This Is So Good - Blog Posts

THE FANDOM I LOVE???? WITH THE??? SONG I LOVE????? OWHAGAGGGGGHHH

Lamb and Mr Death

I love them so much they make me sick

2025 is the year I post more animations TRUST

★‧°𖦹｡⋆☆ GYARU TERUTORI ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

FINALLY BACK TO COMMISSIONING TORI RAREPAIRS HELL YEAH !! HERE'S MY LATEST BRAIN ROT TERUTORI <333 TYSM FOR THE ART @lu-kario I HOPE U ALL ENJOY GYARUO TORI AND GYARU TERU ✮⋆˙

saiki has a little sister au [full comic under the cut]

Okay but Jackson coming into school one day and acting like a complete normie.

His hair is completely black and his eyes are blue. He doesn’t use the same lingo as anyone else.

“Oh look they’re playing casketball.”

“Nice, it’s good weather for basketball.”

“…What are you talking about?”

Jackson doesn’t even blow anything up. He doesn’t do any mad science and acts like he has no knowledge of the monster world.

And it freaks everyone out.

When they confront him Jackson’s like I thought this is what you wanted? I thought I was just a dumb little normie? Or did you realise I’m just as much a monster as the rest of you?

YOOOO THIS IS SO GOOD?! HELLO??!!

Just read the singes on our skin like a brand on AO3 and pro hero Touya is living rent free in my mind now

Please come and support the author!

SHE IS BONITA OMG…

Realizations

What if...

GUYS LOOOOOK!!!!

Again, I’m trying to draw someones OC, now it’s @megatronswaifu ’s Nightlight

yttruimzbi's Ninjtober - Day 1: Possessed

Am late, but possessed green man is here

What if Harumi decided to torture Lloyd, unhinge him, before speaking to him and explaining everything to him in Crystallized? And what if she decided to do that by playing out on his biggest fear—becoming his father?

Just a quick trigger warning: blood, dead bodies, and mentioned cannibalism

_________________________________________

It felt like an eternity had passed before Lloyd finally opened his eyes. Shapes and figures were blurred—colors mixed with no distinct outlines—and he instinctively covered his eyes to block the harsh light. But when his vision adjusted, oh how he wished he could return to the previous moments of visionless bliss. With his vision, the rest of his senses suddenly appeared—something he didn’t even notice was gone in the first place.

He wasn’t sure how he could’ve missed the stench of blood that hung in the air or the deafening screams of unseen citizens. Fog hung low in the air, and greedy fires emitted the harsh light he was just covering from, eating his city away. He stepped back, only to have his foot splash in a pool of blood, triggering his gag reflex.

As he tried to take in his surroundings—to comprehend what he was seeing—a woman stumbled in front of him, snapping him awake. Her clothes, or at least what wasn’t torn, were caked with mud and blood. Her hair was torn in places, and her clear scalp was covered with scratches, just like the rest of her body. He reached out a hand, but, to his utter confusion, she screamed.

“PLEASE NO! Spare me, my lord,” she faced him, eyes brimming with tears, “I have kids! Four of them! Please don’t kill me!”

“Ma’am, I’m only trying to help,” he raised his hands in an assuring manner, “You can tell me where your kids are, and I’ll help you get back to them. I promise.”

She slowly crawled away from him, her whole body shaking like a leaf, repeating, “Not my kids,” over and over again.

“I swear I’m only trying to help!” He took a deep breath, “You might be new here, but I’m the Green Ninja, you know? Helping people is my thing.”

He took a step forward, and, God, if he stabbed her, she wouldn’t have screamed as much as she did.

“PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!”

“Alright, lady, calm down,” his frustration grew with every passing second, and he was barely keeping it in check, “Listen, I’ll leave you, alright? I don’t see any dangers in our immediate surroundings; just stay safe, find your kids, and leave the hell out of here. Sounds good?”

She darted off as fast as her legs could carry her, and he took it as a yes.

Confusion and guilt swarmed his brain as he walked through the streets. The few people he met—all ragged and wounded—reacted similarly, screaming and running left and right. And his friends were nowhere to be seen.

Man, he thought, they sure would be a great load of help right now.

Before he turned onto the next street, the horrible odor intensified, striking his nose strongly, but it was mixed with something else this time. Rotten bananas? No, he pulled out his weapons as realization hit him, It was the smell of bodies; thousands of them concentrated in one place, and a quick look proved his suspicions.

What the hell?

He was about to turn his back to that horrid street, but another realization took control of his limbs, first walking, then running to the heap. His friends…

He scanned the pile for any sign of the—red hair, scarred hands, their gis—anything. In desperation, he prepared himself to climb the heap, but one familiar voice dissolved his doubts, stopping him short. Kai’s.

“What, did you turn to cannibalism already?”

“If you’re searching for something fresh, check the other street; those are days old,” Cole added.

With these remarks, Lloyd expected to see a smile or a smirk on his friends’ faces—not the disgust deeply engraved there.

“Guys, thank God you’re here! Where were you? What happened here?” Shock laced his voice as he studied their torn gis and their fresh wounds, “And where are the others?”

“Not that you care anyway, but they should be coming soon—wouldn’t wanna miss that,” Cole tightened his grip on his hammer, “Now, do you want the easy way or the hard way?’

“What?”

“Dude’s obviously hungry; he probably wants the easy way,” Kai said.

Lloyd put down his sword, shaking his head, “Ha ha, real funny. But can either of you explain what’s going on?”

“Maybe ask yourself, master of destruction,” Nya’s voice, thick with hatred, echoed from behind him before he felt her trident against his back, “Move, and another body will be added to the pile.”

“Nya!” he exclaimed, “Are you OK?”

“That’s hilarious, Lloyd, or should I call you Lord Lloyd, now?” Jay walked into his field of vision, followed closely by Zane.

“You know, at this point, I’m sick of asking, but—”

“He appears to be trying a new strategy,” Zane interrupted.

“What’s it called? Acting all whiny and confused?” Cole’s voice dripped with sarcasm

“Not working so far,” Jay replied, “You need to work on your strategies, Lloyd.”

“Jay, dear, how about we don’t give him any suggestions, mhm? He already conquered Ninjago in less than a week,” Nya said.

“This isn’t funny, guys!” Lloyd protested, “Cut it out!”

He searched their faces for any hints of their condition; whatever caused this might have corrupted them against him, somehow convincing him that he was the root of all this chaos. Their faces, however, showed nothing but anger, hatred, and… was that fear on Jay’s face? And pain in Kai’s eyes?

He held Kai’s glance, trying to speak to him without words, but Kai, who was uncharacteristically quiet, said, “Let’s get it over with.”

“What?!”

Nya struck Lloyd on his head, disorienting him, while Zane froze his feet to the ground. With a quick strike to his wrist, Lloyd’s sword dropped from his hand, and Nya quickly kicked it out of his reach. His other friends encircled him, pulling weapons from pouches on their backs.

Not any weapons.

The Golden Weapons.

An inhuman growl escaped his throat as his heart burned with hurt and shock; his limbs elongated, sending sears of pain through his bones. A new pair of arms sprouted above his waist, sending him into a panic. His eyes filled with tears, refusing to accept what they saw—his Oni form.

No! There’s no way!

It can’t be!

“NOW!” his friends shouted, before jumping at him with weapons directed at his body.

He woke up, gasping, with tears running down his cheeks. His sweaty hands grasped his body, almost expecting himself to be wrapped in bandages but feeling the cloth of his gi instead. The chains around his waist stopped him from sitting up, and the fabric around his eyes prevented him from seeing his surroundings.

A weird laugh, some sort of evil cackle, erupted next to him, “Well, that went better than expected.”

Harumi.

A mixture of feelings squirmed in his gut—panic, sadness, confusion, and, yes, some longing—before finally settling on anger.

“What was that?” His voice rose with every word, burning his throat.

“Oh, nothing, just a little fear serum we wanted to use before you meet the Crystal King.”

natty dropping to her knees to eat her little valentine out <333

warnings: older!nat x kotenok!reader, oral sex (r receiving), and age gap. nsfw

“Hey.”

Her smile grows when her eyes drop to where you’re sitting. The small make shift bench in side her walk in closet seems more comfortable than it looks like.

But it’s the way Natasha looks at you from where she stands with her hair up in a bun and cheeks pink from working out.

“Hi, Natty.”

She reaches out a hand to dance her knuckles along the apple of your cheek. “You look pretty like this.”

“Really?” You ask her, genuine shock present in doe eyes.

The older woman nods and tilts your chin up with a finger. “You don’t think so, kotenok?”

You shrug, then look away from her gaze. “I don’t really think about it too much.” The words feel more intimate now that the two of you are so physically close.

But it’s the silence that makes you take a shaky breath of air. Natasha sees it and a frown erupts on her lips. Her hand reaches over again to force your attention back to her where her thumb draws over the crevices of your bottom lip.

“Can I kiss you?”

You look baffled by the question, almost feeling the blood that rushes to your cheeks and nose. But you nod anyways and bite your lip rather nervously.

“Okay?”

You nod again. “It’s more than okay, Natty.”

The older woman leans a great height to kiss you. What was supposed to be a simple kiss turns deep when you feel her tongue smooth over your bottom lip for access. It’s the whimper that parts your part and allows her access, and it’s the hand sneaking around your neck that has you heaving in response.

Natasha grows weary as she bends over. Kneeling down and settled between your parted legs, the red head pulls away to breath and she looks at you shameless.

“You alright, Bunny?”

You flush under the use of your nickname. The way the word falls so gracefully from your girlfriend’s plump lips has you clenching your thighs in arousal.

Natasha notices and with a grin, she cocks her head in faux inquiry. “Want me to help you? Make you feel good, yeah?”

Your eyes widen at her offer. While shy, who were you to deny the red headed bombshell in front of you? Your libido and abstinence could only do so much for you. Especially with the way the older woman kneels in front of you as if in prayer.

“O-Okay, Natty.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, shy.

Her hand squeezed your thigh from where it laid. She was just as excited as you were and she made it obvious with the way she bit her lip as she leaned in to kiss you.

While her lips pecked your own in a quick manner, her hand slipped around the small cropped lounge shorts you were wearing. The soft cotton fabric felt like sandpaper against her skin and she was just as eager to tug it down your legs and let it look around your ankles.

Your heart raced out of your chest just as her hands peeled your legs apart by the knee. Despite the lack of light, the small ambiance of the lamp casted a daring shadow over your girlfriend’s features.

You had nearly forgotten the fact that you were bare to here in your shared walk in closet and that you were dripping onto the bench, anticipating her next move.

Her eyes travelled to you then to where you had your legs separated. “Jesus Christ,” her cheeks grow red at the sight of you.

You were glistening, Natasha could definitely say that. But it was the way you were looking at her with big, wide, doe eyes that shed whatever’s left of your innocence that made Natasha breathless.

Nevermind the sight of your cunt, pink and puffy, wet and drooling all over her three thousand dollar hand crafted bench. She was at awe. Both at how beautiful you were and how much she loved you.

“Sweetheart,” her growl returns you to the land of the living. Your eyes staring at her dead ahead before within a blink, and her head nudges it’s place between your legs.

A silence screams parts your mouth and the sensation of her tongue fills your cunt with ease - the familiarity of her touch caressing your insides.

“Natty - OH!”

Your body falls and arches against her. Theres that coil in your stomach that churns and curls your toes. It makes you heave before forcing your hands to grip the curls on her head.

“Jesus,” she pulls away enough to mumble it against your wet cunt. “So - So sweet for me, honey.”

A shaky whimper breaks the silence, and with your shaking legs and bucking hips, you near your finish with a loud cry of the redhead’s name. Natasha moans boastfully loud, the vibration enough to make you sensitive and pull away from her anxiously.

“Too m-much. H-Hurts.”

She pulls away, mouth and chin glistening with wetness. Her tongue barely makes an appearance but when it does, she licks away the reminiscent of you.

Then a grin pulls up on her swollen lips. Her fingers hook around your ankles, and before you know it, her mouth is back on yours.

hiiii <3 i think i’m obsessed w your mediocre gf nat fics js, i’ve re read them all many times, they’re so great- anyway ily good job :)

also wondering would mediocre gf nat ever ever get soft w her gf? cause whenever she is i imagine her gf being like ‘are you feeling okay?’ lmao

hey thank u! ilyt i think im going to be making a mediocre gfs masterlist soon its getting huge

note: rome ants<3

The car is silent as Nat drives. Your hand hangs out the window, fingers wiggling in the cold air. The streetlights whizz by, appearing as streaks when you lean your head against the door and unfocus your eyes. The radio is turned low, and a man reports on a traffic jam in a different intersection, voice coming out low and fuzzy with static.

Nat makes an exit with fewer streetlights. The road is rough and winds down a hill.

Towards the ocean.

The car bumps over the gravel into a parking spot. You look over, tilting your head. Nat sits, staring out at the dark water, hands gripped on the wheel. You move your hand towards Nat’s leg, but she jolts into movement all of a sudden, unbuckling her seatbelt and near leaping out of the car. You scramble to follow.

Sand plumes behind her in her haste to the shoreline. You jog over her boot prints until you’re close enough to grab her elbow. Nat slows marginally—the only acknowledgement of your presence she spares on you.

She comes to an abrupt halt right before the sand is wet. She looks out towards the horizon. Or where you think the horizon is; it’s too dark to differentiate sky from sea.

“Nat?” You tug on her arm. Hold it close to your chest.

“I…” Nat blinks. Her lips twitch into a fragile smile, and she cranes her head to look over at you.

You hunch closer, wind whistling through your bodies. Her hair tickles your face. “What is it?”

“I missed you,” she admits slowly. Like she’s surprised herself with emotion. She does that sometimes.

You furrow your eyebrows, reaching a hand over to cup her cheek. “Me too. Next time you leave for a month, maybe don’t tell me over text.”

Nat’s smile widens, eyes trained on your face as if committing every detail of it to memory. She nods and whispers: “Okay.”

“And bring me a souvenir,” you go on, bumping your forehead into hers.

“Oh,” Nat says. “I did.”

“What did you get me?”

“Dental dams.”

The hand on her face shoves her away. You huff. “You’re so annoying.”

Nat laughs, hand catching your wrist easily, and she pulls you back into her body. Her arms circle your waist, and you give in, dumping your head onto her shoulder. Soaking in the warmth of her body. The warmth of her presence. Of her joy.

“Tell me it’s the flavoured kind, at least,” you mumble into her leather jacket.

“Only the best for you, baby,” she murmurs into the side of your head, leaving, along with it, a gentle kiss. “I… I, um, love you, you know?”

Your arms constrict around her waist, fists clenching around her jacket. Reminding her, physically, that you’re hers. “I know.”

“I wouldn’t leave you. Nothing could make me leave you willingly,” she continues in that same brittle voice. But it gets stronger as she goes, more vehement. “I don’t want to go sometimes. I just want to lie in bed with you. Or be lazy on the couch. I know- I mean, we’re not that type of couple, but I-” She sighs, breath fanning over your skin. “I just… I love you.”

You sink your hands into her hair, slipping your fingers through smooth strands of red, and you tug her head back so you can look into her eyes. See for herself your sincerity when you say: “I love you too.”

“Yeah,” Nat agrees quietly.

“But,” you say as you frown a little, “are you feeling okay?”

Nat goes to say something, but you smack her forehead with the back of your hand.

“You feel okay. What’s wrong with you?”

Now, she scowls and bats your arm away. “Fuck you.”

You grin, pushing your body weight further onto her. She grunts, looking very much inconvenienced by you. “Okay, but seriously, are you okay?”

“Yes,” she hisses. “I’m fucking normal.”

“No, I mean, did something happen during your mission?” You smooth your hands over the back of her neck, scratching lightly at her nape. “I worry, obviously. You peace out for a month with a bunch of guns and your superhero homies; it’s a bit scary being left behind.”

Nat’s gaze drops to the side, downward, gnawing at her lip. “Do you feel left behind?”

You dip your head down to catch her eyes again. “No.” She inhales deeply. Waits. You smile. “I know you love me even if you only say it to me like twice a year—my birthday and, like, our anniversary—because you make me feel loved. I know you try your best to keep up with me and my little life here. I know you don’t leave me behind for the hell of it. I meant it in a very literal sense. You board a plane and fly several hours to beat people up for money.”

“That’s a bit reductive,” she mutters.

“Your job description is literally classified,” you say dryly.

“Okay,” Nat says, accepting your heartfelt speech with a heaving sigh. “I was in a submarine.”

When Nat tugs your heads back together, you’re too taken aback by the lack of segue to resist.

“The way out was blocked. Water’s pouring in from a massive hole we’d blown into the side. Bodies around me. Just me.” Nat’s eyes close, and her head slants away from the water lapping up the sand. “I thought about you, then. I thought that you didn’t have a ride home from work anymore and that I couldn’t bring you junk food on the weekends. I thought that if I didn’t find a way out, no one would make you laugh like I do. Love you like me.” Her eyes squint open, a coy little smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Y’know, fuck you like me.”

You nudge her nose with the tip of your own, chiding her for ruining the moment. Still: “Perhaps you overestimate your importance to me.”

“Oh? Do I?” she plays along, squeezing you in her arms.

But the way Nat looks right now, so close to you, is striking in a different kind of way. That’s saying something because she’s always beautiful to you, even when she’s a right mess. Her eyes, usually a light green, are dark in the night, and staunchly refuse to look away from you. Takes you in so resolutely, so tenderly. So, you sigh, pushing impossibly closer. “No,” you sigh. “You don’t.”

Nat presses her lips to yours, smiling. “Let’s go home.”

AU where R discovers that her lover Natasha isn't actually a secret agent, but a very prolific serial killer.

Aren't We All Sinners

Pairing: soft!dark Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: violence, deaths, use of good girl, infidelity, Nat is soft!dark and a serial killer—it would be as you expect. soft!dark warrants 18+ but there is no explicit sexual or extreme gore/violent content.

Note: Damn—not you sending a really good prompt in and making me write more than a drabble for this LMAO I really enjoyed this one!

Count: ~2.1K

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha Romanoff lives a quiet life in the suburbs.

She's the nice neighbor who gets along with everyone in the community, the one who helps you if she sees you struggling to carry all your groceries in. She says hi to new residents and offers refreshments for her delivery workers.

Everyone loves Natasha Romanoff, who's kind, charming, and soft-spoken.

Even you.

Especially you.

How could you not love her?

She's your friend, your confidant, your safety, your lover—your affair.

Natasha Romanoff was your secret.

"I'm sorry."

You apologize to her every time you see her. You can't help it. You know you're a detriment to her, maybe the most painful thing she has ever loved, but you can't stop.

"S'kay," Natasha muttered against your lips as she pulled you close, feeling the curve of your back and plumpness of your lips. "I want you no matter what."

And Natasha never fails to make you feel wanted. She dotes on you, knows when to be tender and when to be rough, and looks at you like you're the only thing in her world.

You couldn't really understand why. You were so...you. You were neither unnoteworthy nor extraordinary. Just you.

Until you discovered an odd creak in the floors in Natasha's bedroom when you moved her rug to vacuum.

Inside, you found passports and fake IDs. Some were hers. Some weren't.

"I'm in witness protection," Natasha admits with her lips pursed and sorrow in her eyes. "I used to work for the CIA when I found out my boss's boss was helping a drug lord run his cartel."

The way Natasha's shoulders tense up makes your heart hurt for her. You hesitantly place your hand over hers, tracing over the small scar over her knuckle.

Natasha takes a deep breath, turning her hand over to lace your fingers together as she gives you a small smile. "I was a whistleblower. We took down the cartel but my life is always going to be at risk. My career is essentially over."

"I'm so sorry, Nat," your lips trembled, holding her hand more tightly. You felt sympathy for the woman who had lost everything to keep people safe and had to live her life quietly now.

"There you go again," Natasha said as she pulled you into her lap, feeling the familiar curve of your body and the softness of your lips she wanted to make swollen. "Always saying sorry when it's me who wants you with no regards to anything else. You make this life bearable, you make it worth it."

Natasha bites your bottom lip before she soothes over it with her tongue. Her hand drifts up your shirt, and you tremble in her arms.

"Am I worth all the pain you're causing?" Natasha asked as her lips pressed a line against your jaw and down your neck.

You think about your wife, who's at work and blissfully unaware of your infidelity. You think about how much she loves you, and she's doing nothing wrong at all, and how she'll be so devastated if she ever found out.

It's wrong.

Being with Natasha in this way was wrong.

But when Natasha talks about if the pain was worth it, the pain you're causing to your unknowing wife and yourself, the answer is—

"Yes," you whimpered as Natasha began to unbutton your shirt, hands drifting everywhere until you're pliant. "You make it worth it."

"Good girl."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Hi, baby," your wife kissed your lips softly before your nose.

"Hi, Janey," you gave her a quiet smile. "Did you have a good day at work?"

"Pretty good," Jane smiled at you. "Got pretty far ahead in my research project."

"That's really good," you genuinely praised her.

Jane bit her bottom lip as she leaned her head against your shoulder, pressing her face into your neck to hide away her pleased flush.

Jane Foster was tender too, and tender in all ways. Her nature was gentle and righteous, paired with a child-like wonder for all things in the world—and you were just one of the things in it.

But you loved her for that.

And all of that tenderness was being destroyed by you without her even knowing.

It was wrong.

All of it was wrong.

Being with Natasha.

Being with Jane.

Nothing was right anymore.

It wasn't a simple matter anymore of who you were going to choose because the truth was—you deserve neither.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

There hadn't been an indication that anything was wrong. There might've never been if you hadn't had to leave the city to visit your sick grandmother. It was just a state over, and you declined both Jane's and Natasha's offer to come with you.

It was just a coincidence. A freak coincidence that the FBI would be questioning the neighborhood your grandmother lived in.

"Sorry to disturb the two of you, ma'am," a tall, burly man said as he took off his sunglasses. "We're just looking into someone and our last tip has led us to believe that our suspect was in this area."

His partner held up a photo, and you felt like your blood was freezing up. You refrain from moving your hands from the door and behind your back, as you know they'll see it trembling.

It must be an old photo.

The moment captured Natasha with short and blonde hair. You'd probably never even recognize her in the photo if it wasn't for the small scar on her knuckle you could make out in the photo.

"Have you seen anyone that looks like this?" The burly man asked.

You peered at the photo longer, pretending to analyze it deeply for them.

"No," you exhaled like you were disappointed you couldn't be of more help. "I'm sorry. I don't actually live around here and my grandmother has been too frail to leave the house for a couple of years now. I haven't seen anyone like that since I've been here, though."

"That's alright, ma'am," the burly man's partner answered as he put the photo away and gave you his business card. "Just give us a call if you do happen to see her. Don't approach her, though."

"Oh, is she dangerous?" You pinched your brow together in worry.

"Yes," he answered. "We haven't broadcasted this to the public because it would only make it easier for her to hide, even if we got help from the public."

The burly man sighed as he rubbed his temples with one hand. "She's a very prolific serial killer. We don't even have that much information about her. All we know it's possible she's killed over 40 people. She doesn't have an MO, so it's best not to approach her if you do see her because there's no telling what her type is."

"Oh, god," your voice trembled, and it wasn't even fake.

"Just keep an eye out and be safe, ma'am." The men bid you goodbye before they left.

It wasn't even a question of whether you should go back. You arranged for another family member to look after your grandmother, and you took the next flight home.

The flight delay had you returning home in the dark. The first thing you did was go home, but Jane was nowhere to be found.

You called and called, but there was no answer.

You called Darcy next, who told you that Jane just checked in with her and was still at the lab. Some kind of breakthrough and would be late.

Relief floods your system.

The rational part of you knows you should contact the police. You should've told the FBI agents the truth.

But the irrational part of you—the part that still loves Natasha, despite being terrified, needed to know why.

Why hadn't she killed you?

Why hasn't she killed anyone in this neighborhood?

Why did she find you worth not killing?

You knocked on her door, but there was no answer. No sign she might even be home. You called next, but there was no answer.

Natasha never kept a spare key around the house, inciting that no matter how good you may hide, the chances of someone finding it was never zero.

Still—she had given you a spare key.

It was just another reason you needed answers.

You quietly opened the door, stepping in. The house was dark, the only light coming from the basement.

It wasn't finished, still requiring flooring and many renovations. Natasha took you down many times to get your opinion. It wasn't like any part of the house had been forbidden to you.

You opened the door, thinking about how Natasha regularly greased the bolts to have it refrain from squeaking. She always took good care of her home.

When you reached just enough down the stairs to peer in the area, the revulsion made you stumble, nearly falling down the stairs before you caught yourself.

It smelt...metallic and something overwhelmingly wrong.

Natasha whipped around, blood over her front and hands drenched even as she wore medical gloves.

"Oh, sweetheart," Natasha cooed disappointedly at you. "You weren't supposed to be home so soon and see this. What brought you back?"

She stalks towards you, and you fall back against the step as you crawl back up it.

"I—I—The FBI..." you couldn't even finish your sentence.

You couldn't finish it as your eyes wouldn't leave the mangled body in the middle of the room. You supposed it wasn't too mangled. You could still make out her face, even if the blood from her neck was getting everywhere.

You looked over and saw her phone nearby, unlocked with her messages open.

You couldn't read it, couldn't see it clearly at all, but you knew the last person texted was Darcy.

Who texted her? You'd never know.

You watched Jane's body be impossibly still.

"Oh? FBI? They're definitely a couple of steps behind. They should've been in Washington by now. They really must be trying to comb through every little tip." Natasha hummed as she stood before you. She leaned down, resting her hand against the steps by your head as she trapped you in.

"Tell me what I should do with you, sweetheart?" Natasha asked, your body between her legs as you trembled underneath her.

"Why did you do that?" You choked. "I would've left Jane."

"Would you?" Natasha cocked her brow. "If you hadn't known what I was, would you have? Or would you have left us both?"

You were silent, and Natasha clicked her tongue.

"I know you better than you know yourself. Do you know how long I've been watching you? I followed you here all the way here as you moved from your grandmother's house." Natasha lifted one hand to stroke your cheek with the back of her finger, getting blood on you.

"So unassuming, and yet so sweet," Natasha muttered. "So scared," she looked at your shaking hands, "and still here."

Natasha's eyes are piercing in a way you've never seen before. These are the eyes that probably looked at you when you weren't even aware of her existence. These were the eyes that followed you.

"But the question is—will you remain?" Natasha asked softly. "You make it all so worth it. I was so good for you. I'm not sure if I could be without you. If you were just a little less self-sacrificing, Janey would still be alive."

It's slightly mocking, and you feel the tears well up in your eyes.

Jane was gone because of you.

"I'm scared," you admitted, unsure what else you could say. "Nothing's going to be the same..."

You shouldn't say these things. You should lie and tell Natasha that things would be like they were before as long as she stopped. You should lie and say anything to make sure you lived—escaped.

"No, it won't be," Natasha agreed. "So, tell me, sweetheart. What should I do?"

"I—I don't know," you shook your head.

Natasha sighed. "I suppose it's not fair for me to ask you what I should do with you." She spends a long minute staring at you as if deliberating.

"I'm taking you with me either way," she finally decides. "But it's up to you what you'll do with me. Be my well-kept doll or be my accomplice."

You swallowed, trying to not answer too fast. Answering too fast would seem rash.

"What would I do? As your accomplice," you ask quietly.

"I wouldn't make you kill anyone, sweetheart," Natasha reassures. "Just stay with me tonight as I take care of the mess we made." She says we like you had personally stabbed Jane. Like you tricked your wife into staying late so Natasha could grab her. "We can talk about all of it later."

"Okay," you acquiesce because there's no way you could escape Natasha. It was too late to call for help, and you were to live with the consequences of your choice.

Natasha smiled before she swooped down and kissed you firmly, getting blood everywhere as her body momentarily pressed into you.

"Good girl."

THIS is what I’m revisiting two years later, oh mama

The thing is I was SO sick then I designed this and now I’m SO sick again

Is it a curse? Did I sell my health to the devil to be able to create pretty things? Probably