#so fucking done with her

[cafffeineconnoisseur]

Note to self:- think hard, go for a walk, meditate, take a deep breath and fucking kill yourself before you make friends with the "girl who doesn't have friends" and think why doesn't she have friends

[abandoned-quiche]

I LOVE ALL OF THESE CHARACTERS BTW. I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOUR HATE FOR THEM ON MY POST

[hoshizoralone]

reflection

[ewwww-what]

Ugh. Literally just let her go home???

[lazylittledragon]

i said that gale and cyra have disaster romcom energy and now it's all i can think about

[shouyuus]

18+, yet more vi-shaped brainrot, mndi

yes so we have all considered rugby/college roommate!vi but have we considered waterpolo/childhood bff!vi.

waterpolo!vi who's constantly at the pool, so much so that her sweat even on her gym days smell like chlorine. who will stand in the lockers with nothing but a towel around her waist, water still dripping down her body, tits out, just texting, grinning down at her phone bc she totally doesn't have post notifs on for your instagram... like who does that, right? but damn, you look cute in the little sundress you wore to brunch last sunday with your friends -- she wonders if you'll tell her about it at lunch later today.

waterpolo!vi who's been friends with you since childhood, and you were the one who go her into swimming because that one summer when you were both eight and your mom signed you up for swim-class, you cried for half and hour bc you said you weren't gonna know anyone there. and vi, being the amazing bff and neighbor that she is, of course, volunteered as tribute. she'd never forgotten how much fun it was to play in the shallows with you after the class had ended, splashing at each other, pretending to have a tea-party, sitting criss-cross at the bottom of the sun-soaked water, how you'd pulled your hair out of the swim-cap and let it halo around you in soft, wispy waves.

waterpolo!vi who definitely hasn't told you that she only applied to this uni (on a sports scholarship bc she knew that'd get her in) bc you said it was your top choice. thankfully, it has one of the better waterpolo teams, so you were ecstatic when you found out. who, by then, has definitely figured out that her affection for you is just a bit more than straight up bff status, but she also don't wanna fuck things up with you so she keeps her mouth shut. and really, she asks herself, what's the difference anyway? i mean, you hadn't even blinked when she brought up wanting to sign up for the same freshman dorms. ("of course we are! what, did you think i'd let anyone else be my roommate? gosh, it's like you don't know me at all!")

waterpolo!vi who tries to give you your own space (having practice every single day helps with that tbh), but can't help when her heart skips a lil every time you text her, or every time you post something on social media. she tells herself that it's okay to text back immediately, you've been friends for so long after all, right? that doesn't make her look weird or desperate? right? right.

waterpolo!vi who honestly still gets off to the memory of the one time the pair of you made out drunkenly at a party in high school -- it had been one of those backyard parties where everyone was drinking fucked up jungle juice and things were already a mess when you got there. but you were always down for a good time, and so was she, but somehow, it'd ended up with the pair of you curled up in a dark corner, your legs slung over her lap, her fingers inching up the hem of your spaghetti strap top, all eager, clumsy lips and needy little moans and the taste of your strawberry-mint glitter lipgloss.

waterpolo!vi who definitely tries a bit harder to show off whenever you come to her games, always checking the stands, her face lighting up whenever she spots you in the crowd, waving at her, cheering whenever she makes a goal. afterwards, she'd find flowers tucked into her locker and the rest of the team snickering at how red she's gotten staring at them before she towel-whips the nearest one and tells them all to shut up.

waterpolo!vi who asks you to come to the gym with her, promises it'll be chill and that she won't work you too hard, but nearly short-circuits when you show up in a pair of lululemon shorts and a sports bra, your hair tugged up into a high ponytail, telling her that you got these super cute stickers from a cafe you went to last week and have been meaning to give one of them to her so your water bottles can match. who makes good on her word of not working you too hard, but she definitely suffers in her own workout that day cause she's too busy watching you do squats (she tells herself its to make sure ur form is good but we all know the truth).

waterpolo!vi who freaks out when, on her birthday, the water polo team texts her and tells her to come to the pool house, alone. she thinks it's just another one of their weird pranks, but when the lights click on and you're standing there behind a massive cake with her name hung up behind you in lurid, bright pink blow up balloons, she freezes. and then a there's champagne popping and spraying at her, completely soaking her tanktop, sticking to her skin. you squeal, laughing as you shake a bottle towards her, grinning so wide she thinks her heart might burst.

"surprise! happy birthday!"

"holy shit -- oh yeah! it's my birthday!"

you roll your eyes, dabbing at some champagne that had gotten on your cheek, glancing at a few of the other girls.

"yeah, that's the thing with birthday's vi, they happen every year. and yet somehow every year, i'm the one that remembers its your birthday."

vi just grins, pulling you in to press a fat, wet kiss to your cheek, making you squirm bc she's literally soaked with champagne still, and a few of the girls on the team smirk in her direction when they make eye contact with her, but she only glares at them before going back to watching you fuss about the cake and how many slices to cut it into.

an idea slithers into her head, a truly insidious idea. but fuck it, it's her birthday, and she deserves to have a little fun (and she doesn't think you'll be too mad at her afterwards), so she inches her hand up till it's cradling the back of your head, then shoves your face into the top layer of the cake. you yelp, jerking back with your mouth wide open, icing smeared across your skin. everyone laughs, but vi only grins and wipes a bit of the sweet cream from your cheek, sucking her thumb into her mouth.

"mm delicious, princess. thanks."

you blink at her for a few seconds before sighing, attempting to wipe a bit more of the cake from your face, and falling into a fit of giggles as well.

"whatever, i guess if it makes you that happy," you say, accepting a few napkins from one of the girls on the team. someone else takes over cutting the cake, and a few un-spilled bottles of champagne are already being poured into red solo cups. "i'm gonna go clean up -- be right back."

vi watches you make for the lockers, but someone shoves her towards you. she turns to find several of her teammates motioning furiously in your direction, mouthing go, you fucker, go!

she teeters for a few seconds before jogging after you.

"hey! i'll -- uh -- i'll come with you. since it's my mess too." she laughs, nudging you with her shoulder as she catches up to you.

waterpolo!vi who has to hold her breath when she's helping you wipe cake icing from your face, running a damp towel down your neck, you tilting your head back to give her better access.

"so, how long've you been planning this?" she asks, if only to say something to break the silence.

"not that long -- like a week or so. the cake took the longest -- i wanted to get it from your favorite place on the edge of town, but they don't do deliveries, so i had to go and get it without you knowing, and then figure out where to hide it --"

"oh is that was the 'emergency study sesh' was that you had to run off to this morning was?"

you grin, sheepish as she pulls back to look you over.

"yeah... but i mean -- as long as you liked it! it was worth it, right?"

"oh i loved it, cupcake," she says, casually bopping your nose as she tosses the towel into the big laundry cart for cleaning. she takes a breath, "you're the best friend a girl could ask for, princess."

and she sees it the, the something flicker across your face, a shadow that darkens your eyes for just a second before you look back up at her.

"uhm... about that --"

"hm?" vi turns so fast her neck almost cricks. fuck.

you're staring at her, and she's staring back. there's a moment, like the held-breath between twirling fan-blades.

"i -- uhm -- damn," you look down at your hands, your cheeks suddenly flooding with color, "i had this whole speech prepped and everything --"

vi plops down on locker bench in front of you, tugging your chin back up.

"c'mon, princess. what is it?"

your eyes catch, and vi feels her stomach flip, her heart crawling up the length of her chest to beat, bleating and desperate, at the back of her throat. she can almost taste the metallic thump of it on her tongue.

"i just -- it's --" you twist your fingers in your lap, "i've been meaning to... to tell you for a while but uhm --"

"tell me what?" fuck, her voice comes out so raspy, so needy. she swallows, trying for her usual nonchalance. "you can tell me anything, y'know that right, cupcake?"

you purse your lips, her words seemingly setting you more and more on edge. she leans forward, mesmerized by the pink plumpness caught beneath your teeth. she swipes her thumb along the corner.

"sorry -- missed a spot..." she pulls back, showing you the tiny smear of icing on her finger.

"i like you," you blurt out, the momentum of the words carrying you forward just a bit, and you're gasping when you jerk back, eyes wide, as if you can't believe you'd just said that out loud.

vi freezes.

"oh."

"sorry that was -- i was gonna tell you later tonight -- i had this whole thing planned but -- ugh, there's even a really nice bottle of wine chilling in the fridge --"

but vi's kissing you, and holy shit -- vi's kissing you. her hand at the back of your neck, her other hand cupping your cheek, and she's pressing you back so hard you almost stumble off the bench, squeaking in surprise when she nearly hauls you to your feet to press you up against one of the lockers, cushioning your head with a palm.

"v-vi? mmngh --" you gasp, lashes fluttering as she licks her way down your neck, sucking a hard hickey into the skin there, her teeth biting down as she fists her fingers in your hair.

"holy shit -- sorry -- just -- you have no idea how long i've wanted this --"

she pulls back, her pupils blown, and for a second, you wonder if she's drunk -- you wonder if you're drunk because what is happening right now -- but then you remember that neither of you have had anything to drink yet.

"y-you have?"

vi groans, pushing back in to mouth at your lips, "yeah -- sh-shoulda told you earlier but --" she tugs at the strap of your dress, reveling in the tiny little gasping sound you make as she nips at your collarbone.

waterpolo!vi who can't believe this is happening right now -- really, she might be dreaming, but even if she is, whatever. it's the best dream she's had in ages, having you whimpering against her in this empty locker, your fingers digging into her back as she rucks up your skirt.

"fuck princess, if you're joking about this you better tell me now because --"

"i -- i'm not violet, i swear if you stop --"

she keens when she tugs aside your panties and feels your wetness collect on her fingers. she grins, pulling back just far enough to catch your eyes -- they're glazed over with want, and so, so soft. it almost makes her pause, almost.

she pushes forward, sinking a finger into you, groaning at the tightness. your head lolls back against the closed lockers and vi takes the chance to admire you -- the soft sweep of your lashes as your eyes flutter closed, the round o of your mouth as you moan, the tiny crease between your eyebrows as pleasure paints itself by strokes across the delicate features of your face.

"yeah? that feel good, princess?"

"mm -- mhm --" you nod, fervently, looking back down with half-lidded eyes, reaching down to pull vi back towards you for a long kiss. you lick into her mouth, rocking your hips down against her hand. she hisses against you, her mind nearly fizzing out at the way you drop your face into her shoulder, hanging onto her for dear life as she fucks you on her fingers.

waterpolo!vi who misses nearly her entire birthday party for fucking her new girlfriend to pieces in the lockers. not like her teammates didn't know -- sound really carries in that locker room. she knows. they know. you only find out later when the pair of you come back to the party, red-faced and way too disheveled, vi looking way too smug.

"have a good time in there?" one of the girls asks.

vi shrugs, "yeah y'know. just had to make sure she was cleaned up properly."

another girl rolls her eyes, "yeah right. and im sure all the screaming was because you were just doing such a thorough job, right."

vi smirks, "i try."

waterpolo!vi who makes a point of coming back from swim practice with her hair still wet, a towel draped around her shoulders, baggy shorts around her hips, a tight white tank, and nothing else, just because she knows it makes you pause, knows it sets you off. grins when she comes home to drop a kiss to your cheek and you look up, only to swallow, eyes raking down her body.

"gonna jump in the shower, wanna join me?"

you crinkle your nose, glancing back at the group project you were trying to finish with some classmates on zoom.

"uhm -- sorry guys -- i gotta go."

"wait what -- we're supposed to finish this tonight --"

"sorry, there's uh --" you glance back at vi, who's smirking, leaning in your doorway, an eyebrow hitched, "i think my girlfriend burnt the toast in the kitchen -- sorry, bye!"

you hang up the zoom call even as vi scoffs.

"really? i burnt the toast one time."

she tugs you to her for a kiss as you try to walk by her towards the bathroom. you grin against her lips.

"yeah, and it set off the fire alarm for the entire building, remember?"

"mm. yeah, whatever," she mumbles, busying herself with tugging off your sweatshirt as the pair of you stumble into the bathroom.

"how was practice?" you ask, as vi kicks the door closed behind you, jerking off her tank with one hand, kicking it away on the tiled floor before advancing on you with a predatory glint in her eyes.

"it was fine. we did passing and man-up drills. nothing too bad -- shoulders are sore though."

"yeah? you wanna massage after this?"

"mm that does sound nice," vi says, twisting on the shower, jerking her head for you to step in, climbing in after you with a soft, satisfied groan as the hot water hits her aching muscles.

"but for right now," she says, twisting you around and pressing a quick kiss to your lips, "why don't you get on your knees for me, pretty? there's just one more thing i want you to take care of for me before that massage."

you lick your lips, kiss her back, before dropping to your knees with a sweet smile.

"ready for your post-workout?" you ask, blinking up at her with your big, innocent eyes, even as your fingers inch up her thighs, coaxing them apart. vi groans, leaning back against the cool shower tiles.

"holy fuck yeah."

[micamone]

hewwo

[bananakeiky]

**ALNST KARMA SPOILERS

Till's perspective in the Alien Stage universe is so funny to me. Compared to everyone else he is literally the most normal dude ever for someone living in the super trauma alien slave laboratory. He has a crush on a cute person, jams out on his guitar when he's sad, does typical emo art kid stuff. He has no clue about the lesbian Greek tragedy two feet away from him, or the psychological horror murder romance the other two feet away. There's this guy who's nice to him that's kinda okay but talks to his crush too much, that guy better not be gunning for her! That guy is literally so obsessed with him he wants to open up Till's chest and live inside him. Till then sings like one rock song about his crush before she disappears and he gets massive depression. Then that weird guy he barely knows makes out with him and tries to kill him and then dies and he gets PTSD. He somehow makes it to the final round and jams out Blink Gone like he isn't fighting 50 mental illnesses at once. Then he dies. Except not? He wakes up and his crush is a terrorist and there's a museum about the worst few days of his life? He can't talk cause his throat got blown up. (This all basically happened in like a couple hours btw.) At some point he gets a motorbike and goes to save the new slave kids and finds a mutant clone of his crush and the rando guy who died for him. Guess this is happening now. What happens next? Who knows. I'm hoping he adopts all the mutant clone kids and they become some fucked up Batfamily. Guy needs a break.

[inkedinserendipity]

one of the reasons i think that the murderbot diaries’ emotional moments hit so hard is because of a scarcity effect that the author has set up really, really well.

because, like—murderbot, as a character, is an answer to the question how do you “show and not tell” emotional moments from the lens of a character who point-blank will not acknowledge any affection directed their way. or, instead of overtly stating that characters are friends (“tell”), how do you demonstrate it with text (“show”)? well, most authors go ham on characters smiling at each other, laughing, joking, expressing reciprocal loyalty.

murderbot does none of those things. murderbot probably never smiled before preservation, and definitely didn’t laugh. (this is only partially an exaggeration.) telling jokes? hell yeah, MB’s funny as fuck. to other people? hell no. that would require conversations and it’d rather die, thanks.

add that to the fact that murderbot treats any expressions of affection toward it—internal and external—like being bit by a snake.

so you have this character + writing style that bars most conventional ways of establishing relationships between characters. you also have this character who is basically incapable of feeling any sort of reciprocated, positive emotion toward itself. so what do you do?

you work around your character. murderbot will never pick up on affectionate body language. it hates hugs. every sentence it hears passes through about fifteen different filters of self-loathing. so you make your relationships clear, and when you hit, you hit hard.

you summarize snapshots of characters panicking about the main character getting hurt. you drop your character’s performance reliability (and their walls) and have them banter. you have your character walk in on the tail end of conversations that expose concern for it.

and then you do things so overt that even your shit-self-esteem character can’t talk its way out of. you have its friend tell it directly that it can’t lose it too. you have its friends accommodate it and understand it without it directly expressing a single need. you have its friends stand up for it in conversation when it is too tired to do so. and then, when you really want to hit, you have your character pretend to be physically compromised rather than have to feel one (1) positive emotion toward itself.

positive emotions toward itself can’t really pass through murderbot’s walls. so you have to establish relationships by beating your main character over the head with them. and it can’t be all the time—because that’s not how relationships and emotional recovery, yknow, works—but it can be sometimes, and it can be very powerful, and that is why i think murderbot diaries in particular is very, very effective.

[insufferablemod]

[otome-dissection]

Dude I can't Luka's expressions in wiege fuck me up so bad all the parallels between Luka now and himself as a child get me so fucking bad like:

The wiege MV (for the mostpart) is about going back to the beginning. It's about the in-betweens we didn't get to see. It's about the journey and it's about all the small moments that built all the characters (most importantly Hyuba and, imo, Mizi) up into what they came to be. For better or for worse, Hyuna and Mizi both grew up so far from what they used to be, went through the whole spectrum of experiences that humans in their position could possibly have, and its shown by the wide range of scenes/experiences/flashbacks they have just how much they've lived.

Meanwhile Luka, who is, objectively, on top of everything, far above what Hyuna, Mizi, and everyone else could've been or ever was, is by far the most stagnant as a person. Where we see Hyuna and Mizi go through all the motions of loving and losing and loving again (and losing again), Luka has always been stuck on Hyuna, and the second he sees her everything he's built up to is all thrown to the wind without a second thought, without any fanfare, because nothing for him as changed.

Internally, Luka's still sitting against that tree in the garden and watching someone else grab his hand, Luka's still watching Hyuna count with his fingers and making him laugh for the first time ever, still clinging to her arm, still crossing the grass field to reach her.

Even years later, even as an adult, he's still looking at her like she's his salvation. When he sees her again on the stage he looks at her like he's just found his way back home after far too many years away from it, and when that gun is pointed at his head to stop him he looks at it like he's wondering why he's not allowed back inside.

And then when he looks at Hyuna more and remembers the moments with her that he's been clinging onto more he forgets about it entirely. And then you know what happens from there. I'm sickkkk

The fact that a lullaby. A Fucking Lullaby, and presumably a song that most if not all kids of Anakt know and learned when they were still young (see: that scene of the main 4 singing it) was the song choice for this video. The fact that seeing Hyuna, just seeing her again like that is what brings that lullaby back, a melody from the beginning of it all that should be so far beneath Luka by now, but isn't. I can't bro.

Luka, live with love. Or whatever. Augh I don't even know

[inkskinned]

actually sometimes being neurodivergent is great bc you have a particular kind of Silly Mode that just . manifests glory. harmless fun is my precious side quest & i have a high score in whimsy. like okay if i gotta be the first dork in the dance pit it's gonna be me and this random toddler and we're gonna avril-style rock ouuuuttt

[kumzorg]

bearer of the curse

[norwayromanoff]

Finish What You Started (Also known as I Am Never Taking You to Work With Me Again)

NR x a civilian!r troublemaker that Natasha is just so enamored by that r can do no wrong

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: You finally manage to convince a rightfully reluctant Natasha to bring you with her to work.

(You also get her to let you eat her out from under a table in public, so 18+.)

You’ve asked time and time again and have always received the same answer: an assertive, non-negotiable ‘no’. Not a ‘not today’, not a ‘maybe next time’. A ‘no’. Firm, unrelenting, and not allowing for any further discussion.

Despite the constant rejections, you remain undeterred, bouncing back after each denial, remaining not only persistent but also incessant in your requests. You know you’re more stubborn than she is. With each plea, you can see that you’re chipping away at Natasha’s resolve, see that her exasperation and subsequent yielding is increasing. She’s weakening, and it only furthers your determination.

Sitting at the kitchen table, blearily rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you watch as Natasha moves to the coffee pot, pouring a mug for both you and herself.

She continues her amateur barista work, adding some cream and sugar to yours as if it's second nature, and gently passes you the steaming cup. You mumble a quiet thank you, hoping the bitter liquid will help you shake the cobwebs from your head and figure out a way to once again ask the question that's been spilling nonstop from your lips for the past month and finally obtain the answer you’ve been waiting for.

Natasha relaxes at the table as well, taking a seat, and you both remain in a what you hope is your usual comfortable silence, slowly sipping on your coffees. But despite your best efforts, Natasha easily senses you’ve got something to say, and she’s pretty sure that she knows what it is, her eyes drifting toward you.

“The answer is still ‘no’.” She breaks the quiet.

Your lips press into a thin, displeased line, but then you go and feign ignorance. Unfortunately, there's no keeping anything from the redheaded spy. Even if you disregard her years of intelligence training, the woman knows you better than you know yourself.

“I didn’t even ask.”

She gives you an unimpressed look. “No, but you were going to.”

You let out a relenting sigh. “Please,” you decide to try, “I have the day off, and you said that it's supposed to be a slow day for you. Come on.” You extend the last word, trailing it off into a long whine. You've always wanted to visit her place of work, to see S.H.I.E.L.D. for yourself, and today is the perfect opportunity.

You can sense her knee-jerk response, you can practically feel another refusal sitting on the tip of her tongue, but Natasha surprises you, shaking her head and muttering about how she’s certainly going to regret this. It’s too bad she never could say no to you.

The moment you step inside the base, you understand some of her hesitation, her unwillingness. The two of you are on the receiving end of glances that range from curious to utterly baffled. It turns out, none of her coworkers knew that she was in a relationship (something about privacy and safety and all that), and they definitely didn’t come to work today expecting to see the big bad Black Widow acting soft toward another person.

She initially sets you up with level one security clearance, handing you your badge, but your petulant protest (“Natasha,” you whine, “what about girlfriend perks? I deserve at least level three.”) gets you an eye roll and a reluctant agreement under the condition that you don’t wander off, and soon, she’s leading you throughout the elaborate hallways of the building. On today’s agenda is paperwork, meetings, training recruits, and yet another meeting.

During the morning, you casually peruse her office as she tackles her paperwork, hands clasped behind your back, eyeing the plain walls and lack of trinkets and personal touches. There’s singular photo of the two of you on her desk, your expression a bright grin, hers a smirk, and although it warms your heart, you can’t resist your next words.

“Your office is boring.”

“I’m here to save the world, not to interior decorate,” she throws back at you quickly, not glancing up from her mission reports.

When Natasha eventually has to attend her first briefing, she gives you explicit instructions that you are not to leave her office. You easily agree, waving off her concern, and spend your time continuing to inspect your surroundings. Boredom ultimately causes the temptation to snoop to become too irresistible, and you begin to open drawers and cabinets, to toy with a few important-looking documents on her desk. But her office is sparse, too sparse, and your initial determination to follow her instructions gradually dwindles. Not long after, you’re opening the door, peering out into the hallway, and casually exiting the room when you see no one, trying to walk as if you belong.

You wander aimlessly throughout the base, taking a left here and a right there, unperturbed with the potential of getting lost. You pass by a multitude of other agents, and considering the attention you attract, your casual strut and nonchalant demeanor are not as subtle as you are hoping. Unlike your girlfriend, perhaps you were not made for espionage, your civilian clothing and captivation toward the technologically advanced building around you giving you away.

Despite the suspicious stares you glean, your exploration is left unhindered for quite some time, most electing to throw a confused glance your way but, in the end, turn a blind eye. Your phone buzzes with a text after approximately two hours. How you’ve made it this far with no trouble is beyond you.

‘I thought I told you to stay put.’

‘You did.’

‘And?’

‘And I got bored. You left me in too small of an enclosure with zero enrichment.’

‘Where are you?’

‘That’s a good question.’

You get a bit of enjoyment out of Natasha’s growing irritation that you can sense through your phone, but your amusement is cut short by an agent that is apparently unwilling to ignore your presence like the others. What timing.

“Hey, you. What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Just… following orders, surveying the area.”

“But you don’t have clearance to be here.”

“Yes, I do,” you try, not knowing if there’s any validity to your statement. You hurriedly grab at your badge, holding it up. “I’m level three.”

“And you need to be level four to access this floor.”

Shit.

“What’s your name?”

“There’s just been a misunderstanding. I got mixed up. I’ll head back now and-”

“What’s your name?” the agent demands again.

You still don’t answer, eyes wide. You’re sure you look like a deer caught in the headlights as you flounder to come up with a way to talk yourself out of the predicament you seem to be finding yourself in.

Ever your knight in shining armor, Natasha rounds the corner as the man is twisting your arm behind your back, effectively restraining you, not that you had the ability to resist anyway.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” you mumble, the position straining. You don’t know how your girlfriend handles pain on the daily. “Do I at least get a phone call?” you snark, foolishly deciding to take the chance at making things worse.

“Stand down,” Natasha calls out, voice firm but not without a degree of exasperation, unhappy but unsurprised that you’ve gotten yourself into a situation such as this. “She’s with me.”

“Agent Romanoff, you know this woman? She’s been walking around a restricted area, refusing to answer questions, and resisting procedural arrest. She wouldn’t even tell me her name.”

Natasha shoots you a disapproving look as she walks over. “Unfortunately, yes, I know her. Now, let her go. Please.” The last word is a warning, almost a threat, a direct order from a superior.

You’re roughly released, stumbling slightly at the abruptness of the action, and Natasha instinctively reaches out to steady you, her hand now secure on your hip.

“Thank-” you start to say, but you’re cut off with a grumpy “let’s go”.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice my office askew,” Natasha adds flatly.

Following the morning paperwork, meetings, and your narrowly avoided detainment, is lunch. You two find yourselves in the S.H.I.E.L.D. cafeteria, but quickly, you’re the cause of another scene.

After what feels like the millionth time overhearing some not-so-hushed whispers gossiping about you and your relationship, you just can’t take it anymore. You stand up, chair scraping loudly against the floor, gaze pointed at a trio of agents on the other side of the room. The whole cafeteria goes silent as people freeze in place to watch your little display. Natasha closes her eyes, taking in a calming breath as she gets ready for whatever it is you’re about to say.

“Yeah, I know right? I’m dating her. Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. Her. This woman right here. We have sex. Often. Her and I. Her,” and you point emphatically at your girlfriend who’s sitting across from you with what’s now becoming an incredibly charmed expression on her face.

You turn to her, voice turning low. “Natasha,” you whisper, “tell them.”

She just huffs out a breath before addressing the agents that had been chattering. “It’s true,” is her terse statement. “This little spitfire here is my girlfriend,” and her exasperation wars with affection.

Your outburst and her confirmation get them to quiet, and you turn back to her. “Anyways, what were we talking about?”

Natasha chuckles. “What we are having for dinner tonight, but I think a topic change to how you’re causing quite the ruckus for me at work today is in order.”

Natasha decides it’s best to bring you along with her to her next task, wanting to avoid any further trouble after the two little (and hopefully only) stunts you’ve pulled. She’s scheduled to spar with new trainees, and while that sounds simple enough, nothing could have prepared you for what you were going to witness. It turns out that watching your girlfriend easily take down multiple other agents is harder than impatiently waiting for her to complete her clerical work and meetings. The rosy tint of your cheeks and the subtle clenching of your thighs as you sit on a nearby bench betrays the way her workout attire and the sight of sweat dripping down her collarbone affects you. Your core begins to throb shortly after the first match starts due to the well-defined muscles of her biceps flexing each time she throws a punch, her abs being on full display, sinfully uncovered by her sports bra, and her leggings leaving almost nothing about her ass to the imagination.

She finishes up the sparring sessions, having defeated every new recruit with practiced ease, and waves you over to her, chest heaving with only slight effort, a thin sheen of sweat coating her already stupidly attractive form. You bite your lip to suppress a groan. Just the action of her hand coming to settle on the small of your back as she leads you out of the training room feels almost indecent.

Natasha once again ushers you to her office, pointedly telling you to actually stay put this time, and leaves you to entertain yourself while she goes off to shower and then see to her last meeting, but your imagination is running wild, and your arousal grows exponentially in her absence.

The only thing you can think about is your girlfriend ravishing you. You want her to roughly press you against the wall of the hallway and kiss you senseless, you want her to reacquaint her fingers with your pussy in a bathroom stall, her other hand placed over your mouth to contain your moans, you want her to bend you over and fuck you on top of her conveniently barren desk. She once mentioned that her office door locks and that the walls are soundproofed, so what exactly are you both waiting for?

As Natasha escorted you to her office earlier, she casually pointed out the room that she’s going to be in, offhandedly gesturing to the chair that’s her assigned seat as you two passed the open door. You couldn't help it, entire body still flushed with desire, breathing hardly able to be considered normal. You took note of the room number, paid close attention to which chair she’s going to be sitting in, and memorized the path to and from her office.

She pressed a chaste kiss to your temple before heading off, assuring you that she would be back quickly. But, given that show she just gave you with her body skillfully pinning down those of the other agents, given the way you can currently feel your clit rub against the seam of your jeans with every step, you don’t think you can wait that long.

While she’s preoccupied with her shower, you make your move, doing your best to inconspicuously walk back to the meeting room. The door is closed this time, but you can't help but smirk to yourself as your level three clearance grants you access, your badge opening the door with a green light and satisfying beep. Peeking through the doorway, you fortunately find the area empty, allowing you to enter, drop to your hands and knees, and crawl underneath the long conference table, positioning yourself in front of what you know to be her seat.

Only minutes pass before you hear commotion outside the door. The door once again beeps open, footsteps entering the room, and you can make out your girlfriend’s voice talking amongst the chatter. As the multiple people get seated, Natasha included, placing herself in the chair you’re situated in front of, you lick your lips in anticipation for what you’re about to do. Natasha is so going to kill you for this later.

You let the meeting begin, not moving, not acting, waiting, heart thumping loudly in your chest to the point that you’re concerned it’s going to give away your spot on your knees, but despite the sound of it beating wildly in your ears, no one appears to be aware of your presence, and once everyone seems deep in serious conversation, you’re unable to resist any longer, the apex of your girlfriend’s thighs just too enticing.

Your hands move, slithering up her calves, pressing against her knees, spreading her out for you. You immediately feel her body stiffen at the contact, her own hands quickly but discreetly shooting down to grab at you, to stop whatever is happening, to stop whoever is touching her, but when her eyes flicker down and meet yours, her brief moment of alarm dissolves into calm disapproval as she realizes that it’s just you. Of course, it’s you. She looks at you reproachfully, but you begin placing gentle open-mouthed kisses up her inner thighs anyway, making your way up to her core, tongue skimming along the fabric of her slacks, and when you glance up at her again from between her legs, you see the surprise, warning, and objection in her gaze faltering.

You continue to languidly mouth at her covered pussy, applying just enough pressure so that she can feel it, and soon you notice a damp spot appear, sticky and wet, your saliva and her slick mixing together and soaking their way through both layers of her clothing. Her thighs attempt to shut, to ward off your touch, but your hands firmly keep her legs open, preventing her from closing herself off, and despite her sending you another deterring glance, her body reveals her need. She may be playing at resisting, may be attempting to remain outwardly unaffected and displeased by your bold and reckless decision, but she wants this just as much as you do, and as you finally begin to breathe in the heady scent that is uniquely her, you can’t wait any longer. You need to taste her, and you can tell from the way her breathing has sped up, imperceptible to those around her but not to you, that she needs you to too.

Your hands move up to fiddle with the button and zipper of her pants before you tap gently at her thigh, indicating she needs to raise her hips so you can smoothly slip them down. There’s a moment of hesitation on her part where she carefully casts a glance at those also in the room, eyes sweeping across the faces of the others sitting at the conference table, where she considers the consequences of allowing you to continue with your daring venture, but all it takes is a strategically placed trail of your finger along the seam of her slacks and she’s lifting her hips up, giving in to the need, the desire, that you know is steadily building within her.

Quietly, you pull her pants down, the fabric sliding along her hips, her thighs, exposing more and more of her flushed skin, and her hips subtly buck up once as the cool air of the room hits her now bare core, the feeling almost making her gasp out loud. You don’t allow her any time to prepare before you’re tugging her forward, shifting her weight until she’s on the edge of her seat, and your lips quickly find their way to her pussy, sucking on her clit for a few seconds before your tongue swipes through her folds repeatedly.

Everything about your touch is gentle, caressing at first. You don’t want to give away what you’re doing, you don’t want the others to find out, you don’t want your renowned secret agent girlfriend to get into trouble, and so each circle of your tongue around her clit only floods her body with more desperation as your unhurried ministrations persist, slow and leisurely. The fidgeting of her hips in her seat gradually evolves to full on squirming as the minutes pass, silent requests for you to give her more, but you don’t comply, your lips and tongue still moving with zero urgency, their soft brushes lingering and delicate and much too light for her current state, neglecting her rising need.

“Do you have any notes, Agent Romanoff?” one of the agents asks suddenly, breaking Natasha out of her lust-induced haze.

Her gaze jumps to the agent that had spoken, and she scrambles to find an answer, mouth opening and closing a couple of times, not having been listening to the conversation, too distracted by the feel of your mouth on her overheated core.

“What?” she asks, the word coming out more strangled than she’d like it to, and she clears her throat, struggling to center herself, to refocus.

“On the mission plan?” the agent prompts further, raising an eyebrow at her confusion, “The drop we’re set to infiltrate next week in Bulgaria?”

“Oh, um, I-” she’s cut off by your tongue beginning to lazily probe at her entrance, and she bites her lip, hard, in order to stifle the loud moan that wants to break free.

“What was that?” the agent presses, his confusion transforming into slight concern at her stuttering. The Black Widow doesn’t stutter.

Natasha just shakes her head, breathing getting heavier as you continue to push your tongue in and out of her hole, her slick staining your lips in the most satisfying way, your nose nudging against her clit with every movement.

“Nothing,” she says much too quickly, clearing her throat again, “No, nothing. This all sounds fine. I have no adjustments to make.”

Upon her, albeit not at all reassuring, answer, the agent moves his focus elsewhere, giving her one last confused look before the meeting resumes and she gets caught back up in your concentrated motions.

You pick up the pace once the attention is off your girlfriend, lapping away at her now sopping pussy with newfound hunger, trying to muffle your own moans and whines of pleasure at the taste of her, at the feeling of her. She’s intoxicating, the way her body clenches around your tongue, her walls fluttering with each dip inside, her pussy welcoming your intrusion with a fresh stream of arousal that drips down your chin. Your knees are certainly bruising, your back aching from the strained position, but you hardly think about it, too overwhelmed by everything that is Natasha to care, devouring, savoring, every bit of her.

Natasha’s trembling in her seat, every muscle pulled taut. Her hands grip the edge of the conference table in an attempt to restrain herself from making any move that would disclose what is happening. Her clit is pulsing as you roll your tongue over it again and again, her whole body feeling as though it’s vibrating with pleasure. Each flick of your tongue causes more arousal to leak down and pool onto the chair beneath her.

Despite all of her training to keep her composure, you’ve always been her weakness. She can never get enough of you and finally can’t hold back any longer, one of her hands diving down to grab at your hair, dragging you closer to her pussy, holding you firm, her hips beginning to grind into your mouth.

Her movements are subtle, unrecognizable from above the table, but her desperation is clear to you. You can feel her need in the way she holds you steady, trying to set a rhythm that will relieve her ache. You flatten your tongue, your head stilling, allowing her to use you and guide your motions as she sees fit.

You’re mid-lick when the meeting comes to an end, everyone standing up slowly and filing out of the room except for your girlfriend.

“You coming?” an agent asks her, also concerned over her unusual behavior as she remains stiff in her seat, face redder than it should be for this air-conditioned room.

There is a moment of delay, but Natasha finally manages to choke out a weak, “Be out in a minute. I need to check over some last few things."

That seems to satisfy the others, and once the last of them exit the room, the door snapping shut, you disconnect your mouth from her pussy with a loud, wet ‘pop’, and peek up at her from under the table, mouth glistening with her juices, a more than pleased expression on your face at the trouble you just caused her.

“Good meeting?” you ask casually, “Ready to go?”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. You’re not done yet, detka. You’ve been pushing me all day. Now, finish what you started,” Natasha murmurs lowly, and you're not complaining when she roughly shoves your face back between her thighs.

[orgasming-caterpillar]

5k notes before Christmas and I'll tell my mom that I'm a transmasc lesbian

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x01 - “Heavy is the Crown”