come closer." he called in his usual cheerful tone of voice. "How are you, dear?"

"I'm very well, professor, thank you-"

"Well, that's great! I've read your latest study, a wonderful thing, I must say." he said, looking around the table, receiving a few nods of approval from the other members. "I hope to be able to read the next one soon, bring it to me as soon as you're done, yes?"

You automatically looked at Mel, since she was the one you took your studies to, she seemed uncomfortable, but remained silent.

"Yes, Professor, of course." you replied politely, clasping your hands in front of you.

"And your engineering projects? I heard from one of your colleagues that you joined him in continuing a magnificent project for the new building—" his cheerful voice was interrupted.

"What engineering projects? I haven't been informed of anything." Mel's voice sounded slightly irritated, different from her usual soft tone.

You turned your head towards her and looked at Heimerdinger again, he gave an encouraging nod and you began to explain yourself.

"It's one of my areas of expertise, which I'm starting to pursue. It's not my project, actually, I'm just going to make a contribution." your voice sounded timid.

"You didn't know? I thought you were her sponsor, Councilor." Jayce's voice came through and only then did you realize he was there.

"I am. One of the sponsors, actually. I demand that your projects be brought to me, it is my responsibility to bring them to the Council." she said it firmly, alternating her eyes between you and Heimerdinger, who just nodded resignedly.

Mel had never spoken to you like that. Giving orders like you were a clueless maid.

"Well." Heimerdinger cleared his throat. "This meeting is adjourned."

You didn't wait for any further orders, turning on your heel and walking quickly back to your lab, letting out a tired sigh as you closed the door behind you.

"Didn't you ever think to tell me you were involved in engineering?" Mel's melodious voice rang out the moment you entered her office in the Council building.

"You never asked me, counselor." you replied, trying to sound polite.

"Won't you stop this?" she raised her voice in annoyance, her pretty face twisting into an angry expression. "Please, we're adults."

You swallowed and nodded, "You're right. I feel really bad... about the way I spoke to you earlier. I shouldn't meddle in your personal relationships."

"You're a personal relationship of mine." she raised an eyebrow. "Don't apologize, I would have been the same way if I witnessed someone having... sexual intercourse."

You felt the back of your neck heat up and sighed, "You were in your house anyway. I'm the one who broke in."

"You didn't broke in, I made it clear that you could come in whenever you wanted. That remains the same." she walked around the table, the clicks of her heels becoming present. "I must also apologize for the way I conducted myself at the Council."

"There's no need-"

"Jayce is a good man, but my relationship with him is... carnal. And business-related." she took a few steps closer. "If that's what's keeping you from me."

"Counselor, I don't-"

"Don't tell me no. You don't want me anymore?" she reached out to pull your hands toward her.

"No one in their right mind would give up on you." you blurted out and widened your eyes slightly afterwards, earning a giggle from Mel.

"Well, that's great then." she hooked her arms around your neck and leaned her face down to you, pressing her delicate lips against yours.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 21

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16 • Part 17 • Part 18 • Part 19 • Part 20

• ··········· • ············ •

The night was bright, the moon and the stars illuminating the room at the Academy you were now standing in. You were sitting on a wheely bench, swaying from side to side, your fancy attire contrasting with the uniformed man sitting beside you. 

The blackboard in front of you was filled with a familiar chicken scratch. You grinned at it. Man is a genius, but gods forbid he wrote anything legible. There was a 3D schematic next to the list. 

"What was that shape again?" You asked, smiling mischievously, and heard the Zaunite scientist chuckle low after sighing.

"It is a dodecahedron."

"Say it again."

He snorted, looked you dead in the eye, and said it again, accentuating every syllable.

"Do-de-ca-he-dron."

"Sounds much better when you say it." You winked and saw his face redden quickly. It was cute, and you had recently found you enjoyed his cuteness. You wanted to pull this side of him out more.

You’d met a while ago; you being one of Jayce’s old friends, he took no time to introduce you to his new lab partner. And you two took no time in becoming entangled. You didn’t believe in love at first sight, but the attraction was there.

Looking away from the man, you studied the blackboard. Your head tilted to the side, your perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowing in curiosity.

You’d been drawn to it as soon as you entered the dark Tallis Lab. The dinner at the mansion had become boring, and you'd decided to disrupt Viktor's evening with your presence. Not that he minded; at least it wasn't what his tired smile told you when he opened the door to the lab to find you there, staring with an overly innocent smile on your face.

He had invited you in and told you to wait for a couple of minutes until he was done with his work. That had been an hour and a half ago, and at some point, he stopped apologizing.

And now here you were, hypnotically staring into a badly erased blackboard, with something written on it and a schematic that did nothing but fill you with curiosity. So much so that you got up from your seat next to Viktor to stand in front of it.

“It is not a painting in a museum, you know.” His voice came from behind you, the telltale sounds of him getting up and walking toward you loud in the empty lab.

"I do have to find something to do while waiting for a certain Undercity scientist to find out I'm waiting on him." You bit back at him and heard him chuckle as he limped towards you. “Besides, exactly how many museums have you ever visited?”

His hand snaked around your waist and stayed there, pulling you gently into him. You felt the scent of oil, parchment, and coffee coming out of him along with a smile on his lips as he breathed you in and nuzzled up to your neck, the ghost of a kiss near your ear making you smile.

"Maybe you'd like to take me to some sometime."

"Sure, should I schedule that before or after your 24-hour shift in the lab?" You looked sideways at him, and he shook his head; a tired sigh was the only thing that came out of him, though.

“What is it anyway?” You felt him place his chin on your shoulders, and you grabbed his forearm, making soft circles on his skin. “Not the shape…the whole thing.”

“The core facets of the arcane.” He simply hummed, his fingers drawing lazily, stroking your waist as he swayed you both gently from side to side. “It is for a project I’m working on. But most of these we add to the hex gems for them to work.”

"And what is this project you are working on?" He shrugged.

"I cannot say. If it all goes well, it can change everything."

"Everything?" He nodded confidently. "Well, reaching for the stars, aren't we?"

"Well, funny enough, one of those symbols is for the moon." He traced a symbol in the air, and you realized that the bullets from the bullet list were, in fact, symbols. 

“You need to get better at writing so that someone else can read it.” You squinted at the blackboard.

“Jayce can read it, and that's all that matters.” You felt him shrug nonchalantly.

If Viktor's words were a pain to read, the smaller scratches next to them were downright impossible to decipher. 

“What are they? The facets I mean.”

He straightened up but didn’t move, only adjusting his crutch and his grip on you to find a good position. The back of your head rested against his chest, and you felt his slow breathing.

“The first are the natural facets: air, earth, fire, and water. Then the heavenly bodies: the moon and the sun. And then the forces of magic: chaos and order.”

“That’s eight of them. The dodecahedron has twelve sides. You finished the question with a kiss on his jaw. 

“We are still trying to figure out the rest.”

“I guess you two have to do something inside this big room to warrant the absurd amount of money you are being given by the Academy.” You joked and looked at him as his eyes dropped to you disapprovingly. “I’m joking. Tell me more.”

“We have come to some conclusions.” He started, his voice becoming animated. “For example, magic in itself cannot kill or give life, because you cannot kill a rock or bring a rock to life. But if certain sediments find themselves in the right order, a rock can be created, the same way that if something chaotic happens in the process, the rock may not be a rock at all. It becomes corrupt.”

“Are we bribing a rock now?” You joked, and he moved his fingers on your waist, tickling you and making you shriek.

“Not that type of corruption. Think of it as any condition that can deteriorate something.”

“Why aren’t those two in there? Create and corrupt?”

“Chaos and order…”

“No…” you argued, lifting a finger to shush him. “Chaos and order are different things. Chaos doesn’t necessarily corrupt, and order doesn’t create. You can create through chaos and corrupt through order.”

Viktor stayed silent for a while, biting the inside of his cheek in contemplation. After a few minutes, he disentangled himself from you, and an impressed expression showed on his face, which you returned with a smug one. He walked over to the board and wrote what you assume were those two words with white chalk.

“If we add corruption as something that deteriorates…then we must add what deteriorates the most.” He pointed the chalk to you, and you raised your eyebrows. “Time.”

“If you add time, you might as well add space. Like... physical space... distances, dimensions, measurements, and whatnot.” You walked over to him, grabbed the chalk, and added your suggestion. "If you physically place a rock in a location with the right conditions, it can become a pebble."

“I’ll make a scientist out of you someday.” He grabbed your hand and placed the chalk on its little sill under the board.

“Yuck.” You grimaced dramatically. “And be stuck in this dark hole with y’all without getting the chance to leave whenever I want? Blah... thanks, I’ll pass.”

“I could make your time spent in this lab very much worth it." He took a small step towards you. "After hours, that is…”

You raised an eyebrow at his forwardness. This whole thing between you two was weeks long, and although Viktor's demeanor was a little cold and collected most of the time, he liked to throw these jabs just to see your reaction. 

“Why spend that time at the lab when there's a perfectly good mansion?” You grinned, and he rolled his eyes jokingly.

Viktor’s cold hands came up to your face and held it, gently looking into your eyes with a loopy, tired smile, his thumbs caressing your cheekbones. He moved a piece of hair from your forehead, gently caressed the space between your brows, and placed a kiss there. 

“What if it is just a little bedroom over at the Academy dorms?” He whispered into your ear, and you smiled, moving so you could look at him.

“It'll do, I guess...” You joked, and he laughed, grabbing your hand and moving you towards the workstation. 

You saw him go around the lab turning machines off, placing schematics in drawers. He grabbed his satchel and placed a couple of those in there with his notebook and pencil.

Before walking out the door, you looked back at the board, still curious about that subject. Your neat handwriting in the middle of Viktor's.

'Space'

"Are you hearing me?" Viktor asked, snapping you out of your reverie.

"No... I never do really. I'm just here for the pretty face." He blushed and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the lab, already rambling about the hexgate inauguration and how much he didn’t want to go.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies @iamfandomnerd

[librababe99]

Kinktober Day Seven: Hank McCoy

Hank McCoy (Beast) x Female Reader | Cunnilingus |

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, SMUT, Oral (F receiving)

Summary: Hank McCoy, brilliant scientist and X-Men member, has always maintained a professional demeanor—until his new lab assistant, you, begins to stir feelings he can no longer suppress.

wc: 1.1K

A/N: So I had written two versions of this...Hank in his human form and the other as beast. I know this is probably a "hear me out" moment but y'all hear me out!!

| Day six | | Kinktober Masterlist | | Day Eight |

The soft hum of machinery filled the air of the lab deep within the X-Mansion, where shelves lined with vials and beakers glowed faintly under the sterile light. Hank McCoy, though commonly known as Beast, was in his human form tonight. His towering, muscular frame leaned over the desk, his sharp blue eyes focused intently on the latest research data scrolling across his screen. Even in human form, he moved with remarkable grace, his large hands deftly handling the delicate instruments.

At the other end of the room, you were cataloging a series of mutant gene samples. It had been several months since you had joined the team as Hank’s lab assistant, your sharp intellect and quiet focus catching his attention almost immediately. Over the late-night work sessions, you’d both come to know each other well—your shared passion for science, your philosophical debates that lasted hours, and the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you.

But there was something else beneath the surface. You felt it every time Hank’s deep, gentle voice filled the room, a soothing sound that never failed to pull at something deep inside you. Or the way his gaze would linger, longer than it should, whenever you worked in silence together. The tension was there, simmering between you both, growing stronger with each passing day. Every accidental touch—his fingers brushing against yours when you passed him a tool—sent a spark through you that you couldn’t ignore. The quiet moments where his presence, even in his human form, filled the space between you, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

Tonight, the air in the lab felt heavier than usual, thick with unspoken words and feelings neither of you had dared to voice. The clock ticked closer to midnight, and the mansion was silent, save for the occasional creak in the walls. You looked up from your work, watching Hank’s silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of his monitor. His broad shoulders hunched over, his shirt stretching across his back as he typed away.

"Is everything okay?" you asked softly, breaking the quiet.

Hank looked up from his work, his intelligent eyes locking with yours across the room. For a moment, he said nothing, simply studying you with that deep, intense gaze that always made your heart flutter. Then, slowly, he stood, his tall form moving toward you with a deliberate grace that made your pulse quicken. The air between you thickened with anticipation, though you couldn’t yet name why.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say,” he began, his voice low, laced with an honesty you hadn’t heard before. He took a step closer, his large hand resting on the edge of the table near yours. “But I’ve struggled to find the right words."

You swallowed, feeling your heart race as his presence seemed to fill the room. He was close now, too close. His scent, warm and familiar, wrapped around you as he spoke, the deep timbre of his voice pulling you in.

"Over the past few months, I've realized just how much you mean to me. Not just as a colleague… but as someone I care about more than I should."

Your breath caught in your throat, a warmth spreading through your chest as his words sank in. You opened your mouth to respond, but Hank’s hand brushed against yours on the table, and the touch sent a shiver up your spine. His eyes darkened slightly, his pupils dilating as the tension between you two snapped into sharp focus.

"I've tried to ignore it, tried to remain professional, but…" he trailed off, his thumb grazing your hand gently, the simple contact electrifying your skin. "I can’t anymore."

Your body hummed with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. Slowly, you stood, turning to face him fully. His gaze bore into yours, his tall frame towering over you, yet the way he looked at you was anything but intimidating. It was raw, honest, filled with a desire he had been holding back for far too long.

"I feel the same," you whispered, the words spilling from your lips before you could stop them.

Hank’s breath hitched at your confession. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the air between you crackling with the weight of what you both knew was about to happen. Then, in one swift, decisive movement, Hank closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and full of unrestrained passion.

His hands, large and warm, cradled your face as his lips moved against yours, tender yet demanding. You melted into him, your body pressing against his, the heat of him searing through your clothes. You tangled your fingers in his dark, unruly hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, the quiet lab around you forgotten in the flood of desire that overwhelmed you both.

When you finally broke apart, both of you gasping for air, Hank’s forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy, his voice rough with need. "I want to show you," he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple, "just how much you mean to me."

Your heart raced as his hands slid down your sides, his touch firm but reverent, sending a pulse of heat straight to your core. Slowly, he sank to his knees before you, his gaze never leaving yours, his large hands holding your hips as though you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Hank…” you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure of what to expect.

But his hands were already moving, undoing the button of your pants with practiced ease. His fingers brushed against your skin as he slid them down your legs, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the sight of you, vulnerable and exposed before him.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Hank murmured, his breath ghosting over your thigh as he pressed a kiss to your skin, his lips soft and reverent. “To taste you… to make you feel good.”

Your body trembled at his words, the sheer need in his voice sending a flood of warmth through you. Slowly, Hank’s hands parted your thighs, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that made your heart pound. And then, without warning, his mouth was on you.

A gasp tore from your lips as his tongue slid against you, warm and insistent, his movements slow and deliberate, each stroke of his tongue sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You tangled your fingers in his hair, gripping it tightly as he worked, the pleasure building with each passing second.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as your legs trembled beneath his touch. Every sound that escaped your lips, every gasp and moan, seemed to spur him on, his growls of approval vibrating against your sensitive skin, driving you closer to the edge.

“Hank…” you gasped, your body tightening with anticipation, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. But he didn’t stop, his tongue sucking and swirling your clit with a precision only he could possess, pushing you higher and higher until—

Your climax hit you like a tidal wave, your body trembling as pleasure crashed over you. Hank continued, drawing out every last bit of pleasure he could, his tongue relentless until you were a quivering mess, gasping for breath.

Finally, when you were spent, he pulled back, his lips glistening with your release, his eyes filled with satisfaction and tenderness as he rose to his feet. He pulled you into his arms, his embrace strong yet gentle, his breath still heavy against your ear.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered, his voice soft as he held you close. “And I’ll never stop showing you that.”

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, knowing that Hank had just shown you, in the most intimate way possible, just how much you truly meant to him.

Taglist: @roguespinach @lovemaildumpsterfire @nyxoneiros @omgurhot @5soscrack @superstar-lover863-blog @Therealnekomari @ahreumnim @iloved1lfs0

[agaypanic]

hi omg i got so excited when i saw you were doing egon spengler x reader aaaa! could you do egon and an personality opposite reader? he's all serious and deadpan while she's happy and upbeat (it'd be cool if she was the new girl in the team and had a crush on him). sort of like a "she fell first, he fell harder" situation?

The Sunlight On My Spores (Egon Spengler X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: The new addition to the ghostbuster’s team is a ray of sunshine, and she has her sights on a scientist with an interest in fungi and the supernatural.

A/N: AHHHHH ive been waiting for an egon/ghostbuster request!!! since i havent written for egon before, i hope i get his character right lol also idk shit about science/paranormal jargon. and idk if eegs is spelled the way it should but it’s pronounced ee-gs, like egon but s instead of on

***

Joining the Ghostbusters definitely brought amusement and hecticness to your daily life. Although you handled more of the office work, you had seen your fair share of the paranormal action. Namely Slimer, who would get ahold of your lunch every now and then.

Ray was the first on the team that you had met, being the one to interview you. You liked to call him ‘Sun-Ray’ for his bright and positive personality.

You were pretty much hired on the spot, mainly because Janine had been complaining about the lack of extra help. But as long as you had a steady paycheck, you didn’t mind. Ray had immediately showed you around the firehouse. You met Peter and Winston on the main floor, the former being flirtatious and the latter being more polite in his welcoming. 

Then Ray took you up to the second floor, where the dining area, sleeping quarters, and lab were.

That’s where you met Egon Spengler. His tall frame was hunched over one of the lab’s many workbenches, doing some soldering work on a proton pack.

“Spengs!” Ray said with a wide grin, bringing you over to the scientist. The man in question set down the soldering iron and straightened up, adjusting his glasses as he turned around.

“What is it, Ray?” He asked in a somewhat monotone voice. He glanced at you, furrowing his brows slightly before looking back at his friend. “Who’s this?”

“This is Y/n, our new recruit!” Ray replied enthusiastically, patting you on the shoulder. 

“Ah, so you’ve filled the new receptionist position.” He said, giving you a once-over. “Janine will be happy to hear that.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Spengler.” You greeted with a smile. He outreached his hand, which you grasped firmly and gave a few shakes. His hand was slightly calloused, probably from his work, but still felt nice.

“Egon’s fine.”

“I’ve read a few of your papers on paranormal studies; I think the whole thing’s fascinating.” 

Some of his research papers weren’t the only thing of Egon’s you’ve seen. Ever since the Ghostbusters had gained some popularity, you couldn’t help but find him quite cute, spending an extra few seconds looking at him whenever a picture of the group was in your newspaper or on your television screen. 

And he was definitely even more handsome in person.

“Well then, you’ve definitely come to the right place.” Ray grinned, but your focus was still on the spectacled man before you.

“Thank you, that’s very flattering.” Although his voice was a bit monotonous, the response was genuine. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to check on my spore samples.”

“Spore samples?” You asked with curiosity.

“Yes. I collect spores, molds, and fungus.” 

“That sounds like fun!” Egon was a bit taken aback by your response. That wasn’t a reply he was used to hearing. And the fact that you sounded genuine and peppy was even more confusing to him. 

Ray, wanting to show you the rest of the firehouse, started to pull you away. You gave a quick goodbye to Egon before bounding down the stairs after Ray. Meanwhile, Egon needed to take a second to get his befuddled thoughts straight before he could tend to his samples.

***

You fell into a routine pretty quickly. The job was mainly making appointments and ensuring the boys were ready for a call, scheduled or unexpected. Occasionally, you filed paperwork or got coffee for everyone at odd hours in the day. But because the job was shared between you and Janine, you often had at least a little bit of free time.

“Got another one!” Peter announced as he stepped out of the Ecto-1 that had just rolled into the firehouse, holding up a slightly smoking trap. As Winston and Ray emerged from the car, you wondered if Peter had been wearing a poncho because he was the only one not covered at least halfway in goo. “He was a real slimy one, too.”

“I can tell.” You laughed as Ray and Winston peeled out of their uniforms with a grimace. 

“You’re back.” Egon’s voice almost made you jump; you hadn’t realized he had come down from the lab. He walked until he was standing next to you, holding his hand out towards the ghost trap. “I’ll take that, Peter. Ray, come with me, I want to discuss the containment facility with you.”

“What about it?” Ray asked as he closed his locker. Egon brushed past you to walk down to the basement, Ray close behind.

Not wanting to be caught staring at Egon’s leaving form, you whipped back around to the car. It seemed that Winston and Ray weren’t the only ones who got slimed. Poor Ecto.

“I think I’m gonna clean the car.” You thought aloud. “You guys don’t have any more calls until tomorrow.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Y/n,” Winston said. 

“Well, someone’s gotta do it,” Peter interjected. “We gotta ride in style, after all.���

“Really, Winston, I don’t mind.” You insisted. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Suit yourself.” He said with a shrug.

Patting you on the shoulder, Winston went upstairs to take a shower. While Peter hung up his jumpsuit, you looked around in a storage closet for car washing supplies.

“Y/n?” You looked towards the sound of the voice, seeing Egon peeking out of the basement entrance.

“Yeah, Eegs?”

“You, uh-” He cleared his throat, cheeks going slightly pink, and you wondered why. “You can wear my jumpsuit, if you want. So your clothes don’t get dirty.”

You grinned, straightening up from your slightly bent position. Peter raised a brow at Egon, although you couldn’t see that because you were also looking at the tall man.

“Thanks, Egon!”

He nodded once before going back downstairs, Peter hot on his tail. 

“You sweet on her or something, Spengs?” He asked quietly, not wanting to gain your attention.

“Shut up, Venkman.”

***

Music blasted as you washed the soap suds of the Ecto-1. You were pretty sure everyone was out of the building, either getting lunch or just not wanting to be in the firehouse. You had taken Egon up on his offer, his jumpsuit fitting very baggy on you. You had to roll up the sleeves and pantlegs, but you didn’t mind. Especially when seeing the patch with his last name on your chest.

Over the music and your own voice singing along to Whitney Houston, you didn’t hear Egon walking down the stairs. When he reached the bottom step, he watched as you jumped around to the beat. 

“I need a man who’ll take the chance, on a love that burns hot enough to last.” You sprayed the last of the soap off the front of the car before turning the hose off. “So when the night falls, my lonely heart calls. Ohh- Oh!” You yelped in surprise as you turned around, seeing Egon, who was still looking at you. His eyes trailed up and down your form, but it was so quick that you didn’t notice. “Hey, Eegs! I thought you’d gone out with the others.” Even after turning down the radio to hear his response, you still danced a bit. Although, your movements were a bit more subdued.

“I was up in the lab, checking on my fungi.” 

“Oh! Was the music distracting you?” You asked, already sounding apologetic. “I can keep it down if you-”

“No!” Egon answered quickly, taking the both of you by surprise. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “No, the music’s fine. I wanted a snack and found that we were out of Twinkies, so I was going to get some.” 

You nodded in understanding, moving to put away the car cleaning supplies that you were no longer using. And then you noticed that Egon hadn’t made any move to leave. You looked over your shoulder, seeing that he was standing in the same spot with eyes darting around the room, and turned back around to face him. You tilted your head with a questioning look.

“Would you, ahem, would you like to come with me?” He seemed a bit shy to ask, and it made you smile brightly. “Wouldn’t want to leave you here all alone and all.”

“Sure!” You answered enthusiastically. “Lemme just put all this away.” 

Without asking, Egon helped you gather everything and put it in the storage closet. You unrolled the limbs of Egon’s uniform, and he couldn’t help but admire you in his attire, despite how much the fabric consumed you. It was hung back up in his locker with care before you grabbed your purse from your desk and skipped over to him.

“Ready?” You nodded, and the two of you walked out of the firehouse. Without thinking, you looped your arm through his. But before you could pull away and apologize for not asking, he was already pulling you along the sidewalk, the tiniest hint of a smile on his serious face.

[podiumackles]

the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 1

A/N: New fic? New fic! This man has me in a chokehold, I'm not even going to lie. I will try to actually finish this one. promise. English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: not much in this chapter. hostage holding, mentions of being a lab rat, violence, swearing, soldier boy (yes, this man should be considered a warning). possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

Solitude. Besides the regular visits from the scientists, you hadn’t seen a single person in over thirty years. Or was it forty? In all honesty, you had lost count after the first ten.

The bright light flickered as you leaned against the cold, metal wall of your cell, memories swirling like ghosts in your mind. Once, you had been a soldier. A person with a voice. But all that was ripped away when Vought was done. When they handed you to the Russians. When they completely stripped you of your identity and ripped you from your life as a hero.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a loud clamp, the creaking of a metal door, followed by heavy footsteps. There was no access to time in your cell, but it wasn't hard to recognize patterns and count the hours you were up for the next experiment.

And now was not that time.

As the door creaked open, a shadow fell across your cell. You squinted against the harsh light to focus on the figure standing there, face illuminated by the LED lights above him. Your heart rate picked up slightly, and you unwillingly tugged against the restraints keeping you chained to the floor.

Memories flooded back — laughter shared in the trenches, the camaraderie of battle, the promise of loyalty. But that was before Vought twisted everything into a nightmare. Before he got rid of all that was between you.

As Soldier Boy stepped closer, you realized it was only a shell of the man you once knew. His eyes, once filled with the tiniest bit of kindness towards you, were now clouded with confusion.

With force, you tried to speak up, but quickly realised you hadn't truly uttered anything except screams in a while.

“Well, if it isn't the man who got away.”

Ben looked around before he approached your cell, the glass door the only separation between you. You took the opportunity to look at him properly. This certainly was the man you had once fought alongside, but even if he had been held captive for decades, his features hadn't changed much. His auburn hair was now slightly longer, and a neatly trimmed beard covered the lower half of his face.

“Who the hell are you?” His words stung like a knife, and for a second, you felt like he might as well have hit you with his heavy shield.

“Right. They made you forget,” you murmured as you tore your gaze away from him, head leaning back against the cold wall. “Typical Vought.”

“I’m asking you one more time, lady,” he shot you a daring glance, as if trying to project his dominance despite the fact you were literally locked up. “Who the hell are you? Are you Vought’s newest lab rat?”

“Don’t call me a damn lab rat.” You spat shortly, pointing at nobody in particular.

Ben furrowed his brow, his confusion deepening as he studied you, the spark of recognition failing to ignite in his eyes. The man you had once known—had once fought beside—was buried beneath decades of manipulation, both of your bodies now broken artefacts in Vought's collection.

“They told me you got out, you know,” you started as you realised he wasn't going to speak up first. “Hell, they let me feel that you escaped the labs.”

Ben's face twisted, the sharp edge of suspicion cutting through his once-confident demeanour. He narrowed his eyes as if searching your face for something he should remember but couldn't grasp.

“I don’t care who they told,” he took another step forward, his boots echoing in the empty hallway. The only view you’ve had for decades. “Especially not if they told some rogue kid.”

“Read my fucking sign, Ben. My date of birth is literally there.” You spat, emphasising on his name. Of course, he wasn’t aware you knew of that. Nobody did. Except for his team. Except for you.

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

Before you could even answer, another set of heavy boots entered the room.

“Oi.”

Ben's eyes darted to the newcomer, who emerged from the shadows at the doorway. The figure was stocky and imposing, his gruff voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The bearded man couldn't resist looking at the sign, whereas Ben chose to ignore it. “Fury,” he stated matter-of-factly as he took his place next to Soldier Boy. “They told everyone you died, you know? But then again, Vought is very good at convincing.”

The name felt foreign to you now, like a relic from another life. Fury—back when you had a purpose. When you weren’t just an experiment trapped in this cold prison of time. But the name still held power. It connected you to a past they had tried to erase, a past Ben was now seemingly detached from.

You studied the newcomer. His presence exuded dominance in a way that Soldier Boy’s arrogance couldn’t touch. Where Ben was brash and impulsive, this man seemed calculating, like he could snap you in half with a flick of his wrist but would choose not to—for now.

"Who are you?" you rasped, your voice a broken shadow of what it once was. You didn't recognize him, but there was something about him that made you wary.

"Name's Butcher," he replied, his gaze not leaving you. “And we’re here to retrieve you.

Butcher’s cold stare seemed to cut right through you, his posture rigid and alert as if he expected you to lash out at any moment. The way he carried himself was different from anyone else you had seen in these halls. He wasn’t afraid of Vought—or of you.

After the words had left Butcher’s lips, Soldier Boy seemed to snap, and he was not afraid to show it. The way he grabbed the collar of the man next to him made you flinch. It wasn't like you've never seen Ben lash out before, but it never failed to make you tense just the tiniest bit. Being brought back to the time when you were on the receiving end.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Butcher?”

Butcher didn’t flinch as Soldier Boy grabbed him, his face betraying nothing but a cold, calculating smirk. He met Ben’s glare head-on, the tension between the two men growing thicker with each passing second.

“Easy there, mate,” Butcher said, his voice as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “You’re all pent up, I get it. But this ain’t the time for a bloody tantrum.”

Ben’s grip tightened, his nostrils flaring as he leaned in closer, his breath hot with barely restrained rage. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Butcher, but I’m not here for your shit. What the hell do you mean ‘retrieve her’? We were here to retrieve information on how to take down Vought.”

Butcher’s eyes flickered toward you, and he spoke as if you weren’t still bound in chains, trapped behind glass. “Vought’s been keeping her under wraps for a long time. You want to take down Vought? There’s your information. And now we’re here to pull her out. Simple as that.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your restraints, your wrists raw from years of confinement. "What do you want?" you asked, your voice low but steady, trying to hold onto whatever strength you had left.

Butcher’s lip curled slightly, his eyes narrowing as soldier boy set a couple of steps back reluctantly.

"What do I want?" he echoed as if amused by the question. "I want the same thing you do. To watch Vought burn to the ground.”

“What’s in it for you?” you only dared to ask. Butcher chuckled darkly, his gaze sharpening as he locked eyes with you.

"What's in it for me? Oh, love, let's just say I've got a personal stake in seeing Vought crumble into dust. But I ain't here for a heart-to-heart. I'm here because you and him, Fury, might be the key to blowing this whole bloody operation wide open."

His words hung in the cold air of the cell, heavy with promise and menace. He wasn’t just some random mercenary or someone acting out of charity—this was personal for him. Soldier Boy, still tense and bristling beside him, seemed less convinced.

“You’re saying she’s got intel on Vought? Enough to take them down?” Soldier Boy’s voice had a sceptical edge to it as if he didn’t quite believe this was worth the trouble.

Butcher shot him a sidelong glance. "More than intel. You and her are living proof of what Vought’s done in secret for decades. And Fury here—she's one of their finest projects."

The way he said “projects” made your skin crawl, reminding you of the years spent under Vought’s control, your abilities twisted, and exploited. But you pushed the feeling down, focusing instead on the conversation.

Butcher leaned in closer to the glass, his voice dropping low. "Vought’s been running a program, a little something they like to keep off the books. Soldiers, supers, experiments—the whole works. They’ve been breeding killers, Fury. And you—you’ve been in the belly of the beast long enough to know exactly what they’ve been up to."

You clenched your jaw, old anger bubbling to the surface. “They don't tell me anything.” you admitted, your voice rough. You didn't want this. You didn't want to be back with him.

But most of all, you just wanted out. You didn't care who you had to betray to make that work.

“But I picked up enough.” It was a simple lie you had told. Of course, you knew what Vought had been up to. You and Ben had been living proof of it. But you knew better than to turn against the people who experimented on you in the first place. You just wanted revenge on the reason you were here.

Butcher’s smile turned vicious. “That’s all I need to hear. You tell us what you know, and we’ll make sure Vought pays for every bloody thing they’ve done to you. To all of us.”

Soldier Boy crossed his arms, clearly still on edge. “And what makes you think she’s gonna play along? She’s been locked up here for god knows how long. Might be more Vought’s weapon than you think.”

“So were you, mate.”

You locked eyes with Ben, a flood of bitter memories surging up as you spoke. "You really don't remember, do you?" The weight of your words hung heavy between you.

Butcher interrupted, his voice cold and calculating. "Whether you like it or not, we could use ‘er. You might not remember, but I reckon she’s got more to offer than just bein’ another lab rat."

"Shut the fuck up," Ben snapped, his voice wavering with frustration. "If I don’t know her, I don’t care. End of story."

But it wasn't the end for you.

It would never be the end for you.

You took a deep breath. "Let me out," you demanded, the last ounce of your strength fueling your voice. "And we take down Vought, together."

Ben shot you a look, his expression hardening. "Why should I trust you?"

You met his gaze, unflinching. "Because, like it or not, I’m the only one who remembers who we really are."

A tense silence filled the room as the weight of your words settled in. Butcher crossed his arms, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Well, then. What’s it gonna be, Soldier Boy?"

“I don’t fucking care. Figure it out.”

His words were sharp. Short. And not a single ounce of caring outlined the roughness of them.

With that, he straightened his back, tightened his grip on his shield, and left the room.

“So,” Butcher said, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. “How about we get you out of those bloody chains, and you tell us what Vought’s been hiding all this time?”

You didn't dare to have hope. But you dared to feel the slightest bit of fury.

A/N: i know she's short. and i know this might probably not make a whole lot of sense?? but i try. it's been so long that i've written that it still feels kinda foreign, so feedback is greatly appreciated!

thanks for reading <3

[redroomreflections]

Paint It Black Chapter 5 - Behind Enemy Lines

Teen Natasha Romanoff x Teen Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has never known love—or at least, that’s what she tells herself. During her time in the Red Room, she encountered a girl whose memory was forcibly erased from her mind. Now, as an Avenger, she faces a new enemy who turns out to be more than just a threat; they share a tangled history that challenges everything Natasha thought she knew about herself and love.

Chapter Summary: Natasha learns that she and R aren't friends

W/c: 4.5k

Warnings: This is a dark story, so read at your own risk. Mentions/hints of SA, violence, guns, and abuse. We're exploring the Red Room and Natasha's origins, kind of.

Note: This chapter is the last one I had fully written before. So, be prepared for slower updates on this.

It’s late, later than usual, for Melina to be working. The sun had long since set, and most of the scientists in the lab had retreated to their sleeping quarters. The corridors outside were quiet, save for the faint echo of footsteps from patrolling guards.

While Melina remained, she was too dedicated to her work to stop now. She absentmindedly adjusted the cuff of her lab coat as she leaned over the microscope, jotting down quick notes. The faint blue glow of the computer monitor cast sharp shadows across her face, deepening the lines of focus that seemed to be permanently etched into her brow.

Another failed batch. The data blinking back at her confirmed what she already suspected. Still too unstable. Still too many variables. Dreykov would not be pleased.

She sighed quietly, rolling her neck to relieve the settled stiffness. The test pig stirred restlessly in the cage across the room, sensing her presence.

“You’re still awake too,” she murmured under her breath, her voice softer then, almost warm, as if speaking to the animal anchored her somehow. Melina returned to her notes, methodically crossing out dosages and recalculating figures. She was already thinking of adjustments—how to make the serum more precise and eliminate the cognitive dissonance in the subjects' brains. How to make obedience effortless.

The sound of footsteps outside the lab door snapped her out of her thoughts.

One of the junior researchers peered in, hesitant. "Comrade Vostokoff? It’s almost midnight."

Melina didn't look up. "Go. Get some sleep."

"But—"

She cut him off with a glance sharp enough to send him retreating without another word. She didn’t have the patience tonight.

She returned her eyes to the computer screen, squinting at the figures and notes from previous dates, when she heard the door swing open again.

"I thought I said good night," Melina spoke, irritation bleeding through her words. She looked up to see Nora standing there with a notebook in hand.

"I hope I'm not distracting you," Nora stepped further inside, her voice measured, almost careful.

Melina blinked at her, her irritation slightly softening, though she didn’t say so. Nora rarely appeared in the lab at this hour—always observant, always keeping her distance unless she had a reason.

"You should be asleep," Melina said simply, leaning back from the monitor. "It's late."

Nora offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe you'd let me sit in. Watch."

Melina studied her momentarily, weighing whether to send her away like the others. But Nora stood steady under the scrutiny, notebook clutched tightly at her side, eyes flickering only once toward the monitor.

"You’re not here just to watch," Melina said, quiet but knowing.

Nora shrugged, but there was tension behind it. "I wanted to see the new data for myself. The last batch failed."

Melina’s lips twitched at that—not quite amusement, but close. "You’ve been paying attention. This isn't your field of work, Doctor."

Nora didn't answer. Her gaze darted between Melina and the monitor. She swallowed, her fingers tightening around the notebook.

Melina narrowed her eyes, taking in the subtle changes in Nora's expression. She was nervous. Uncomfortable. And Melina could tell it wasn't just from being in the lab after hours.

"Is there something else?"

"You've been away," Nora admitted. "I just wanted to check in on you."

Melina tilted her head at that. For the past month, Dreykov had sent her away on business. The details were confidential, as usual, but Melina had spent much of the month in the field with Widows, working on various projects. She knew Nora would have noticed. She noticed everything.

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" Nora pressed, and her voice was softer than usual.

Melina stared at her. She didn't respond.

"I've met one of your girls," Nora said, and Melina perked up. "She's sweet."

"Yelena?" She asked.

"Natasha," Nora shook her head. "Seems that Dreykov is taking her under his wing."

Melina’s expression didn’t shift much, but Nora caught the subtle way her fingers paused over the keyboard—a faint look in her eyes.

“Natasha,” Melina echoed as if testing how the name felt. She hadn't seen it much since she returned from Ohio. She tried to erase her memories of the girls out of her head. They were better off without her.

Nora nodded, observing her. “She’s sharp. Observant. Quiet, but not out of fear.”

Melina said nothing, returning her gaze to the monitor. The data in front of her suddenly seemed less important.

“You said Dreykov’s taking interest?” Melina asked, voice-controlled.

Nora flipped her notebook closed, resting it on the table. “Yes. I heard them speaking. He likes girls who don’t flinch.”

That earned a slight twitch at the corner of Melina’s mouth—whether it was pride, worry, or something else, Nora couldn’t quite tell.

“She’s too young for that,” Melina murmured, more to herself.

“We were younger,” Nora reminded gently. "How was the field?" She asked, changing the subject.

Melina shrugged. "Successful. He's satisfied."

"That's good," Nora nodded, but she couldn't help how her eyes searched Melina's as if looking for something more.

"How's your girl?" Melina asked, seeing the same look in Nora's eyes that she'd been sporting a few moments before. Nora’s fingers brushed absently over the cover of her notebook, but her focus stayed on Melina.

“She’s still so young,” Nora said, almost an afterthought. “They all are.”

Melina’s jaw tightened slightly, her eyes returning to the screen before she leaned back in her chair. “Dreykov prefers them young. Easier to mold."

Nora gave a quiet laugh, humorless. “And harder to break. Or so he thinks.”

“You shouldn’t care about her,” Melina reminded her. 

They both knew better. Neither had the right to feel ownership over you or Natasha being in the program. The Red Room didn’t permit attachments—it trained them out of you and punished any signs of weakness. Nora’s eyes didn’t waver. “Neither should you.”

Melina’s mouth curved into something faintly resembling a smile but didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I don’t,” she lied smoothly.

Nora nodded, accepting the lie as it was given. “Neither do I.”

Alone. And in this quiet, they could admit what they couldn’t anywhere else: that maybe they did care in whatever fractured, guarded way they knew how.

“She keeps her guard up,” Nora murmured again, softer this time. “Not because of me, but because she knows better.”

Melina's gaze flickered, something unreadable passing over her features. “They all learn eventually.”

Nora swallowed, letting that settle. She glanced at the clock on the wall—far past midnight now.

“I should go,” she said, standing and tucking the notebook under her arm.

Melina didn’t argue.

******

It’s the third time you’d watched that particular movie.

It was practically ingrained into your brain—the overly bright colors, the overemotional voices, the storyline you could recite in your sleep. Another movie you hated. Another lesson you were expected to absorb.

A damsel in distress. A girl too soft, too trusting, too naive. And, of course, a man would come and save her. Always a man.

Your lips moved silently, matching the characters' dialogue before the sound reached your ears. The instructors watched from the side, arms folded, waiting for the moment you slipped up—waiting for the accent to falter, the rhythm to break.

You didn't. None of you did. Not then.

They made sure of that.

Each of you mimicked the sing-song American cadence perfectly, the way your tongue curled right on certain words, the exact pitch of surprise or fear when the girl on screen gasps over and over until it is second nature. Until it was indistinguishable from real.

You glanced sideways at the others, expression carefully blank. No conversation was allowed during these sessions. Just repetition. Watching. Parroting. Learning how to sound like something you were not.

Someone you were not. Your back ached from the folding chair you'd been given, prompting you to stretch a little higher in your seat. You disliked Snow White.

Too much happiness. Too much hope. The girl was too trusting, and everyone knew how that turned out.

You were never allowed to talk about what you were watching or learning. What they wanted you to become. But you did anyway. This was the portion ofthe  class you almost enjoyed. The part where each of you would take turns practicing with a partner—mimicking the lines, the tone, the accent until it was second nature. No one could tell the difference between you and some average American girl.

“Romanoff,” the instructor barked, eyes scanning the room before landing on you. “With Y/L/N.”

You caught Natasha’s gaze across the room as she stood, her face unreadable. You knew better, though. Knew the sharpness in her eyes wasn’t just from the drill.

It felt purposeful. They deliberately paired you two, watching and waiting for something to happen. Rumors flew fast in the Red Room. Word around the compound was Natasha was taking your place and had been since you'd started privately training her.

You stood slower than you should have, weighing it.

And then you spoke before you could stop yourself.

“I’d like to switch.”

The room went still.

A few heads snapped toward you—eyes widening just slightly before they quickly refocused on the floor. No one asked to switch.

The instructor arched a brow, stepping toward you until his boots stopped right before you. "Who do you want instead?” he asked finally, voice clipped.

It was a test. Everything here was a test.

You flicked your eyes past Natasha, settling on a girl two rows over—one who wouldn’t challenge you. One who wouldn’t look at you like Natasha did like she knew the parts of you you’d rather keep buried.

“That one,” you answered simply.

A pause. Too long.

But then the instructor nodded once. “Fine.”

He snapped his fingers at the girl and motioned for her to move. She did, her eyes wide, darting between you and the instructor.

He gave the command, and you started over, the girl beside you stammering as you mimicked the lines perfectly.

You could feel Natasha's eyes burning into the side of your head, but you didn’t turn.

*****

The hallways were always eerily quiet during transitions. No one said a word as they shuffled to whichever classroom they belonged to. The silence was suffocating and suffering, depending on how you viewed it. In a sea of girls, Natasha couldn't shake the irritation in her chest. You had ignored her entirely this whole day. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much.

She tried to tell herself it was just another part of the game they played here—getting inside each other’s heads, testing limits. But it still didn't sit right with her, that moment when you chose another girl. Not because it made her feel insignificant—she wasn’t the type for that—but because you decided to distance yourself. She could see you just a few feet ahead, an invisible space around you, as the other girls tried to keep their distance. Even when you didn't try, they acted like you were the odd one.

"Why’d you do it?" Natasha asked finally, her voice quiet but sharp enough to break the stillness between you two.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you kept walking, gaze fixed ahead as if you hadn’t heard her.

“Why?” she repeated, slowing her pace to match yours.

You glanced at her briefly, eyes flicking up to meet hers, but only for a second before they quickly dropped back to the floor. “Just didn’t feel like working with you,” you muttered, the words half-distracted as if you didn’t mean them.

It stung, though. And Natasha wasn’t sure if you were even aware of it.

“Did I do something?” she pressed, her voice softer now, but there was still an edge to it.

You stopped walking, turning to face her. You were quiet for a moment, staring down at her, before you stepped forward, closing the space between you.

"Why are you still talking to me, Romanoff?" You asked quietly, the words a little too cold, a little too distant. "You're the one who doesn't need my help anymore."

Natasha stared at you. She didn’t know how to respond. "I don't understand what you mean."

"You are so naive," You shook your head.

"Is this how you treat your friends?" Natasha tilted her head. "Is this what friends do?"

“Friends?” The word tasted foreign in your mouth. “What do you know about friends? We don’t get friends here. We get missions.” You bit the word off like it was a curse. “You’re just... another assignment. Another thing Dreykov wants us to do.”

Your voice was colder than you intended. It came out more venomous than you'd meant, but the anger had already crept in. Natasha’s eyes flickered with something—disappointment? Confusion?

But that was the thing you couldn’t allow. You couldn’t afford to care. Not about her. Not about anyone.

“I’m not some charity case, Romanoff,” you continued, stepping even closer to her and narrowing your eyes. “I don’t need you to ‘save’ me. And I don’t need you looking at me like you understand a damn thing about me.”

"I understand that you're afraid," Natasha began.

"Oh, no, we are not doing this here," You shook your head.

"Then come with me, and we can talk elsewhere," Natasha challenged.

You glared at her, not moving.

Natasha rolled her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Fine."

She grabbed your wrist and started tugging you along with her.

"Let go!" You hissed.

"No, because if I do, you'll run away."

Natasha's grip tightened as she dragged you further down the corridor, the other girls parting to let you both through. You glared at them, and they quickly averted their gazes.

You should've pulled your hand free. You should've resisted. But somehow, you let her lead you anyway.

"This isn't necessary," you muttered, trying to pull your hand away, but she gripped tighter.

"It is, though," Natasha insisted.

"How?" You scoffed.

"Because if I didn't force you to listen, you wouldn't. Because if I didn't drag you away from here, people would have surrounded us."

Natasha pulled you into an empty room, glancing around quickly before shutting the door.

"We're alone now. Talk."

You swallowed hard, avoiding her eyes. "Talk about what?"

"About the fact that you're acting weird and ignoring me."

"You really are naive," You shook your head.

"Stop calling me that," Natasha growled.

"What's it like being so good at everything?"

Natasha's face twisted, confused. "What?"

"Being Dreykov's new eye candy," you continued. "Getting the attention you want. Making him smile."

Natasha blinked, trying to make sense of it. "Is that why you're acting like this?"

"Acting like what? You're not my friend, Romanoff. You're competition."

"So this is what you're like," Natasha scoffed. "You're jealous."

"No, I'm not." You denied. "I tried to warn you how he is. I've given you every single tip I could, and you keep running into him. What makes you so special?"

"He's taken an interest in me," Natasha explained. "I can't fight that."

"He doesn't care about you, Romanoff," You spat. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself."

"What are you scared of?"

"You're the one who should be scared," You sighed, settling onto a desk. "He's planning to send you on a mission soon."

Natasha froze. Her mind immediately went to everything you'd warned her about before.

"What do you mean?"

"It's why he's having me spend so much time with you. Why he wants you so close," You explained.

"How do you know this?" Natasha asked. "Why wouldn't he tell me?"

"He wants it to be unexpected, I guess," You shrugged. "It's not uncommon."

Natasha looked up, meeting your eyes. "Have you done this before?"

"His missions," You nodded. "Of course I have."

Natasha swallowed, the words heavy in her stomach. "Is that what the other girls call me? His newest girl?"

"They call you a lot of things," You murmured, averting your gaze.

"Like what?" Natasha asked.

"Like you're lucky, or maybe stupid," You paused, chewing on your bottom lip. "They think that's why you're suddenly getting special treatment. They don't know like I know."

Natasha studied your face for a moment. "And what is it that you know?"

"I know how he gets," You folded your arms across your chest.

"You're always so vague," Natasha sighed. "Why can't you just tell me what this mission is about?"

"It's painful sometimes to talk about," You admitted quietly. "I don't have anyone to talk about it with. I'm not supposed to trust you."

Natasha’s brow furrowed at your last words, the soft confession slipping out before you could bite it back. "You're not supposed to trust me," she repeated slowly. "But you do?"

You stared at her, jaw tight, arms still crossed like armor. You weren’t sure if it was trust, but it wasn’t distrust. You weren’t supposed to let anyone close. But somehow, she kept inching past the walls anyway.

"I don't know," you muttered finally. "Maybe I’m just tired."

Natasha tilted her head, voice quieter now. "Tired of what?"

Of course, you didn’t answer. Instead, you shifted.

"You don’t want to know what his missions are like," you said, voice low and flat. "It’s not something you come back from the same."

Natasha swallowed hard, her hands shaking slightly at her sides. She knew what you were implying. She knew how bad it could get, but hearing you say it...

"You don't think I can handle it?"

"You think too highly of yourself," You shook your head.

Natasha flinched, hurt. She hadn't realized until then how badly she wanted you to believe in her.

"At the sparring session tomorrow, throw it," You spoke after a beat of silence.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, confused. "Throw what?"

"The match. He's watching," You shrugged. "You need to make him angry."

Natasha stared at you, uncomprehending. "I don't—"

"Make him mad, and he won't send you," You said, cutting her off. "Trust me."

"How will I know?" Natasha asked.

"You won't."

Her brows knitted together, frustration mounting. She wanted to shake you. To demand more than half-formed answers and vague warnings.

"You're not making any sense."

"That's the point," You sighed.

Natasha stared at you, her jaw clenching. "You're asking me to lose on purpose," she said like she needed to hear it aloud to believe it.

You didn’t flinch. Just gave a slight nod, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"But why?" she pressed. "Why does it matter if I win or lose?"

You hesitated. "Because if you win, you’ll prove something to him. That you’re ready."

"And if I lose?" she asked, voice sharp.

You shrugged again, but your posture was stiff now—too casual to be real. "Then maybe you’ll get to stay a little longer. Maybe he’ll decide you’re not worth the effort."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, mind racing. She couldn’t piece together why you cared so much—why you’d rather she humiliate herself in front of the others, risk punishment, to avoid catching Dreykov’s attention.

Her throat felt tight. "What about you?"

You blinked, caught off guard.

"If I throw it," she said carefully, "what happens to you?"

For a second, your expression cracked—just slightly. Something flickered there, something too fast to name.

"I can handle it," you murmured, voice almost flat.

Natasha shook her head, stepping closer. "Why are you doing this?"

You didn’t answer, eyes hard as stone now. Guard back up.

Natasha exhaled shakily. "You’re not telling me something."

"You don’t need to know everything," you said softly, but something bitter was under the words. "Just do what I told you." With that, you left her with her thoughts, knowing you were late for your next class.

*********

The mat smelled faintly of sweat and old rubber. The other girl, Irina, circled Natasha like she was sizing her for something bigger. Natasha was quick on her feet, sharper than usual. Every movement practiced was efficient. She was winning, and they both knew it.

But then—

"At the sparring session tomorrow, throw it."

Your voice crept in, steady, certain. It lodged somewhere in the back of her head.

Natasha feinted left and landed a sharp hit on Irina’s ribs. Irina stumbled but recovered fast. Natasha could end this. She should end this.

She didn't.

Instead, Natasha pulled back. Letting her strikes land softer. Slower. Testing.

Her eyes flicked up once—to the far end of the room. A shadow near the door. Watching. Not moving. Just there.

Her pulse kicked.

She pivoted wrong on purpose, leaving her side exposed. Irina didn't hesitate and landed a blow to Natasha’s shoulder, sending her down harder than necessary. Natasha grimaced, letting its weight pin her.

Someone nearby laughed under their breath.

The instructor clapped once. "Again."

She rose, brushing dirt from her palms.

"Make him mad, and he won’t send you."

Irina rushed her, and Natasha braced for the impact. All she saw next was black as the blow she received was hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

"Good," the instructor called. "But she can take more than that."

A sharp kick to the ribs. Pain radiated.

"Better," the instructor commented, tone bored.

Irina smirked, circling her again.

Natasha moved too slowly. She took another blow to the chest, and at that time, her knees buckled. Irina didn't stop.

"I give," Natasha rasped, but the other girl wasn't listening.

Her fists rained down. Once. Twice. Over and over.

"Irina," the instructor called.

But the blows kept coming.

"I give!" Natasha yelled, louder this time.

The instructor intervened.

Natasha curled in on herself, shielding her face, waiting for the next hit. It didn't come. There was a silence across the training room. Natasha didn't move. Didn't breathe.

"Up, Romanoff," the instructor said.

Natasha looked up, and her vision was blurry. The pain was a dull throb in her ribs. Her lungs. Her stomach.

She wondered if that was it. If she’s done enough.

She didn't look for you but knew you were in the crowd. Watching, too.

*******

The girls filed out of the room one by one. The quiet chatter left with them as they discussed the match they just watched. Natasha walked on unsteady feet, hiding the pain behind short breaths as she headed for the door.

She doesn't make it out of the room.

"Romanoff."

She froze. Dreykov didn't look up from the clipboard in his hands.

His voice was clipped. Barely interested.

"Is this what you consider effort?"

Silence stretched. Natasha kept her posture straight, breathing steadily.

"Sir, I-" She attempted to defend herself.

"You had one task. And you couldn't manage that."

Still not looking at her. Like she was barely worth his time.

"You’re not here to coast on yesterday’s results." A pause. "If that’s what you plan to do, I’ll find someone else." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I brought you for training with y/n because I thought you were ready.

Natasha swallowed, a sick feeling churning in her stomach.

"I had a special mission for you planned," He said. "Something that would move you up the ranks. I will send someone else."

"Yes sir," She answered, her voice small.

******

The steam clung to the air, dense and heavy, curling around you like smoke. The shower room was mostly empty—just you, toweling your hair dry, pretending not to notice when the door swung open behind you.

You glanced up at the mirror.

Natasha.

Her eyes locked on yours, sharp, unreadable.

You didn’t even get a word out before she was moving.

"The hell was that, huh?" Natasha hissed, voice low but dangerous. Her fingers curled tight around the front of your shirt, yanking you closer. "Why did you tell me to throw it?"

You stared back, heartbeat steady even as her grip bruised. You could see the cracks—frustration, confusion, maybe even fear splintering beneath that cold mask.

"Let go," you muttered.

She didn’t.

"Answer me first," she snapped. "You knew he'd be pissed. You set me up."

You exhaled through your nose, eyes flicking past her to make sure no one else was listening.

"I didn’t set you up," you said evenly. "I told you how to survive."

"How to survive?" She said angrily. "Surviving by not being able to move up a rank? Because of you, I failed this test. Because I trusted you. Because I thought we were friends. You keep telling me differently, and maybe I should listen. Maybe he was right."

"Right about what?" You furrowed your brows. You pushed her hands away.

"That you're jealous," Natasha answered, her voice hard.

"He said that?"

"You're holding me back because you think I'm better than you," She pressed like she had to say it out loud to believe it. "That’s why you wanted me to lose."

You stared at her, jaw tight, letting the silence stretch a beat too long. Letting her think she’d won whatever argument she thought this was.

Finally, you tilted your head, your voice quiet, calm, and almost bored.

"You believe that?"

"Yes," She nodded. "I do."

You let the words settle for a second.

"All of the other girls were right about you," Natasha shook her head. "You like being his favorite. You like doing his bidding and parading around here like you don't have to follow the rules."

"You think this is about me?" You scoffed. "This has nothing to do with me."

"Oh yeah?" Natasha challenged. "Then why are you always telling me to stay away from him?"

"I told you the truth," You defended. "This is stupid. You believe what you want. Just know if you put your hands on me again, you will regret it." You stepped into her space, taking advantage of the height difference and staring directly into her eyes.

"Fine," Natasha said. She didn't back away. She wasn't afraid of you. It was almost as if she was challenging you. The sound of the door swinging open pulled you apart. Natasha was the first to leave, limping past the girl interrupting you as the girl gave her a sympathetic look.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Natasha ignored her and kept walking.

You turned back to the mirror, eyes catching briefly on your reflection before you looked away. You hated how your face looked when it felt like this—too exposed and raw like the cracks were showing.

You took a breath. Tried to steady yourself.

It was stupid. You knew better. Friends weren’t a thing here. Not really. The girls didn’t like you; they never had. You learned early that it was easier and cleaner. People couldn’t hurt you if you didn’t let them close. Couldn’t take something from you if you never offered it.

And Natasha—she was supposed to be the same. Another girl trained to outlast you, outmatch you. Another person you were supposed to watch, measure, and be ready to step over when the time came.

Except she wasn’t. Not exactly. She didn’t hate you. She hadn’t tried to.

Maybe that’s what made you reckless. Letting yourself think for even a second that she was different. That maybe she could be something to you.

But wanting something like that was dangerous.

So maybe you shouldn’t try. Maybe it was better to shut it down now before it got worse.

You flexed your hands once, twice, before reaching for your towel like nothing had happened at all.

----> next part