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#we have like. a concept of defiance
undiscovered-horizon · 10 months
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In Emerald Hearts, Emerald Minds - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader
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[mentions of unwanted advances + suggested groping + suggestive/sexual (consensual) themes]
☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾
SUMMARY: When Vasily asks you to forget his half-brother and marry him instead, you escape the Little Palace along Alina. Nikolai realizes something strange is going on when Kaz mentions seeing a similar emerald ring on the woman that came with the Sun Summoner. With how much you and Nikolai have been running in circles to find each other, the reunion aboard Volkvolny feels almost fated.
WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.6k
>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist&lt;<
It feels like the Winter Fete has been going on forever. The champagne keeps on being poured, the guests keep on dancing and the circus acts just keep on performing as though tomorrow is a mere mirage, a concept of a certain time period that never actually comes. Inside those walls of gold and marble, the misery devouring all of Ravka seems like nothing beyond a mad nightmare - something so removed from reality, it’s hilarious in its ridiculousness. Everyone is so carefree and happy you almost take their joy as your own.
Almost.
The orchestra begins playing Waltz of the Flowers and you feel your throat tighten. Despite doing your best not to, your mind relives that fateful night when everything changed. For the longest time, you’d been claiming that the change was for the better but now, standing alone for another year in a row and watching the dashing aristocrats spin to the music, you’re not so sure anymore.
“You really need to stop doing this,” Nikolai says firmly. Although his tone is decisive and clearly unwilling to accept defiance, a pronounced hint of amusement lives between his words - a thread of light-heartedness, one might say.
Your eyebrows gently furrow. “Doing what?”
“Smiling at me like that. Any longer and I might ask you to marry me.”
It feels like you’re about to burst at the seams. Trying to contain your emotions, and failing at it quite horribly, you bite your lower lip. “I might say yes.”
“Where have you gone, Kolya?” you whisper under your breath. The gloss of vacancy covering your eyes blurs the dancing bodies into one mass of faceless strangers. But it also makes you not notice someone approaching you.
“I find it quite admirable.”
Vasily’s voice startles you. To your now-gone relief, you didn’t have the displeasure of running into him all evening - until now. If you were to list all of the things about the older Lantsov son that makes your skin crawl, you’d be done by the time another Winter Fete is organized. The top of the list, however, deserves to be mentioned as it’s an inseparable part of your every interaction with the prince: he’s quite adamant and crude in his desire to be more than just a future brother-in-law to you.
“Excuse me?” you stutter out.
That patronizing look on his face is now accompanied by a cocky half-grin as he realizes he caught you off-guard. “Your devotion to my brother. For all we know, he might be already dead, Saints’ protect him.”
“Don’t even say that!” you hiss at him. Right after, you look around to check whether one of the guests has noticed your unpleasant exchange.
Despite what you’ve just said, you know he’s right. There’s no way you can be sure that your Kolya is either dead or alive. Perhaps this is the detail further ripping your heart apart - you don’t know anything about his fate; you’re mourning, although you’re yet to see the coffin. You haven’t for a few years now and each passing month of silence only made court gossip more cruel and bold.
“All I’m saying, dearest,” Vasily begins quietly as his hand drags along your arm, “is that the moment the news of Nikolai’s death reaches the Grand Palace, you’ll be thrown out. On the other hand, I can make you the Queen of Ravka. And unlike my brother, I won’t disappear off the face of the Earth and forget about his beloved lady.”
The word of endearment is dripping with sarcasm as it leaves his chapped lips. His breath reeks of alcohol and you unknowingly turn your head away. Vasily seems to think you’re about to leave his side, so his hand tightly grips your arm. The hold is almost bruising. He yanks you even closer towards himself.
“Kolya hasn’t forgotten about me,” you say in a shaky voice. Maybe he’s not as foolish as he appears and Vasily is genuinely trying to break you down.
The prince studies your face for a moment, definitely noticing how shaken you are. His eyes have the strangest glint to them - something between desire and contempt. “Is that so?” he barely stifles a grim laugh. “He would have written you a letter if that were true, no?”
Tears sting your eyes. Vasily is certainly smarter, or at least more cruel, than he lets on. He knows exactly what to say to get into your head. It’s a startling difference between him and Nikolai - only one of them does what he can to keep a smile on your face. Well, did.
His dirty, rough hand grabs your chin. Vasily forces you to look at him, his smile wavers upon noticing your desperation. “Consider your options, зайка,” he purrs out. The prince’s other hand trails your face. “The choice is yours.”
A tear falls down your cheek. You feel it rolling across your skin and you silently hope the guests surrounding you are watching this scene. Then, you lean in even closer to Vasily’s face. The whisper leaves your lips like a viper’s venomous hiss: "I will marry you the day you lay his dead body at my feet."
To your surprise, Vasily drops his hands and takes a step back. Despite the self-assured smile on his face, you can see the fury inside his eyes. “As you wish.” He bows curtly, turns on his heel and marches away, undoubtedly looking for another glass of alcohol and a lady naive enough to warm his bed.
The palace suddenly feels stuffy and overcrowded; the music is too loud, the plethora of smells make your head spin.
Outside. You need to get outside.
Bumping into several guests and mumbling half-coherent apologies, you run through the halls of the Little Palace. When the cold, night air hits your flushed cheeks, only then do you stop. Taking in a deep breath, you can actually feel your thoughts becoming clearer. 
With each gust of freezing wind, all the anger and sadness is leaving your shaking body. Vasily just wanted to get a rise out of you and, as much as you don’t want to admit it, he succeeded. Unlike he claims, Nikolai surely is alive. Maybe bruised or sick or not sleeping well but as long as there’s no news about him being dead, he is as alive as one can be. The same starry sky hangs above your and his heads. Perhaps, in this small moment of longing, he’s thinking about you too. Wherever he is.
A tired sigh leaves your lips. You’re about to turn around and go back inside when a silhouette moving in the night catches your attention. The shape is swift although careful like a lizard approaching a fly. You see them looking around before running for another few meters only to hide behind a bush or piece of architecture.
Curious and a little scared, you follow the stranger towards one of the carriages. Quietly, you get close enough to grab their wrist. The shape lets out a gasp and turns around to look at you.
“Alina?!” you whisper. What in Saints’ mercy is she doing? You look at her warm, casual clothes and the bag on her back. “Are you running away?”
“I need to leave,” she answers equally quietly. Her voice as well as her stare is filled with certainty - she’s convinced beyond reasonable doubt this is the right thing to do. “Please, don’t try to stop me.”
You let go of her hand. “Stop you?” A dry chuckle leaves your lips. “I’m coming with you.”
“What?” she deadpans. Alina is staring at you with a vacant stare and her mouth slightly agape. Apparently exchanging royal comforts for hay and stolen apples is unthinkable.
“If I have to spend one more day around Vasily, I will murder someone.”
Alina slowly nods her head - she can definitely understand the sentiment. A dimwitted Fjerdan would have more charm than the older prince. But then she squints her eyes, looking at you with a sense of scepticism.
“Out there, there won’t be warm beds and three-course dinners, you know?”
“I know,” you answer with a careless shrug. Loitering and wandering isn’t for ladies of your sort, it’s like throwing a finless fish into a tank with sharks. Despite that, you’re quite convinced the means justify the end, at least in this scenario. “But out there is my Kolya. And I’m done politely waiting for him.”
A shadow of sadness covers her face. If there’s anyone who can understand your plight, it’s her. In fact, she is luckier than you - she saw her lover maybe an hour ago. Pleasant or unpleasant, the meeting confirmed to her that Mal is at least alive. It’s not a privilege you could afford.
“Then let’s go,” she says to you before opening the chest in the back of the carriage. Forgetting all of your etiquette and social standing, you climb into the compartment with her. Towards adventure or death, you’re going somewhere.
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“The ring gave you away,” Kaz announces. “It’s too expensive for a bodyguard.”
Jesper knits his eyebrows together, suddenly remembering something. He leans towards Kaz but speaks a little too loudly for the question to be inconspicuous: “Didn’t that girl wear the same-”
When Kaz’s cold glare meets Jesper’s squinted eyes, the dark-skinned man immediately closes his mouth halfway through the question. Both of them sit back as they were but the cat is already out of the bag. Well, not entirely - half of it is peeking out of the metaphorical sack.
Nikolai looks between them with unmissable suspicion. Although he’s heard enough to be aware of the possibility that the Sun Summoner isn’t travelling by herself, this is the first time either of the Crows admits it.
His heart begins to beat slightly quicker: Alina run away from the Little Palace along with another woman and that lady was wearing a royal jewel at the time. As long as Vasily didn’t lose his signet on one of his distasteful escapades, the course of events points to only one person - you. Shoving his restless excitement into the deepest chasms of his heart, Nikolai manages to remain his composure:
“Who was wearing that ring?” The prince-turned-privateer unknowingly fiddles with the heavy jewellery on his finger. Noticing the Crows’ reluctance, he makes them an offer: “If you tell me who you saw wearing an emerald ring, I might, say, give you ten minutes to escape.” Nikolai vaguely gestures to the closed window on his right-hand side.
Kaz knows there’s no point in lying any longer. The man in front of him is not only well-informed but also smarter than he looks, making the Crow wonder whether he also knows the answer to this question but prefers to play some kind of a game. In any event, he’s done his part of the deal and his ex-accomplices are left to their own devices. Additionally, he could really use those ten minutes. “A young woman that accompanied Alina Starkov. High-born, confident, decisive. Not a Grisha as far as I know.”
“Not a Lantsov, obviously,” Jesper chips in.
Brekker’s keen eyes catch the barely noticeable change in Sturmhond’s expression - the corner of his mouth merely stuttered up and down but it is enough to tell Kaz as much as he needs:
“You know her.”
Know her? If Nikolai had a weaker grip on his emotions at the moment, he’d laugh until his stomach and diaphragm hurt and then he’ll burst with laughter once more, unspeakably joyous that he might get to see her sooner than he thought. Yes, he does know her but in the way heart knows blood and lungs know air. She’s the ligament that keeps his bones together, the fibres that construct his muscles, the very blood that runs in his veins. Does the Moon simply know the stars? Do trees know their roots and branches?
But for now, he needs to stay focused. 
“Not really,” Sturmhond answers while scrunching his nose. “Many aristocrats wear a ring like that. While I may know of a lot of them, I hardly know anything about them.”
Kaz fights back a mocking half-grin begging to twist his thin lips. “I’d argue that an emerald in Ravka is a rather rare gem.”
“Hers is probably genuine. Mine’s stolen.”
Silence falls between the three men. Nikolai and Kaz are staring each other down, battling in some kind of war of wits and nerves, waiting for the other to give in. Jesper is stealing glances at both of them, feeling the cold tension rise in the air.
Against his deep-seated desire, Kaz doesn’t inquire further about the emeralds or the strange coincidence that the two enigmatic characters wearing them might know each other. He sits back in the chair, his shoulders visibly drop. As much as he’d love to dig deeper, he’d much rather get out of here and reclaim his freedom that is now endangered.
“Well, gentlemen,” Nikolai begins in an upbeat tone, “your ten minutes start now.”
Without saying anything else, he leaves the room. Only then, when the dark, wooden door close behind him, does he let suppressed emotions wash over him. A quiet chuckle brushes past his lips and for a moment even tears sting his eyes. Delight, worry, relief - conflicting sensations merge into one, completely overpowering flame burning inside his chest.
Maybe he doesn’t have the Sun Summoner and he still needs to come up with a plan to catch her but Nikolai hasn’t been this happy for a while now: his солиышко is alright, still making the world brighter and warmer. If he can get to Alina Starkov, he might see her again, although he begins to wonder whether she wishes to see him after all those years of silence and ignorance. But if he can see her, just witness the marvel of her entire being even for one last second, he’ll be cured of the longing and loneliness that has been gnawing at him ever since he left Os Alta.
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You’re following the Shu man to what you assume is his captain’s cuddy. The ship creeks and groans under the weight of the crew as well as the power of the waves. The bussing crewmen spare the three of you a glance, only to show disinterest and go back to their duties. It’s a nice change compared to the kerchen ship you travelled on to Novyi Zem, where the captain asked Alina and you to stay under the deck because of the sailors’ superstition. After getting off the ship, it took you a good week to wash out the reek of cured cod from your clothes and hair. Sometimes you still felt like you can smell it in the air, even in the dusty wind sweeping through Novyi Zem.
Your ‘guide’ pushes the door and they swing open with a creak, the list of the ship aiding the motion. Except for the squeaky hinges, probably rusting faster than anyone can manage, Volkvolny is in good shape. In fact, it looks brand new - no mould or woodworms.
“Captain, request for charter,” the stocky stranger announces with a hint of amusement or excitement in his voice. Despite his imposing visage, the Shu man has made a good impression on you but the long sword on his back kept you vigilant against getting too comfortable in his company.
Only when he moves to the side, presenting the three of you to his captain, do you see the face of the infamous Sturmhond.
You want to laugh. In fact, you have to clench your fists to stop yourself from bursting out with laughter. This situation feels like the strangest coincidence that you can think of, which in turn makes you suspect that it’s not a coincidence at all. Because what are the odds?
Nikolai’s face momentarily brightens up when he recognizes you, a new glint lights up his eyes. He looks different than you remember but in all the right ways: his shoulders look broader and his hair is longer, curling in a way that makes him appear more infantile. You remembered him as a handsome man but the Nikolai in front of you is beautiful enough to be considered unreal.
He's staring into you like a deer caught in headlights until Tolya hands him Alina’s unusual means of payment. As Nikolai is turning the piece of jewellery in his fingers, you notice another change: his hands look rougher, definitely scarred from all the adventures you hope you’re yet to hear about.
The blond prince turns his attention back to Alina, Mal and you. “A gold hairpin can get you anywhere. But an emerald ring?” He gestures to you. “It can get you everywhere.”
“It’s not for sale,” you answer, although you know he’s not trying to buy it. After all, he’s the one that gave it to you.
“I don’t want it.” Nikolai shakes his head. Then, a flirty smile appears on his face. “Looks better on you anyway, doll.”
You’re about to respond to his remark when his attention is once again placed on Alina. “Now, Tolya says you’re looking for a charter. Where are we sailing?”
Alina begins the story with ‘the creation of the world’ as your mother used to say: the Little Palace, Darkling, Morozova’s amplifiers and the Fold. Nikolai nods along, never giving away that he’s privy to most of the story. He doesn’t believe in the Sea Whip at first but that’s hardly his fault - not too long ago people wouldn’t believe in the existence of the Sun Summoner and now she’s standing beside you, nervously rubbing her hand. As you have expected from the moment you saw that Nikolai is Sturmhond, he agrees to the insanity of taking up the quest to catch the amplifier.
“Tolya will show you around.” He sends you off. You’re about to follow your friends out of the cuddy when he adds: “You, emerald lady, I’d like to talk to in private.”
Alina gives you a concerned look (‘blink twice if you need help’)  but you only smile and nod at her in response. With Mal tugging at her arm, she reluctantly leaves you and Sturmhond alone.
The moment the door closes behind Tolya and your friends, Nikolai runs around his desk towards you, engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug. His hand threads through your hair, pushing your head further into the crook of his neck. Even if you tried, there’s no way you can pull away or even move. Taking a deep breath, you smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne but now it’s mixed with the scent of resin, saltwater and seaweed.
Then he pulls away, looking you up and down with burning worry. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? What are you doing here?”
You swear he could be bleeding out on the floor and still he’d be apologizing for staining your clothes. It’s heartwarming that despite the years and evident change in his appearance, Kolya is still Kolya.
A wide smile enters your face. “Looking for a frisky sailor to take me on a voyage filled with indecency, obviously.”
“Well, here he is.” Nikolai points to himself and winks at you. “And he’d really like to know why you’re in Novyi Zem with the Sun Summoner and whats-his-face and not in the Grand Palace in Os Alta.”
You let out a heavy sigh and shake your head gently. “I grew tired, Kolya.” His eyebrows slant upon hearing the exhaustion in your voice. Despite the sheer happiness he feels when you say his name, the concern gnawing at his heart seems to be more powerful. “Years have gone by without you giving me even the tiniest sign that you’re alive and well. And your brother, Saint’s have mercy on him because I won’t, has been adamant about marrying me ever since you left. I told him I will accept his proposal the day he lays your dead body before me.” You make pause, noticing a strange shadow hanging over Nikolai’s face. But he’s not saying anything for a moment, so you finish what you wanted to say: “I had to get away from it all. There’s only so much uncertainty and intruding fingers a lady can take.”
“By the Saints,” he breathes out, “did Vasily lay a hand on you?”
You feel his grip around you tighten but it’s not painful, rather securing. “If you’re asking whether he hit me or forced himself on me, then no, he did not. He did, however, make it abundantly clear what he wants from me. On multiple occasions.”
Nikolai’s face twists in a scowl. The glint that lit up his eyes when he saw you is now gone, exchanged for something dark and unstable. “I’m so sorry, if I knew-”
“I know, love,” you interrupt him. He doesn’t need to announce the ends he’d go to in order to ensure you’re safe and comfortable. Nikolai has never said or done so but you’re fairly convinced he wouldn’t shy away from fistfighting Vasily if he said something less-than-savoury to you. “But neither of us could have known.”
“I promised you’d be safe in Os Alta.”
“And I promised to stay put.” You can’t keep laughter in any longer. You’re not quite sure whether your chuckle is born out of happiness or disbelief. “Now look at us.”
Suddenly, he knits his eyebrows close. At first, you think he’s confused but then the slight rise of his cheeks suggests something closer to contempt or disgust. "Would you actually marry Vasily if he gave you my dead body?"
You can only give him an indifferent shrug. "Maybe?” you ponder aloud. “If you were dead, I would lose all care about what happens to me or with me. In a way, I’d be dead too."
Nikolai takes one of your hands and kisses its fingers. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his warm lips against your skin. “I could never rest in peace knowing how he’s treating you.”
“Having you haunt me would be incomparably better than you just being gone. Everything is better than silence.”
His shoulders slouch. Nikolai looks away from you for a moment, admiring the floor in his cuddy but even this can’t hide his guilt and shame. “I couldn’t have just popped in for a visit. Not anywhere in Ravka.”
"You couldn't even have written me a letter?"
"Someone at the palace would recognize my handwriting. I couldn't risk it."
"Then you could have dictated the letter to one of your crew."
That self-assured, flirty smirk appears again on his face. "And scandalize my crewmen with the things I want to tell you?”
As much as you’ve dearly missed his insufferable humour, at the moment it’s making your skin crawl. “This is a serious conversation, Nikolai,” you state firmly.
“I am serious, солиышко.” The pet name rolls off his tongue with both weight and lightness as though it belongs exclusively to you and no one else can ever claim it as their own. He kisses your hand again but keeps it against his lips for a while longer. Then, he places your fingers on his chest and you can feel the soft thrumming of his heart. “Do you think I never thought about writing to you? That I didn’t stay up at night thinking about what I will tell you when we meet again? Countless letters I have begun only to tear them apart and throw them into the sea or burn them. If some people found out we know each other, you’d be in much greater danger than Darkling following your steps. I’d rather deal with the heartbreak of staying away from you than know I put you in danger because I can’t live without you.”
It brings you a grim sense of comfort that he’s been equally torn as you were over the lack of contact. You never thought about it before but Nikolai must have been worried sick, not knowing whether you’re alright and happy. Has he imagined your plight and misery as often as you did his?
“What did you write in those letters?” you ask in a shaky voice.
“I wrote about how much I miss you, how it physically hurts to consider that you might think I have abandoned you. When I was hungry, cold, tired or sick, only the memories of you made me push on. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d stare at the sky above me and wonder whether you’re looking at the same stars. I wrote that wherever I go, I see your face. You are in every sunrise and sunset, every flower I see and every fire that warms me.” Nikolai lets go of your fingers, placing both of his hands on either side of your face. The softness in his eyes makes you swoon. “I only wrote the truth,” he says slowly, making sure you understand the weight of his words.
Swallowing back tears, you lean into his warm touch. “My beloved, my heart yearns for you?” you jest in a dramatic voice.
A playful smile creeps back unto his lips. “If only my heart.”
“Gross.”
“You wanted a frisky sailor.”
"You’re a pirate, not a sailor.”
"I’m a privateer,” he drones out the word as though it makes a world of a difference.
"Pirate sounds sexier."
Nikolai gives you a fake frown. “Oh, I definitely am a pirate."
Without thinking twice, he’s kissing you. The sensation is just as comforting as you remember. His soft lips are doting on you, growing needier with each peck as though this is some feverish attempt at making up the lost time. 
He pulls away to catch his breath and although you’re panting yourself, you unknowingly chase after him, unwilling to dismiss this carnal desire just yet. Nikolai seems to notice your eagerness - he flashes you a cocky grin and shortly pecks your lips again.
“You crossed Ravka, the Fold and the sea just to find me?” he whispers. His eyes are stuck to your wet, swollen mouth.
“And I’d do it a hundred more times if I had to.”
You exchange a few more hungry kisses, pecking and nipping at each other’s lips, before Nikolai continues the conversation:
“I want to say that I’m flattered but I’d rather not encourage you to do something this stupid and dangerous ever again.”
“Hate to break it to you but you took all the stupid with you.”
He rests his forehead against yours; hot, laboured breaths brush against your flushed cheeks. “I’d like to clarify that I’m not stupid, I just can’t seem to think about anything other than you.”
Nikolai wraps his arms around your waist. In a swift motion, he turns you around and pushes you against the edge of his desk. His strength surprises you when Nikolai effortlessly lifts you and places you atop the table, pushing off maps and navigation essentials. Firm, warm hands are restlessly wandering across your body, unsure where to lay or what to grab.
You gasp quietly when his fingers sneak underneath your shirt. “Is this the indecent part of the voyage, my frisky sailor?”
“By the Saints, I hope so,” he whispers against your lips. Then, he furrows his eyebrows questioningly. “Is that offensive to say around a living Saint?”
“I don’t think Alina heard you.”
His nimble fingers are quickly undoing the buttons on your clothes. “Well, she will hear you in a moment.”
“Gross,” you say with laughter in your voice but the word gets muffled as Nikolai gets back to kissing you again.
Even if the crew did hear you that day, no one dared say a word.
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зайка [zay-ka] - bunny (feminine; term of endearment)
солиышко [sol-nee-shko] - little sun (unisex; term of endearment)
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hanihaato · 1 month
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a/n: jealousy themes, yandere sunday x reader, mentions of abduction, incapacitation, drabble
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Your artistic silence is broken with a snap of fingers and a question.
“Now, who is that man?”
Before the vision disappears, you have a split second to admire your efforts. Your skills have improved over the last three hours where Sunday had left your dreamscape to attend to some urgent and questionable matters.
This time, you have delved into the concept of imaginary creations that followed your newfound belief that even in this kind of twisted dream, deliberately manipulated by Sunday, you could still treat it like… a dream.
Do wonders. Keep yourself occupied to take care of your sanity.
The man you’ve created doesn’t have a name as you don’t recognize him. Maybe he was your own creation, or maybe he was one of the countless tourists at Reverie Hotel whose face you’ve been fortunate to remember. He would have made for a much more entertaining company than Sunday is, especially as he presses his lips into a thin line and looks disappointed in you.
“A secret boyfriend. We were planning to elope tonight, before you…” The story cuts short, as Sunday closes his eyes and sighs heavily, as if dealing with a troublesome kid. You take the warning and end your joke here, but because you know you have the privilege to as his beloved, you pout at him. “Alright. I was bored. Happy now? I thought you said I can do whatever I want here. Well, you keep calling it my dreamscape, after all.”
Sunday sits you down on a sofa that materializes within a blink of an eye. It’s another reminder you’re not in Penacony; there, nothing like that could happen, as it’s a dream with rules you are bound to obey. But at least there, you could understand its mechanism as it was created to mimic the real world.
‘Your’ dreamscape was solely ruled by Sunday’s whims.
You fall on a stack of heavenly puffy cushions, with his arm draped around your waist.
“Dearest. It’s our dream. This fantasy wouldn’t exist without any of us,” Sunday promptly corrects you and smiles gently at your irate gaze. “Believe me, I wholeheartedly would love to give you a fair share of power over this place, but it would be a bit dangerous to someone not practised in lucid dreaming.”
If you didn’t exceed his tolerance for defiance for today, you would have hit him with one of the pillows. Instead, you sink yourself deeper into them.
“Alright, then… What do I have to do to be classified as experienced? As far as I am aware, spending a whole three months in a dream should have made me an expert.”
“That’s a lovely conclusion. But does spending time in a library make you able to get a degree in every subject that’s written in the books?”
The question silences you. The break is long enough for Sunday to design your surroundings: a coffee table that matches the times, a porcelain tea set with golden details and some infusion with fascinating taste. They go with a tray of cookies and little sandwiches, as well as a bowl of fruits and nuts that would taste better if they were real.
However, you have to do with what you have on your hands.
You bite into a biscuit. “Then, what should I do? To be adept enough, that is.”
“There are many other requirements…” He falls into a reverie, and just as you think he closes the topic—you’ve been willing to give it up at this point, solely for the quiet to continue—Sunday speaks again. “If you can wake up on your own or overwrite any of the aspects of this dream, for example, gravity, I will consider giving you a little more power here.”
So, he’s asking you for the impossible.
“…I won’t be wiping myself out only for you to ‘consider’.”
Sunday takes a sip of tea. The porcelain can’t hide a tenderish smile, but the unexplainable gleam in his eyes is exposed.
“There is always a shortcut.”
“That doesn’t, um, doom me for eternity?”
“Yes. If I have a say in this, it’s a very delightful one.” And after the next sentence, you know why he’s so engaged in this discussion. “Marrying me.”
Sighing, you cross your arms and shake off Sunday’s arm from your shoulder. “I thought you hated liars.”
“Which part of what I said do you consider a lie?”
You ignore him and get up from the sofa, heading towards the big door. Sunday might have changed the look of the place, but the layout always remains the same. Behind that door, you will find a short hall that leads to several other rooms that don’t have Sunday in them and so are preferred.
“I don’t want to talk (to you) anymore, sorry,” you mutter out the apology just to defend yourself if Sunday was going to accuse you of being rude. “I am going to daydream—dreamdream?—about, I guess, men, if I can’t have anyone here. Goodbye.”
You reach for the pair of doors and find them uncharacteristically too heavy. You try to open the door, but just then a big silver chain crosses over their handles, a small lock appears, but you don’t have time to notice the details as you find yourself staring into a plain wall.
“Now, no need to rush,” Sunday purrs, and you turn around to see your beloved doors behind his back. “Would you like to play a round or two with me? I think we could have a wonderful conversation about how to pry the imaginary door locks and who are the people you’ve been thinking about so much.” He smiles. “All with names and examples. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us, isn’t that so?”
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romanoffsbish · 9 months
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Perfect Timing
Natasha Romanoff x F!R
Request | Prompts
Warnings: Jealousy | Meddling / Pushy Men |
Smut: Cuffs | Tribbing | Fingering | Oral | Choking
Word Count: 5,250 Words
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Natasha hated Tony Stark, she decided this with finality as she left the medbay in a huff. Normally she'd flip the man off at the mention of another party, but apparently this one was a mission in disguise so she hadn't a choice.
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Then she'd usually make her way up to her room, and after about five minutes she'd slip across the hallway and into yours. You guys weren't exactly hiding your infatuations.
Natasha didn't care if people knew, she just cared if they commented about what didn't concern them. Her love life at the top of that list. The concept was foreign to her anyways. These feelings she had were new, only ever roused by the likes of you. The pretty agent from Shield with the heart of gold who by some stroke of luck for her now lives as an Avenger.
All she wanted was a warm mug of tea, a good book, and you in her general vicinity. There didn't even have to be a discussion, just the occasional brush of hands, and tender glances.
There was still an unspoken tension, but it was bearable. Natasha wasn't ready, you could see that, and you'd never push her to be. You knew that when she was ready you'd be together, and that was enough for you. As it was for her.
This time as she entered your room she found you sat in front of your vanity. Getting ready for the stupid party that interrupted her plans. You'd continue your routine, not even sparing her a quick glance back, you knew who it was.
The musky whiff of sandalwood that blew your way as the door slammed shut proof enough.
Natasha huffed, "Life isn't fucking fair." She fell back on your mattress and kicked her feet. Mussing up your perfectly made bed like a child throwing a tantrum. You giggled as you looked over at her, nose scrunching in defiance when she glared at you. It was truly heatless.
"Welcome home Natty," you greeted, looking into her eyes as you leaned over the edge of your bed while sat in your rolling chair.
Natasha gazed up at you with a pout, it was deep and adorable. You wanted to peck it away. But you controlled your urges and instead offered her a comforting hand on her cheek.
A deep exhale left her as your finger drummed against her temple rhythmically. Her eyes slowly fluttered shut and she smiled. Your heart warmed at the perceivably unusual sight.
It was a new norm for you, but one you knew came with special privileges. Because no one else would ever see The Black Widow herself behaving like this. There was no doubt that she was tough, but what she loved most, was that with you she didn't have to be. She could be lazy, goofy, or sickeningly soft without fear of ridicule, or your perception of her changing.
"Wanna tell me what's got you upset honey?" Natasha bit her lower lip, anxiety inspiring her to nibble on it as she thought up a response.
"I wanted to watch a movie with you," she admitted softly. "But now we have to party."
"Oh Natty," you cooed, something she'd see as condescending from another, but never you.
"It'll be over in no time, then we'll clean up and watch Bond movies until you can't keep your pretty eyes open any longer." You kissed her forehead tenderly, soft lips lingering there until you heard her sigh, "Okay, I'm on board."
"Wait." Your brows furrowed, and you began to look over the redhead with determination. Nat grabbed your chin, raising your gaze as she looked up at you with a smile. "Just a couple scrapes and bruises, I'll be okay to attend."
There was no way in hell she'd send you to one of Tony's parties alone. You were too special. She wouldn't dare risk leaving you to his snobs.
Plus, this one came with increased dangers that indeed supersede the typical horny rich man.
"Are you sure?" You asked, panic evident. Her eyes glimmered as you rambled on like crazy, "Because you can just stay up here. It's a quick intel mission, Tony gave me that dress there to wear. Said that I'd be tonight's extractor."
Natasha followed the point of your finger to see a red dress, if you could even call it that. The dip of the neckline was steep and left no room for imagination as it ended over your abdomen. The same went for the slits running up the side that only came to a stop where your panty line would normally be, but she knew it wouldn't.
There was no way she'd trust you'd be safe.
"It's okay love," she replied, "Tony said I had no choice, so I'm going to change real quickly, then I'll be back to see you all dolled up."
"Since when do you listen to Tony?" Natasha chuckled from the doorway, "Never, but when it comes to being with you I'll never pass that up, so I don't have any rebuttal to offer him."
Natasha's shoulders slumped as soon as she left the safety of your room. Wanda snorted, "God, you're both incredibly transparent."
"Bite me, little witch!" Wanda giggled, "I'm okay, seems like a job more suited for Y/N."
Natasha flipped her off and then slipped into her dark room with an annoyed huff. It upset her greatly whenever the team would draw attention to her feelings for you. All she wanted was to cherish this easy label-free phase before it became something real and in turn serious.
Not that she isn't serious about you, she is head over heels for you, but for now, she's enjoying the lack of pressure she's under with you.
The woman moved swiftly through her closet, annoyedly looking for something to wear, but nothing really appealed to her though as her mind was distracted by thoughts of you.
"You should pick the red bralette and the grey slacks, they make your butt look perfect." You don't know why you said it, but you did, and now you felt overtly exposed as your unfiltered pervy thoughts had come flying right out.
Natasha hummed in amusement, "Oh yeah?"
Now you were left to stammer, "Mhm, I mean you look gorgeous in everything Natty, I didn't mean to offend you or anything." The redhead turned to you with a teasing smirk, equally as teasing words on the tip of her tongue, but they instantly wiped away as she saw you fully.
Her heart beat wildly in her chest at the sight of your exposed skin. You were positively gorgeous, and she was devilishly gazing.
Here you were apologizing to the woman you'd been flirting with for years, about your correct commentary, and here she was ogling you like you were a piece of cake. Fuck, you looked hot.
The silence you were met with only made you more nervous. "Oh God, I hope I didn't."
"Hey, don't overthink it," she teased while making her way over to you. Her strong hands naturally found their way onto your body, one of them fell to your waist as the other danced over the skin of your bare arm, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps in their tantalizing wake.
"I-I, um, stand by my words then," you stuttered, while your nervous hands picked at her shirt making the redhead smirk at your new shyness. Craving this eternal proximity.
"Why's that?" You grinned childishly. "Because then at least this way we can match Natty."
God, you were so adorable. Natasha was hardly able to keep herself from pouncing, she'd been fantasizing about taking you for so long now.
The way you looked at her as if she was the most important person to you didn't help. It was suffocating, really, but she didn't mind. Nobody had ever looked at her that way before, and she's thrilled that the first to was you. She also hoped you'd be the one, and only to do so.
The idea of matching with you was emotionally charged. Like you belonged together and you were publicly, but silently claiming it. Even if you had to chat up some pretentious guy as she only watched from a distance on standby.
"I'd like that," she admitted with flushed cheeks, the both of you now painfully aware of the need for space lest you miss the party.
"So you'll wear the grey slacks?" Natasha nearly burst into laughter at the eagerness you wore so proudly on your face. "Well, I'm not sure detka, because, I only need the red to match you, I can wear my black pair. They are more comfortable." She chose to mercilessly tease you instead of confirming the other.
"Uh, okay," you shrugged, then scurried on out of her tight grasp. "I'll be waiting for you at the end of the hallway Natty. Be quick please, I don't want to hear Tony's complaining."
You didn't want to seem like a total perv, even if for a brief second you were being one. You wanted to respect her choices, boundaries are important, so you left before anything could happen. Mistakenly so too, Natasha wanted you to force her into the grey slacks yourself after fucking her until she went dumb.
It was just an inappropriate fantasy. Just like all the others she's had. You were both pervs. Don't get her wrong, she knows you have it in you, but she'd never let you top the first time.
Natasha took a second to shake the budding disappointment away, and then a smile overtook her face as she thought about how cautious you always are with her. Most people have no problem telling her how they perceive her, whether that be in a gross, oversexualized manner, or a macho-esque, "I'm a man, therefore I'm better" way. Both usually ended the same, with the perpetrator on the ground coddling their bruised egos as well as groins.
But you were considerate, rarely ever bold, more so a shy flirty mess of a human being. Natasha adored it, especially knowing that it came from a genuine place, and was not purely driven by lust. Hardly actually. Though she did see the way you looked at her during training or missions, and it's one of the rare times that she actually craves such devious attention.
Which is why she made sure to slip into her red bralette, and her grey slacks for you. She then spun around, smirking as she checked out her behind, now understanding what you meant. Her ass looked phenomenal, as to be expected really since she never missed leg day, the thin fabric formed perfectly to her plump behind.
To embelish the otherwise simple outfit the redhead threw on a few silver rings, along with a silver chain with a rose emblem that fell just above the arrow she never took off. She smiled as her fingers ran over the small grooves of the red charm, you'd gotten this for her the past February, not on Valentine's Day, but the day after when you, her, and Wanda spent the day out as gal pals, indulging in half-price treats.
It was perfectly placed. A bit closer to her heart than the other, and she reasoned that was fair because she loved Clint wholeheartedly, but it's you afterall who truly held the claim to her.
After a swift tossing of her hair into a low bun, and a quick moisturizing of her face, and lips she made her way out into the hallway to find you faced away staring out over the banister. Nervously fiddling with the strings of the faux vines Tony had oddly placed for decor. As the redhead approached she began to catch on to the why, and she almost wanted to thank the annoying man for the sweet gesture.
In an attempt to bridge the gap in bold moves tonight the woman found herself pressing your body into the banister with her very own. Trapping you, but as she'd hoped, you relaxed just as soon as you could smell the earthy tones of her cologne. "What's troubling your mind?"
Her arms that had been loosely caging you in, with hands on either side of the banister now wrapped around your waist in a comforting hug. She slowly swayed you to the faint sounds of the music coming from the room holding the party while she waited for you to find a response. "I'm nervous Natty, I don't want to fail the mission. What if he doesn't like me?"
The unfavored question caught her off guard in a multitude of ways, as if his attention actually mattered for anything other than the mission.
But what really got to Natasha was that you'd genuinely sounded insecure. It was like you didn't actually see you were the most beautiful person here tonight. It was disheartening.
Natasha gently turned you to face her, with your back now pressed into the railing as she held your body protectively against hers to keep you safe. She wanted to quell your fears, but she needed you to really see her, so you could feel the honesty. "You're overthinking it again Y/N, nobody with a lick of sense would be able to find something wrong with you."
Natasha cradled the left side of your face in her hands, eyes abounding with adoration as she cherished this rare moment without the usual disturbance. "You're beautiful, that's a given, one smile is going to be enough to melt that entire room." The redhead paused, admiring the way that your frown slowly melted away, giving proof to her claim as her heart skipped.
"But what really sets you apart, and enhances that beauty is your heart that shines brighter than the physical. I promise you that he'll be enticed by you just as soon as we descend."
You were nearly on the verge of tears as you saw the truth never wavered in her eyes, it wasn't a fronted approach to make sure you were mission ready. Natasha meant every word, and though you knew of her feelings deep down, it was finally nice to hear it. Albeit in an indirect way, it was sort of reassuring.
"Shall we go then?" Natasha's heart melted as your smile exuded a bit more confidence, she cleared her throat and took a step back to offer you her bent arm. "We shall milady." You giggled and scrunched your nose as you slid your arm through hers, and laid your head on her shoulder. Her heart stuttered but she played it cool, the nerves weren't harrowing.
The party was booming when the two of you stopped outside of the doors, Natasha felt you tense momentarily so she pulled your front to hers and hugged you tight. "You've got this in the bag Y/L/N, get the intel, then we'll steal some booze, and hors d'oeuvres, then slip out." She placed a sweet kiss on your temple, then ushered you into the party before she made her grand entrance not even a minute later.
Her eyes instantly searched for you, the innate need to ensure you were safe had the you-induced fluttering of her heart ceasing. When her emerald eyes found you she saw you'd already met with the young man, as she turned her coms on she heard Tony mention his name was Dewayne. He was handsome enough she supposed, in a red suit that nearly mirrored your dress. The thought alone of you being paired with another made her mood sour.
Dewayne was clean-shaven and well-versed, he even offered you a warm smile, but she saw right through his act. She wasn't exactly sure of his ties, the mission wasn't discussed in detail, but she knew that whatever his intentions were with you, they were unwelcomed and devious.
"So, Dewayne, how are you finding your first Stark party?" The man sipped on his scotch before offering you a thoughtful hum and a near-terrifying grin. "With you at my side, I'd say well." He paused, looking you over before his gruff voice reemerged, "Dare I say perfect."
You nearly threw up on the man as he laid a hand on your shoulder, but you kept your true feelings at bay in favor of a successful mission, and giggled flirtatiously, "What a charmer."
His responding smile was smug in nature, and Natasha wanted to wipe it right off of his face, and as your conversation continued she felt the jealousy steadily building. It was manageable until the man got a bit too handsy with you.
Tony had just given you the all-clear, saying that the information they needed to collect from his neglected belongings was secured. Natasha ignored the fishy nature of Tony's tone as she saw Dewayne press you into the bar with absolutely no regard for the way your body froze, or for how a grimace overtook your face.
In that moment she undoubtedly saw red, and before she could reign her reactions in she was yanking his arm from your waist, and spinning him into the bar, with a hand wound in his hair she slammed his face into the bar, then again into the bowl of complementary lemon wedges.
Dewayne cried out at the sting now prominent in his eyes, the sound only intensified as the cracking of his fingers could be heard. He'd tried to get out of her hold, but it was of no use, he was a couch potato, with a fast metabolism from Jersey, and she was a deadly trained assassin with enhanced genetics from Russia.
He simply couldn't compete, where he'd never begin to compare. Leading Natasha to begin to piece together the fishiness of this mission. It made her livid to think that someone, Tony, felt she was so incapable of making the move eventually that he had to make it his priority.
Wanda sipped her drink, suppressing her giggle as she saw Tony's face fall in silent understanding, that was going to cost him a lot of money. "This is what you get for meddling Stark." She offered him no more than that as she walked away, he was a billionaire after all, the hospital bill and proper compensation wouldn't even put a dent in his accounts.
Had he not hired such a douche, he'd be fine.
Wanda's heart soared though as she knew that you and Natasha, her besties, would finally be passed this unbearably long mutual pining phase and hopefully into a relationship.
Meanwhile for you, everything had happened so fast you believed yourself to be experiencing whiplash, one second you're lazily flirting with a perp, then you're listening to the sickening crack of that very man's nose and fingers, and then the next you're being tossed haphazardly into the woman of your affections bedroom, to now end with your body pressed into her door.
"Natasha," you whimpered softly as her body kept you painfully pressed into the doorknob, your body ached, a dull throb in your back keeping you from enjoying the joy that stems from the incoming promise of pleasures.
No matter how many times you called for her she ignored you, she was lost in her anger, and after a moment of listening to her ramblings you got the gist of what took place. So you let her go on, but with every angry word she'd mutter, she would pull you in just to push you back harder into the knob. Abusing your poor body without any true malicious intentions.
"I don't see why people can't mind their fucking business," she sneered, her fingers curled even tighter around your hips and you yelped. "Who does that pretentious twat think he is? Paying someone to harass my girl."
"Natty please," you cried again, "That hurts."
Her eyes widened fearfully at the idea of hurting you, she tried to step away, but you held onto her forearms and shook your head to keep her there. Natasha's guilt instantly settled as she saw the needy look in your eyes, she shifted you, then pressed her body against yours, this time with your comfort in mind.
The tension was palpable now that her focus had shifted to you wholly, her eyes that were focused in on yours sparkled and she reveled in the feel of your subtle squirming against her. Your breathing was growing labored and hers had remained surprisingly calm. Natasha knew she had you right where she wanted you when your eyes closed and nails dug into her arm.
"You know you're mine right detka?" Her nose brushed against your cheek, and she smirked when you tried to take the chance to kiss her. "If you'll let me baby, I'll prove it to everyone."
The woman didn't wait for you to respond, her lips faintly pressed against yours, and your needy whimper told her that was the right call.
"Do I have your permission then detka?" You weaved your hand into her hair, and guided her face into the crook of your neck. "Prove it."
Natasha smirked against your skin, then she purred, "Gonna look even prettier with my marks." Then she let her overwhelming urge to claim you take over as she began to mark you.
The need had always been there, but she'd never felt threatened before. She needed to make sure that nobody else in the compound ever questioned your status as hers again. To make it clear, so anyone who looked in your direction could see her claim, the widow's bite.
While you leaned into the feeling of her lips finally being on your skin you became a bit of a whimpering mess. Each noise different as she purposefully switched up her method with each bruise she left. Her teeth adding a variety of edges to the marks where she'd nibble over skin she'd previously suctioned her lips to. 
Then all at once she became impatient, and spun your bodies around so she could get you undressed and beneath her. It was a blur of articles, between hers and yours, but the dress was removed with a care that told you just how much she appreciated seeing you in it tonight.
"You're so fucking perfect," she gawked at the sight of you bare, and spread out on her sheets. It was everything she expected, a picture of beauty, and somehow it was also more with the way your thighs glimmered with your essence and your collarbones were littered in bruises.
The moment needed to be vividly imprinted onto her mind, she had no doubt it would star in her dreams tonight, but she needed more. Something tangible, so without much thought she grabbed her polaroid camera, and to her delight you spread your legs and fondled your breasts, giving her a show worthy of capturing.
However, as she settled the copious amounts of film down onto her bedside table she found herself growing unfairly jealous. Seeing you play with your breasts, pulling moans from the depths of your soul as your thighs rubbed together made her feel inadequate. As if you were going to just get off on your own, when she was standing right there to assist you.
"Detka, I said you're mine," she purred, your eyes fluttered open as her body weight settled atop of yours. The feel of her slick on your stomach had you jonesing to get your hands on her, but before you could even try she had yours pinned above you. "So don't touch."
The feel of the cooled metal as she secured you to her bedpost was both a relief, and a curse. It was soothing to your overheated skin, sure, but it put up an unnecessary barrier between your bodies. All you wanted was to hold her close, and make her feel just as good as you knew she was about to make you feel. Natasha had plans though, and you wouldn't ever question them.
For a moment the redhead just stared into your eyes, a silent conversation being had as she was genuinely gauging your comfort. It was clear as your hips canted, pushing her up as your body rolled that this move wasn't concerning you but only leaving you desperate and at her mercy.
So, without any patience remaining she was moving down your body. Lips feverish as they found yours, and her hands equally as crass as they groped your abandoned breasts. Natasha ground her hips into yours on pure instinct, and caused the kiss to momentarily break as you both moaned into the other like whores.
Natasha rubbed her wet folds against yours again, testing the waters, and you shivered affectedly. Her tongue caressed yours, feeling the vibrations of your moans as she picked up a steady pace, smearing your wetness together until the both of you were screaming in bliss.
The prior kiss was already passionate, but now as you both continued to grind against one another in search of prolonged pleasure it had become expectantly sloppy. At this point it was really just tongues laying atop of one another as the two of you panted and came back down.
"You're so alluring," she whispered, her lips now trailing over your jaw. "I have never been so desperate before, jealousy is beneath me." Her rough hands contradicted her words as they possessively tightened around the skin of your hips. They'd been slowly moving down from their previous place on your breasts in an inconspicuous, but truthfully devious manner.
"But when I saw that man," Natasha paused, pulling back to look into your eyes, her tone mocking as she sneered his name, "Dewayne."
She looked pissed, you'd seen her this way before, but never towards you. This still wasn't aimed at you, but you couldn't help but shiver as she went on. "With his grubby hands on you, I could see it in his beady eyes that he thought you were his to take. As if he wasn't hired to lure me in to collect what was mine all along, and well, to effectively doom Tony's fate."
"Natty, I," you went to apologize for your delayed reaction to his advances but she shushed you with a kiss. "Don't apologize, it's not your fault that these men are clueless."
You giggled softly, the redhead smiled at you adoringly, but you saw the glint in her eyes, and felt the way her hand traveled much lower. She then chuckled when your lower body caught on, she could feel your legs trembling against her own that were straddling yours. 
"It's okay though detka, because you're going to give them a refresher," she teased, a nimble finger slid through your drenched slit, your collected juices covered her digit in seconds.
"Natty please," you begged, and she grinned. "Yeah, like that detka, just louder, yeah?"
Two fingers slowly entered you a second later and you felt like you were going to combust. " You feel so good detka, fuck, I've wanted to have you like this for so long," she grunted her truth into your shoulder as she slowly thrusted her fingers into you, fighting against the way your walls tried and failed to still her moves.
Natasha smirked down at you. "Tell me how it feels. It doesn't hurt does it?" You could only mumble a labored, "Full," as you shook your head while slowly becoming accustomed to the unfamiliar stretch from her fingers.
Natasha chuckled, "Do you feel good though?"
You nodded with a loopy smile. "So good."
Natasha hummed softly as she kept up the steady pace of her veiny fingers, you were melting even further into the mattress as she relaxed your body. It was clear how much you trusted her, and with every flutter of your wall, she could feel just how much you wanted this.
It was heartwarming to see the relaxed smile, but it was also arousing when small moans slipped through your lips, she was desperate to increase the tenacity of your reactions at all costs. "I'm gonna do the type of things that happen in your dreams." You gasped as her fingers suddenly wrapped around your throat, it was a featherlight touch but you could feel the scalding burn of arousal bubbling over.
"You're the star of them after all," you actually managed to whisper with a teasing grin that she wiped away with the curling of her fingers.
"Oh fuck," you mewled as your body writhed, missing the look of shock on the redhead's face as she peered down at the way your slick had just gushed around her fingers and onto her bed. Her fingers slid from you without struggle, and wetness followed, trying to escape into the fabric of her sheets but she was quicker as she replaced the digits with her eager tongue.
Natasha lapped up every last bit of your intoxicating arousal, and then some until she was reaching your depths causing you to scream out a series of expletives as pleasure coursed through your body all over again. It left you pathetically gasping for air, your vision spotted with flashes of black and white dots.
"I've never tasted something so," Natasha paused, voice labored from a need she satiated with another long lick up your slit. "Sweet..."
She noticed the way you had failed to reply, body only offering her a twitch of your hips so she peered up to find your eyes shut tightly. It filled her with a sense of pride to already have you so pliable, just totally brainless for her. So much so you didn't even register her moving.
When you opened your eyes you flinched at the sight of the woman hovering your face. There was little to no green left in her irises, she looked near crazy as she seductively licked her slicked-up lips clean before offering you a delighted grin. You instantly felt hot under her intense stare, in the prior moments you had overwhelming bliss to tamper your nerves, but now you were on full display beneath an actual goddess and felt like you needed to escape.
"You're so adorable. Aww, don't hide your face." Natasha pulled your attention back from beneath the side of the pillow where you'd tried to burrow. "Don't cover up."
"You are intimidatingly beautiful," you huffed and the redhead cackled before softening at the sight of your frown. She kissed you slowly, and you melted into the affection without a single rebuttal. "Tell me what you need sweetheart."
Natasha patiently waited for you to give thought to her words as she began to mark up the skin of your throat, an over-the-top attempt to continue claiming you. As if the entire compound didn't know that you were off the market the moment she took you from the faux mission, or before. It didn't hurt to gloat.
"I-I want to touch you too," you croaked, "Please remove the cuffs Natty..."
The redhead thought it over, you'd been so good for her thus far, letting her possessiveness run its course instead of being put off by it all.
With a tender touch designed for only you in mind she unlocked the metal, lifting your sore wrists up to her lips where she'd place a wet, soothing kiss just before taking the initiative to settle your hands over her breasts. "Touch all you want detka, I'm yours just the same."
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ominoose · 1 month
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𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫'𝐬 𝐀𝐬 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬
Characters: Steven Grant, Nathan Bateman, Llewyn Davis, Jake Lockley, Blue Jones Summary: Oscar Characters characters teaching subjects at school. Warnings: None WC: 1.7k
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𝗦𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗚𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁 - 𝗛𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆
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His natural passion and accidental ability to hyper-fixate on things means he can teach all the required topics with ridiculous detail, but we all know which subject he dominates best.
The vast majority of the students adore him. Mr Grant’s lessons are always fun, he lets the class make posters (that include all nine members of the Ennead), do Kahoot quizzes, create live re-enactments of historical events. Even when he’s just talking off a power point, his voice, mannerisms and tendency to act things out has the children engrossed and giggling. 
The classroom walls are absolutely littered with posters, some bought and some done by students. There's inspiring quotes, positivity kittens and Egyptian puns.
Not only is he a good teacher, but a good mentor. Being autistic himself, he notices any neurodivergent or “othered” kids and makes it a point to find what they’re passionate about and working it into their curriculum. If someones struggling he’ll arrange one-on-one time, asking them what they’re strengths are not just to help figure out how to work with them, but to remind them they have strengths.
While most students do love him, the few troublemakers know he’s not the strictest and thus will absolutely take the piss. Feigning ignorance and struggles as an excuse to why they missed a deadline or didn’t do the homework. Steven, the optimist he is, is always happy to give second, third and fourth chances. It does take that long for him to realise they’re not genuine, and yet he’ll still try, convincing himself that he’ll be able to turn them straight with the magic of friendship.
𝗡𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗕𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗻 - 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗰𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲
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It would be like finding a needle in a haystack trying to find a single student in the many years Nathan had been teaching that didn’t, at least at one point, absolutely despise him. Mr Bateman was far from the friendliest, lax teacher to his students, bordering on a bit of an asshole really. He had an absolute zero tolerance policy for time wasting, messing around and not giving 100%. All students were expected to keep up, get the work done on time and spend time studying and completing exercises at home. If you didn’t do that, you weren’t trying hard enough.
The common conception of a hard-ass wasn’t ill fitting, but it wasn’t without reason. Mr Bateman was a hard-ass because he wanted his students to grasp every opportunity at their disposal and stretch their potential. Some people were born smarter, some learned quicker from a young age but every single person could better themselves regardless of whether they started at Level 10 or Level 0. 
It also shouldn’t be said that he wanted students that simply obeyed. It was a story passed down to students about the time a student, in a fit of frustration and defiance to the teacher that always pushed them, completely disregarded the set code structure and wrote their own entirely new one that completed the aim function. While everyone would expect them to be given weeks worth of detention and a reaming, but Mr Bateman simply smiled, said well done and moved on with the lesson. Apparently the kid managed to get a full paid scholarship into top university, but that was just hearsay. Rumour has it his middle name is Hamlet too, snickering students will whisper.
Besides his rigid teaching style, not much is known about him. The classroom is minimalist, only a coffee flask and a pot of three black ballpoints sit on his desk. The walls are sparse beyond a handful of posters about common coding knowledge.
𝗟𝗹𝗲𝘄𝘆𝗻 𝗗𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘀 - 𝗠𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰
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The beginning of every new school year followed the same routine. Kids would hear their music teacher was a published artist, get insanely excited, go to class then realise published was not synonymous with success and wither with disappointment. Mr Davis gave up caring years ago, at least he finally had a steady gig, albeit at the cost of his soul.
Classes were average. Sometimes students were treated to his natural singing voice, something that always sparked smiles and attention from the kids, but usually lessons were Llewyn bearing through kids bashing piano keys and drum pads as he wandered around and did his best to tutor them through it.
To kids that were required to take the class, it was alright. Mr Davis wasn’t a hard ass, although it did drain his soul to see kids blind to the brilliance and potential of music. His homework mostly consisted of practicing at home or listening to different genres. To kids that genuinely enjoyed music, it was bliss. Mr Davis was no dream mentor for sure, he was quite stubborn about what he thought “good music” sounded like, but when he sat with someone he could share the passion with, the kid would feel like an equal. 
The classroom was always open to kids that wanted time to practice, he knew what an escape music could be, and would never hesitate to sit and work out a song or even add his guitar to whatever a student was playing.
The room was a riot on a good day. All sorts of instruments littered and surrounded the desks, posters of musicians and notes and the different types of brass instruments lined the walls and there was always something playing in the background. A basket of fruit and cereal bars was always sat fully stocked next to the door, with a “Help Yourself” sign stuck to it. No one knew why, and no one ever thought to question it.
𝗝𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗹𝗲𝘆 - 𝗦𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘀𝗵
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Spanish was always a full class, no matter what year or whether the students actually cared about Spanish. Students either swooned over him or wanted to be his friend. Mr Lockley knew, although had no clue why, but who cares as long as he was able to spread some Spanish around. The point is, Mr Lockley had no enemies at school.
Like a typical Spanish teacher, the register was taken in Spanish, if you wanted to ask to go to the toilet it had to be Spanish and if you wanted to pass notes in class they had better be in Spanish. He wasn’t the most forgiving, the man expected homework to be in on time and god help you if it was google translate. Mr Lockley would call you out, make you re-do it in his class at lunch or give detention to repeat offenders.
If students had been doing reasonably well he’d bring in some traditional Latin American foods for students to try, turn on a Spanish movie or even treat them to a little story about his past. Remember the Chef in Ratatouille that killed a guy with one thumb? That's the type of nonsense he talked about, albeit a bit more kid friendly. Most of the stories were embellished tales of him saving a grannies purse from being stolen, but some students always wondered about that hardened, broody looking teacher.
Mr Lockley prefers to keep his help to class time, long past learning his lesson about the very obvious students that came to him giggling and blushing behind their hands. On a rare occasion however, he will accept a student that comes knocking, overly apologetic and pleading for just a little help on their assignment, especially if the student is a quiet one. His lunch is set aside and he gestures for the student to take a seat before going over it with them, helping them with pronunciation, never shaming them or getting annoyed if they make a basic mistake. At the end he’ll even teach them how to say shit in Spanish, if they can keep it a little secret.
The classroom has posters of different Latin American countries, verbs and nouns, the different gendered terms. His desk was a little cluttered, a ‘Mejor Profesor’ mug, papers half marked and some drawings done by students hung nearby.
𝗕𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗝𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀 - 𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘆
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No one's favourite teacher but everyone knew him and had something to say. If a student had him later in the day they’d need to pray the morning classes were well behaved or pray they knew someone in said classes that could give a heads up on his moods. It didn’t matter either way, you could walk in one him sucking on his lower lip and glaring the entire class down and walk away with him smiling and patting backs. It was every student for themselves in that class. The only consistency was the white lab coat he wore. 
There were obvious favourites, usually people who found a good balance of kissing his ass but not too overtly, asking for help while still expressing basic knowledge. If you asked too many questions, he would openly sigh or ignore you for someone else. If you gave an answer he thought was stupid, he wouldn’t hide the hands raking over his face in annoyance. If you were quiet and kept to yourself, you’d skirt by okay until one day in the middle of a lesson he calls your name with a faux chirp, predatory smile and ask a question. Answer correctly and you can rest assured he'll (probably) leave you alone for the next few lessons, answer wrong and enjoy doing exam questions as practice.
Detention for even a hint of a Breaking Bad reference. Openly hated a student named Jessie. Weirdly, students notice it's not the chemistry part that annoys him, it's the inaccurate portrayal of drug transactions and the costs. No one has dared ask why he knows so much about that.
Mr Jones’ door is usually locked at lunch and after class, he'll blatantly ignore any student that knocks and continue eating. On the stray chance a rare student manages to find him outside the class and has the balls to stop him, with his trademark sigh he'll begrudgingly set up a day and time to help them. It'll be a one-on-one session filled with eyerolls and being talked down to, but you'll get lots of extra knowledge and he'll even throw some of his old textbooks at you for free. Weirdly, he won't bother you in class anymore, just giving you a little smile out the corner of his eye.
The classroom has old periodic table posters from the teacher that retired years before him, and classroom rules about remembering to wear goggles or you'll go blind. The only thing on his desk besides several piles of paper is teacher mugs with variations of chemistry puns he pretends to hate.
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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 2 months
Text
Pretty like the sun
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Previous chapter / Next chapter
a/n This is pretty like the wind series spin offs. This can be read as standalone all you need to know is that Azriel has two adoptive kids with OC - Zofie and Axel. Future stories related to them might include stories specifically decided to Azriel hence why I am taging it as Azriel story too. Don't come at me please. ✨
warning: blood, fighting, injuries, drinking.
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Nyx’s pov:
"Again", his voice sounded unfamiliar to him. He had flinched at it after the concept of time had started slipping. For a split moment, Nyx thought that it was his high lord who had spoken. That had caused him a solid punch to the jaw. The boy in front of him looked Nyx over worriedly, as his stance shifted. “You’re in or you're out? I won’t wait forever”, Nyx snarled, leaping forward. Once again, he didn’t remember when they had abandoned their swords. But he preferred it like that. Close and personal. Physical.
Another blow landed against his nose, and Nyx's head flew back. He was well aware that on his good days, the poor chap wouldn’t have landed any of the punches at all. He got close only because Nyx let him. "Enough," an annoyed voice sounded from behind him. A welcome destination for the boy in front of Nyx. It was good enough for princes’s cracked knuckles to meet the target. “Flying fuck," a rough palm gripped Nyx’s shoulder, “You are the most stupid...", a growl. Nyx tried to open his left eye, one that was now too puffed up and throbbed like a bitch. “I suggest you bugger off before I make sure that you’re eating dirt for the rest of the week," Axel’s deep growl echoed, making Nyx chuckle lightly. “Man, he asked for it", the guy lifted his palms in defiance. “And if he told you to jump from the cliff, would you do it?", the boy shrugged, only making Axel let out yet another frustrated sigh, and the other Illyrian took it as his chance to leave.
“You will make a wonderful advisor in the future," Nyx skittered. “I think I will have your ass six feet under before that could even happen," Axel grumbled, pulling at his friend’s arms and trying to help him up. “I left you for a fucking hour, Nyx," he huffed, draping Nyx’s arm over his shoulders. "Yeah, I missed you. I had to settle for a fight with an idiot”. Nyx huffed. “Do I need to remind you that you have an important high-lord party to attend soon?"—that was one of the reads Nyx had let his rails loose. He hoped that if he misbehaved badly enough and looked like a walking corpse when the day chimed, he could wiggle his ass out of it. The thought alone made him want to bend over and vomit. He wasn’t built to be a prince. He didn’t want it. It wasn’t him. Wasn’t the life he envisioned for himself.
“You’ve been acting like an absolute fool ever since we came back from Velaris; what has gotten into you?", Axel kicked the door to their cabin before guiding Nyx toward his bed. Your sister happened to me, he thought, but bit his tongue. “I just wanted to fight," Nyx growled instead. Only now did he feel how badly his body hurt. That fucker had landed more blows than Nyx had initially counted. “I know you, and this ain’t you. You can talk to me. We always talk about it”, Axel shoved Nyx’s hand away from his face before dragging a warm cloth over the swollen eye. And what would he tell him? I can't get your fucking sister out of my head. Do you know why we cannot see each other for a bit? Why is she even pulling away? Nyx grunted, pulling the cloth out of Axel’s hands.
“Why don’t you start by telling me who you’ve been running around with instead?”. It was low. Axel had a right to have a life outside of being Nyx’s right-hand man. And his love life didn’t need to be accounted for. But Nyx was so angry. Angry at everything and everyone. People constantly kept him in the dark. And then threw a bucket of news in his face while expecting him to receive it with open hands. “I ain’t running around with anybody," Axel shook his head, throwing a jar of salve Nyx’s way. But the scowl on the young prince’s face only deepened, “So, Piper doesn’t ring a bell?”. And bingo. Axel’s whole body got ridged. Did Nyx have no right to go and dig into the new arrival papers? Probably. But here they were. “Keep her name out of your fucking mouth," Axel pointed a warning finger at him, clearly not finding this one bit amusing. “And you stand here giving me lectures about sharing things," Nyx chuckled, “So why aren’t you talking, friend?" Axel shook his head, “Clean yourself up and sober up while you’re at it." He moved towards the door, and something in Nyx shifted. Axel never left. Not even when Nyx was in his shittest of moods. He had always been the only one to not leave him. Sit through his temper tantrums. "Axel," Nyx breathed, panic rising in his chest. He didn’t want to be alone right now. His head was too busy. He was too full of things he didn’t want to think of. “I’m only going to grab you some fresh water; lay down you twat," Axel grumbled back, easing the rising tide within Nyx. He nodded simply, slumping back on the mattress. His hand instantly moved beneath his pillow, where he always kept a stitched napkin that Zofie had given him. The crooked moon and stars greeted him like they always did. The stick figures holding hands. The flowers. Even the wonky sun on the far left side was perfect. Always perfect. “I’m thinking about you," Nyx muttered, brushing his fingers over the stick figure that was supposed to represent Zofie, “It’s one never-ending night over here without you, Sunny."
Zofie’s pov:
It’s only been a week, but it felt like forever. She never usually felt so desperate when they left. At least not after the first week. But she had grown restless. The cry that left Nyx’s lips as he shot up to the sky was still ringing loud and clear. Zofie heard it even through her hammering heartbeat. With her back pressed against the door, as she covered her mouth. And now it felt as if she hadn’t seen Nyx in a lifetime. It clawed at her. She knew that Axel would look after him, but... What if something happened, and that’s how they would have separated?
Zofie didn’t know what she was feeling. It all seemed too mushy and jumbled up. Now, instead of seeing a different aura around people, she simply saw black. It was impossible to distinguish between different feelings.
“Zo, do you want more pancakes?", her father’s voice made her almost drop her fork as she nodded. Azriel gave her a concerned look before plopping one of his signature breakfast goods onto her plate. “You excited to see the girls?", he asked, throwing a glance your way, only earning a slight shrug in return. “Yeah, am… It will be nice”, even if she didn’t want to see anyone. Well, maybe Piper. Axel had said that she was one of the nice girls. One Zofie could get to know if only she chose to.
“Ah, yes. You’ll be able to show them around; you can even go down to the market in the city," you chimed in, “and buy something nice or show them the good spots." But Zofie didn’t want to do that. Most spots had been hers and Nyx’s. They felt too personal to just be handed out. The same pinch in her chest made the hallow darkness spread even more. Her brows knitted as she pushed the plate further away from her. “You didn’t like it?", Azriel stopped mid-bite, almost making Zofie feel guilty. Almost. “Just not hungry," she shrugged, getting up from the table. She caught a glimpse of worry in her father’s eyes as she moved towards the stairs. The way you had reached out to squeeze his hand. And while Zofie didn’t want to keep you two in the dark, she didn’t know how to explain the emptiness inside her.
Just the fresh air and change of scenery didn’t help. It was nice to see her aunts and introduce herself to Piper, but socializing was never her thing. Nyx did most of the talking when they were out in public. He was born for that. It baffled her how quickly he managed to come up with a snarky remark as if he stored them all within his brain with special labels for just the right moment. Zofie tried to suffocate thoughts of him. Tried. But failed miserably. Everything she did or thought of was always in one way or another related to him. The thing was that she didn’t want to leave him like that. She didn't want to make him upset, but she also didn’t know how to make everyone happy. So, until she could come up with a solution, it would have to be like that.
“In my opinion, he is so much more attractive," one of the girls giggled into her palms. Attractive? How long has Zofie been out of this conversation? They were talking about the market day the last time she listened. “Well, Piper is the one who got to talk to him," the brow haired girl nudged the poor Piper, who had practically curled into herself by now, “Is he really hot up close?”.
Zofie shook her head. “Who’s hot?", she cut in, making all four sets of eyes dart up to her. And now she realized why she hated speaking in the first place. “Piper here had the prince’s second man carry her boxes”, Lina’s blond curls bobbed as she turned. But that was Axel? Why was Axel even here in the first place? He told her they could... Of course, he had met her. “Well, that’s my brother, so can we not talk weirdly about him?", Zofie scrunched up her nose, making the other two girls roll their eyes. But at least Piper’s shoulders sagged in relief. "Bore," the copycat next to Lina chirped. Zofie just couldn’t remember her name.
“We sure can talk about the prince himself," Lina smirked, and something snapped deep within Zofie, “There’s nothing to talk about." Suddenly, the prospect of having girls her age seemed like the worst idea ever. “As if... I’m determined to meet him," Lina said. The green mist rose in Zofie’s vision. “Gonna swoon him off his feet; heard he’s a proper flirt two," she elbowed her double ganger as they both chuckled.
“He will not fall for your shit," Zofie bit back, not even realizing that her hands were now firmly clenched by angry fists. “And how would you know that?", Lina fluffed her lashes. How did she know? She didn’t. Lina was pretty; you couldn’t take that from her. From the hair to her lean body. She was the embodiment of how any girl wanted to look. While Zofie… “He is my friend," she muttered, biting out the nagging thoughts. Lina chuckled, “Yeah, a friend. So, clearly, if you’re not girlfriend material, I will be."
It felt as if a bomb had exploded all around her. Vision glazing over. She saw nothing. Only Lina. She heard no one. Only Lina. And surprisingly, the girl wasn’t smiling. She looked petrified. Grasping at her throat. It felt static. As if the time had come to a halt. And then someone yanked her back. Pulling Zofie away from the neatly placed picnic blanket.
"Zofie", it sounded muffled, but her eyes did follow the sound. Only to be met with Feyre’s concerned ones. She blinked a couple of times. The fuzzy feeling cleared out. “She’s insane," a shriek sounded from behind her, making Zofie twist back. “You are dangerous, you stupid..." it was Lina, her cheeks still red, eyes wide. “Don’t finish that sentence," Cassian was gripping her shoulder, but he didn’t look too concerned with the girl. His eyes were on Zofie.
Zofie blinks a couple of times, black spots dancing in the corners of her vision. What had she done? Was it even her? Why did she... “Why don’t we go drink some tea, dear?", Feyre wrapped a hand around her shoulders. "I...", Zofie barely muttered before Feyre cut in, “Some tea with lots of honey, yes, yes." A part of Zofie wanted to run. Like she always did. Run away and hide. But Feyre pushed some of hair behind her ear, “We’ll have a nice conversation you and I”, she muttered almost ti herself, “Bake cookies even. Cookies always help”.
Nyx’s pov:
“Give me that," Axel said, snatching the glass out of Nyx’s hand, “You’ve been here for an hour." An hour too long. The hustle of the people was making Nyx sick. It was bad enough that he had to stand for the majority of that hour next to his parents, smiling as if he was thrilled to be there while he was slowly dying inside. Nyx kept dead-eye contact with Axel through it all, even if there was a sea of females who were trying to catch his eyes.
“I still think that you should cover for me so I can sneak out," Nyx grumbled. He had made at least five escape plans; he even planned to fake an allergic reaction, but Axel hadn’t been as thrilled about that. “Midnight. We had a deal”, Axel muttered, scanning the crowd. He was Nyx’s hawk, noting slipped past Axel. And as much as Nyx hated to admit it, Azriel was the one who had taught him all of it. “But you’ll dance with half of the girls in that line," Nyx nodded towards the girls who hadn’t stopped staring at him ever since the night began. “They ain’t her for me, kitten," Axel mused, making Nyx roll his eyes. “I’ll put a good word out for you," the prince said with a tap on his friend’s shoulder.
“Is your family coming?", Nyx scanned the crowd for familiar face. Well, correction. Is Zofie coming? He had tried to sneak back to Velaris before all this. He had to because his brain was going into overdrive. It had been eleven days, eighteen hours, forty-seven minutes, and 45... 46 seconds till he had laid eyes on her. And by now, he was more than okay with just catching a glimpse. He could do with that. He would settle for that. “Papa should," Axel said calmly, “Ma’ wasn’t feeling too well, so she’s back at the cottage." Translation: Zofie didn’t want to go, so Y/N stayed back with her. Nyx clenched his jaw. “Everyone’s healthy and well?", he was fishing for straws here, and he knew it. “Yeah, it’s all well; little one is growing too fast, though. Could have sworn she fit in my palm before we left," Axel muttered, and a part of Nyx was glad that he hadn’t caught onto his real intentions.
“Here you are”, a strong palm landed on Nyx’s shoulder, making the boy look to the side. His smug father stood there, way too happy with himself. “High Lord," Axel said, lowering his head in greeting, even though Nyx had specifically told him to not kiss his father with flatly. “You two are hiding in the back as if this is a funeral," Rhys shook his head with a smile, “Come up to the front tables; quite a couple of people are looking for you." Nyx’s eye twitched. If only he could scream now. He was convinced all the windows would shatter. He wanted out. Why was no one catching onto the fact that he was suffocating? He didn’t want to be a part of his father’s plans. He didn’t want to be a perfect son. A one-day-crowned prince.
Nyx was sure that Rhys could see the malice burning through his eyes, considering that his face went dead serious. Nyx knew that his father would stomp his foot, and he would have to do it. Or that pleading look on his mother’s face would claw at his heart till he gave in. He felt Axel’s hand on his shoulder blade. He was spiraling then. His magic was flaring up and Axel was warning him like he always did. Nyx was about to open his mouth when his eye caught movement behind his father. His eyes narrowed. Vision sharpening, and then it all died down.
The ringing in his ears faded. The choking feeling subsided. “Nyx, I am talking to you," Rhys said, gripping his upper hand, but Nyx shook it off as he stepped forward. Smile tugging at his lips. She was a vision. There might have been hundreds of females here tonight. Wrapped in the most expensive silks and velvet. But he hadn’t given them a second glance. And now she stood there at the top of the staircase. Looking over the hall. Nyx only hoped that she was looking for him.
And then her gaze found his. As if he had brought it right back to him. As if in a sea of bodies, she knew where he would be. And then she smiled. And Nyx was convinced that someone had spiked the wine because she shouldn’t be smiling. He moved faster, his hands gripping the railing as he jogged up the stairs. He missed every other step as he went. Was it appropriate? No. Was he making a spectacle considering that they were right above everyone and had nowhere to blend in? Yes. But did he care? No. Because even with twenty stairs separating them, she was too far away, and at the same time, she was in front of him way too quickly, leaving him no time to pick through his thoughts.
“You came?", Nyx breathed heavily. Zofie crossed her arms over her chest, looking him up and down. "I had a feeling you were struggling to get through this," she said casually, “Axel said that your sassiness has been off lately." Nyx wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at this point as he stepped closer to her, shielding her tiny frame from any curious glances. "Sunny," he muttered, ready to watch her fade away the same way she always did in his dreams.
“Your hands are trembling," she breathed, reaching out for his palms, “Why are your hands trembling?" Her worried eyes looked up at him, and he was ready to sink to his knees in front of her. “I… I am nervous”, he muttered like a teenager, looking at his first-ever crush. “You never get nervous around me," Zofie frowned, shaking her head. And then there was one heartbeat. One. Nyx’s left hand reached behind her as he pulled her into his chest, wrapping her up in his embrace.
He was shivering all over. But all the systems in his body that had been flashing red for days now were finally running smoothly. It felt as if he could finally breathe. That lavender sugar scent that she carried drowned him in her. “We need to get out of here," Nyx breathed again, her hair neatly braided with daisies. “I didn’t spend an hour lacing this for nothing," Zofie muttered, pulling back from his embrace. Both of their eyes fall onto the deep purple and black bodice. A vision. Nyx reached for her hand. “I’ll appreciate the hell out of it for you, Zof; I will," he muttered, dragging her towards the double-sided door. He heard gasps as he moved. Pretty sure he even heard his name being called. Pret sure he heard footsteps. But the moment he was out in the cold night air, he wrapped his arms around Zofie once more. Bringing her as close as he possibly could before shooting up at the sky and winnowing halfway through the plush clouds. Now that he had gotten his sun back, not even the devil himself was strong enough to take her away.
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Taglist: @sirenpearldust @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @naturakaashi i @stressed-reader @woodland-mist @goldenmagnolias @nocasdatsgay @lees-chaotic-brain
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genderkoolaid · 3 months
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I don't know if you know blue eye Samurai, but I hate how people talk about the protagonist.
I'm a non binary Trans man, and I actually identify a lot with Mizu (the protagonist), but I go here on Tumblr and I see a lot of posts that say: "I know everyone can see Mizu however they like, but I want everyone to know that the right interpretation is that she is a woman pretending to be a man... but everyone can think whatever they want, not forgetting that she is a woman of course."
And it's a bit annoying because when I see explanations of why is "wrong" to see Mizu as a Trans man, I see people going "Why can't there be representation of gender non conforming women!?" And "she wouldn't pretend to be a man if it wasn't for the society she lives in!"
The last one makes me especially angry, because of how many Trans men get erased from history with that same argument.
I don't know, I think it makes me mad because that fandom feels like a micro cosmos of the anti Trans masculinity a lot of Trans men have to face.
And it's not like I think it's wrong to see Mizu as a woman, but when everyone goes "of course she is a woman, why would she want to be a man for anything other than necessity?" I don't know how to feel.
I'm gonna steal my own words from that post about jeanne d'arc:
And the best part is, we can say all of this and also see her as part of women's history! Because women's history, too, does not have to be exclusively about woman-born or woman-identified women. It can be about a larger cultural experience. And Jeanne d'Arc suffered because of transphobia which is always fundamentally misogynistic. I would argue it even makes sense to say her death involved transmisogyny in a very literal sense. The thing about transfeminism is that it can free us from the need to view personal identification with the role of "woman" as vital to feminism. Being a woman, in whatever sense, is certainly not unrelated to feminism, but one can be a feminist and have any kind of personal or communal relationship with womanhood. Anyone can be inspired by the story of Jeanne d'Arc and her bold defiance of both misogyny and transphobia, no matter how she may have personally understood her gender.
People have this idea where if a character or historical figure (or even currently living person) is anything but a woman, then any kind of Feminist Story falls apart. Especially when it comes to misogyny! People act like someone being a trans man means all their experiences with misogyny are like. gone? Or the story is now, essentially, about a cis man being mistaken for a woman, and thus women are Not Allowed to feel any connection at all.
All of this on top of the fun hypocrisy that is "we can't say this person/character is a trans man because they wouldn't have that concept, but we can say they are a cis woman because those are both the only options and ciswomanhood is a natural and universal concept we can apply regardless of any other context :)"
& with Mizu its like. you literally can see her as a GNC woman. people calling him a trans guy or transmasc or genderqueer or anything else are not taking away your experience of her as a GNC woman. Transmasculinity is not just Negative Womanhood, the idea that transmasculinity is something which saps away representation/power/dignity/identity/value from (cis) women is like ATM 101.
But the whole way people treat trans men and misogyny really annoys me, I guess because the assumption is that for women, having to dress as a man to get respect inspires anger at one's position in society, but trans men are incapable of having any complex feelings about that. Like trans men must fully enjoy not being able to have sex with others, or go to a doctor, and having to live in fear of being outed and facing the brunt of transphobia and misogyny, and trans men also couldn't possibly be angry about misogyny that they experienced, and also nonbinary people don't exist and no transmasculine person could possibly be anything but fully comfortable being seen as a cis man all the time. Sure, some trans men are perfectly happy passing as cis men, but like. there is more than one trans man. & ignoring all other transmasc experiences besides The One is a form of erasure, it just passes as something else because technically you are acknowledging A transmasc existence.
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bbyboybucket · 11 months
Text
Beds
Bucky Barnes x Reader
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Summary: While sharing a hotel room with Reader, Bucky has a nightmare.
A/N: Surprise. Bet y’all didn’t expect a fic from me. How longs it been? Too long. Anyways, I’m rewriting one of my old fics, or more so taking the same concept but doing it more in character. Also I think this is the first time I’ve written something where we don’t see Bucky’s pov, so I think that’s kinda fun. Btw I’m rusty so don’t judge me if it shows. Also I think this is gender neutral but I’m not sure?
Warnings: language, sexual references, nightmares, ptsd, panic attack (not too intense), allusions to some hydra stuff but nothing graphic, hurt/comfort, frenemies to lovers, Bucky is moody, the one bed trope™️, no use of “y/n”, kinda sappy
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A loud sigh came from the left of you just before the elevator dinged and the metal doors creaked open. You ignored him, you chose not to engage in his passive aggressiveness. You weren’t going to accept the invitation of a petty rant hiding behind that sigh.
You walked down the hallway with Bucky stalking behind you, like an angry pitbull trailing after its owner.
“I don’t even know why we got a fucking hotel in the first place.” Bucky grumbled, and you could practically feel the weight of his eye roll, even though you couldn't see it.
“Here we go.” You muttered under your breath. “What did you want? A safe house? It’s not like we’re on some high stakes, undercover op. Anything more than a hotel would be excessive.”
“Anything more woulda had better sleeping options.” He whined. “Coulda at least got us separate rooms.”
“My god, give it a rest Bucky, you’ve been complaining all day about this.” You we’re exasperated, it was about the third time you’d heard him gripe that day.
“Well, I’m not a fan. Us sharing is the stupidest fucking idea Sam’s ever had.”
“Bitching about it isn’t gonna change anything. And, it’s not like we have to sleep together or anything, I’ll be in a whole different bed.” You said, unlocking the room door. You had been looking forward to chilling out and resting, but as soon as you entered the room, you realized that your night would be anything but restful.
“Fuck.” You laughed, humorlessly, knowing you were about to hear an endless rant. “I take that back, there isn’t different beds.”
Surprisingly that rant didn’t come. Bucky weirdly seemed calmer than he had before and merely shrugged. “‘S fine. I’ll take the floor.”
“Well, one of us can try the couch?”
“That thing could fit a toddler at best.” He gestured towards the small leather love seat as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion he had ever heard, and in all honesty, he had a point.
You pinched the skin between your eyebrows. “Sam said he booked a two person room.”
He shrugged again and then blankly said. “This is why he shoulda booked separate rooms.”
“My god Bucky, I’m not that bad of a roommate. I don’t snore, I don’t sleep walk, and it’s not like I’m gonna kill you in your sleep. It’s one fucking night. Just-“ You took a deep breath and tried to mellow out. “You can have the bed.”
“No, you can have it.”
“You’re obviously more tore up about this than me, so it’s yours. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No.” He refused, his eyes held an odd stubbornness. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“I literally don’t care, I’ve done it a million times. Plus, your grumpy ass probably needs some good sleep.” You half teased, trying to do the nice thing. You unzipped your bag and pulled your belongings out. “I’m gonna go change clothes.”
When you came back from the bathroom, Bucky was already in his boxers and a T-shirt, positioning a pillow and blanket on the floor.
“I told you the bed was yours.”
“Okay, and?”
“Why are you getting down there?“
“Why the fuck are you arguing?”
“Because you’re all pissy about this whole situation, so I’m trying to make your life easier and give you the bed.” You didn’t understand his defiance and odd aversion to the thing he’d been complaining about restlessly: the better sleeping option.
“I don’t want the goddamn bed, just shut the fuck up about it!” Bucky snapped. His outburst caught you off guard, he acted as if you had been purposefully pushing his buttons.
“Damn, fine.” You held your hands up in defeat, almost offended at the way he lashed out. “I get you’re trying to be all gentlemen-like but ya know, the aggressiveness defeats the purpose.”
“It’s not about being a gentlemen. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not being nice, I-“ He grunted. “Never mind I don’t owe you a fuckin’ explanation. Just get in bed.”
“I will, thank you, cause I’m tired. Especially tired of whatever the fuck is up your ass and has you so bitchy.”
You said it with full sincerity, of course you were used to bickering with Bucky but it always was in a playful manner, even when annoyed with each other, it was always friendly fire. There had been no sign of that all afternoon, Bucky was purely hostile and treating you like his greatest burden.
“You running your damn mouth and arguing isn’t helping anything.” He spat as he turned off the lights.
“Wow, sorry. Didn’t know offering you the bed was so fucking rude and offensive.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He groaned.
You muttered “fucking dick” under your breath.
“I heard that.”
As you settled into the bed, you couldn't help but roll your eyes in frustration. You found yourself pondering what you could have possibly done to provoke such a strong reaction from him. You couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't entirely about you. Maybe something else was going on and you were standing in as Bucky’s punching bag, just being the unfortunate catheter for his anger.
It didn’t matter. You had to force all the worry and aggravation out of your head because his attitude wasn’t worth losing sleep over. The last thing you need was to be exhausted on a mission.
—————————
You were jolted awake by a sudden, loud gasp, followed by a soft groan emanating from his direction. Rubbing your eyes, you opened them to find him sitting upright, his knees drawn close to his chest. He looked so small, a stark contrast to the huge stature and borderline intimidating presence you’d become so familiar with. His breathing was audible despite the distance between you, it was quick and shallow.
“Buck?” You concernedly called out to him but he didn’t answer. You then got out of bed, and flicked on the nightstand lamp.
“Bucky?” You tried again when you were closer.
Out of all the time you’d known Bucky, this was the first you’d seen him vulnerable. He was trembling harshly, hyperventilating too. He seemed equally dazed and terrified, but also distant as if he were lost in his head. You always thought Bucky had rather sad eyes but right now, the way they were widened with fear and slightly watering, took it to a whole new level.
You knew what was happening and seeing it felt like a stab to the heart. You slowly sat down in front of him, keeping space between you as to not worsen his panic.
“Buck, it’s okay.” You cooed. “Can you hear me right now?”
His gaze shifted to you, finally making eye contact, which gave you an answer.
“Okay, can you try to breathe with me? Deep breath…in 1…2…3” You exaggeratedly took large, slow inhale to lead him. “Out 1…2…3…”
You repeated the example, guiding until he finally started to follow along with you. “Good, you’re doing good. Do you know where you are?”
“….hotel. We’re on a mission?”
“Good, that’s right, good. It’s okay. You’re safe.” With a gentle and caring tone, you spoke to him, hoping to bring a sense of peace to the turmoil that was raging within him. Your heart felt heavy as you seen the pain that was laced within him, and you wished so badly that you could erase it all. You’d been scared you weren’t doing the right things, but his increasing improvement made you more confident.
“Can I touch you?”
He nodded.
You supportively placed your hand on top of his, stroking your thumb over his skin in a soothing manner. He initially flinched but didn’t pull away. “Starting to calm down now?”
“Yeah.” He released a long heavy breath and wiped the wetness off his eyelids with his free hand.
You sat silently with him, providing that tender, tactile support as he as he worked to regain his composure and steady his breathing. As he gradually calmed down, you noticed the shame creeping over him, causing his cheeks to flush red and his gaze to avert from yours.
“I didn’t want you to see this shit.” He finally said after minutes of silence.
“It’s fine-“
“Fuckin embarrassing is what it is.”
“No, stuff happens. I’m not gonna judge, ya know? I understand. I know what having panic attacks is like.” You revealed in attempt to make him feel more seen.
He slightly shook his head, at himself instead of towards to you, but he stayed silent.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” He paused for a moment, he licked his lips and hung his head even lower. “‘M used to it. Get ‘em bout every night.”
“The panic attacks?”
“Nightmares. Those sometimes comes after though.”
“Oh.” You whispered, feeling like something in you had just shattered. “About hydra?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna talk about it?” You offered carefully.
“Nothing you should hear. My head’s a fucked up place.” He laughed humorlessly.
“Try me.”
He hesitated for a moment, you assumed he was debating on wether or not he should trust you with such a heavy part of himself. “Basically all memories. Not so much dreams, more so just stuff that’s already happened. Flashbacks I guess.”
As his mouth parted to speak, only to close again, you knew that he wasn’t finished so you waited patiently, allowing him the time he needed to gather his thoughts.
“Most of the time it’s…you know…what I’ve done. People I’ve killed. It’s….of course it’s horrible. Pretty gruesome but uh….I’ve gotten better at dealing with those, it’s still….I just get em so much that I can calm down faster now. But sometimes…it’s the shit Hydra did to me and it’s just….I’d get punished a lot. Some kinda torture or beatings, I’ll spare you the details.”
You continued to stroke his hand and stayed silent, not wanting to push him.
“But uh…they had this chair. Um, I’d get strapped down and they’d electrocute me. That’s how they’d…ya know. And I’d always end up there for a wipe after I fucked up. Or even if I didn’t. I don’t what’s worse honestly…the sick twisted shit they’d come up with or the wipe but…but reliving all that….”
“That’s fucking terrifying.”
“Yeah. Yeah, terrifying is an understatement. Sometimes…it’s hard to feel safe after that.”
His breathing started to pick up again. The cracks in his voice made it clear he was starting to get overwhelmed.
You then firmly grasped his hand, giving it a supportive squeeze. “It’s okay, you don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t like to think about all that. I try to never actually. It’s like…obviously it’s…I can’t describe how fucking awful. But at the same time, if I do think about it, it’s like I’m ignoring all the evil shit I’ve done. And that’s not fair to everyone I’ve wronged. So then….if I never think about or deal with the torture….when I have to relive it in these goddamn nightmares…it just fucks me up worse. And my fucking luck is one of the few times it happens is when I’m sharing a room with someone.”
Your heart sank to the floor, your own eyes were watering at this point from getting just this small glimpse of his pain. “I’m so sorry, Buck. Hell, I don’t even know what to say right now. I wish I could do more to help.”
“You’re doing enough.“
“You didn’t deserve it, ya know? I don’t know everything that went on but you never deserved to suffer like that.”
“Half-debatable. At certain point it had to become karma for the suffering I was causing myself.” He shrugged solemnly.
“That’s not true. You had no control.”
He sighed exasperatedly, filled with a sad frustration directed at himself. He put his face in his palm. “We’ve had that conversation. You already know I don’t see it that way.”
“Yeah but I hope one day you will. And I’ll die before I stop trying to get it through your head that you’re innocent. You know you’re strong, right? So damn strong to be holding it together right now. After going through all that pain and to still be here and be a good man? To come as far as you have. I’ve never met anyone as strong as you.”
“We can agree to disagree but I appreciate it….and thanks sitting with me and calming me down and all that.”
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry about earlier. This is why…I didn’t wanna share. And this is….one…of the reasons I don’t like sleeping in a bed. Makes the nightmares worse sometimes. That’s not your fault though, so I shouldn’t’ve…I just didn’t want you to know.”
“It’s alright. I get it now.”
“I shouldn’t’ve took it out on you. I really am sorry.”
“Buck, I get why you were upset. Well kinda, I honestly can’t imagine even a fraction of what you go through.”
“Goin a little far with the pity.” He grew a tiny smirk.
“Compassion.” You corrected. “And I can’t help it, I mean…not to get all sappy, but I care about you. A lot.”
His smirk morphed into a smile and you mirrored it. You wrapped your arm around him and laid your head on his shoulder, Bucky then slowly encircled you with his own arms. You knew the hug was Bucky's way of wordlessly affirming that he cared about you too.
“Didn’t know Mr. Grumpy was capable of hugging.”
“Consider it a one time gift.”
You chuckled in response but then an idea entered your mind.
“You think it’d help if I slept with you?” You asked softly.
He gave you a cheeky grin. “Could at least take me out to dinner first.”
“You know what I meant.”
He sighed. “Not to be an ass but I literally just told you I don’t like beds?”
“No dumb ass, I mean down here.”
He tilted his head and gave a tight lipped frown. “You don’t gotta do that.”
“No. But if it’d help you feel more comfortable, then I want to.”
He didn’t answer at first but because his face had always been an open book, revealing every emotion with striking transparency, he wore an expression that was etched with heartbreaking gratitude.
“Yeah…we can try that.” He whispered, as if he was in shock.
With gentle movements, you plucked the blanket and pillow from the bed and nestled yourself beside him. As you lay towards him, your faces drew closer, until they were mere inches apart. You could feel his warm breath caressing your skin. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you both gazed into each other's eyes, it was almost hypnotic. There was no awkwardness when it should have been expected, instead, a comforting feeling washed over you. You were consumed by excitement, tinged with a soothing calmness. Sure, it was paradoxical, but it was consuming and left you lost in the moment.
“Um…” Bucky started hesitantly but then cut himself off, he bit his bottom lip nervously.
Before you had a chance to even consider the words, they spilled from your lips. You were surprised with your own spontaneity, but the question had already slipped. “You wanna cuddle?”
It was as if you read his mind, you could practically see all the anxiety melt off Bucky before he pulled you into his chest. “This okay?” He asked.
“Mhm.” You replied, allowing yourself to sink into the comforting warmth of his body, all while listening to the soft thumps of his heart beating. It was a new intimacy that strangely felt familiar and natural, like everything had suddenly fallen into place.
You heard him yawn and you hummed fondly at how cute it was. “Goodnight, Buck.”
Tenderly, he leaned in and softly placed his lips upon your forehead, holding them there for a fleeting moment before settling his chin atop your head.
—————————
Bucky straddled your lap, his hand cupping your face as he devoured you in a passionate kiss that unraveled you with each flick of his tongue. His other hand roamed to less innocent regions of your body, exploring them with a touch that was both bold and tender.
He repositioned and pressed you down onto the couch, towering over you as his tongue continued to dance in your mouth. You were both breathless, and desiring more. He proceeded to plant kisses on your jawline before moving down to nibble on your neck.
He suddenly stopped, muttering against your skin. “You wanna move to your room? Have a little more space for this?”
“You know what’s funny?”
“Hm?”
“How before we got together, you hated beds, but now you want in my sheets every damn second.” You teased.
“Well…feels a lot more pleasant now.”
“Weird way to say ‘I’m always horny’.”
“I’m making up for 80 some years. And like you aren’t, you’re worse than me half the time.”
“Definitely worked up now, so get me to the bed and we’ll go as many rounds as you want, pervert.”
“Fuck you.” He laughed.
“I’m waiting for it.”
748 notes · View notes
stadiumbleachers · 1 year
Text
Attitude Adjustment
Izogie x black!fem!reader x Shuri
Summary: while training as an Agojie, you have trouble grasping the concept of obedience, Shuri and Izogie help you adjust your attitude
Content Warnings: mean!Shuri, nice!Izogie, degredation, spanking, fingering, strapslinger!shuri, strapslinger!izogie
Word Count: 2.7k
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“Use your core! Your movements are too flimsy!” Izogie’s voice bellowed across the training ground, her annoyance clear as day. She was getting under your skin and you were certainly getting under hers. 
You stepped back from the mannequin and repeated the steps. 
Lunge
Duck
Kick
Strike
The straw filled head of the mannequin cut clean off and landed on the dirt then rolled over to her feet
“Better…” Izogie looked you up and down, pinning you to your spot with her gaze,”But not good enough” 
You sucked your teeth and grumbled, “Nothing is good enough for you”, but she was unphased by your defiance. She crossed her arms over the chest, biceps bulging under her glowing brown skin.
“You’re very mouthy for someone who has a lot to learn”
“Are you gonna teach me or keep talking?” you snapped at her. She clenched her jaw but her expression remained neutral. 
“Drop your weapon and come over here” 
The sword landed with a dull thud but you stayed put
“Come.Here.” she repeated, her voice dangerously low
The corner of your mouth twitched, itching to say something smart, but your feet moved on their own. It was as if your body wanted to obey her - needed it. But you were too stubborn for your own good.
Standing before her, you mirrored her stance with your hands on your hips
“We’ll practice some hand to hand. Keep your feet light and ready to move but keep your strikes strong” 
Izogie bent her knees and you circled each other. She threw the first hit, a fist swiping quickly to your right shoulder which you dodge smoothly. You threw a kick of your own, your foot colliding with her toned thigh, barely budging her. She grabbed your foot before you could pull it back and pulled, throwing off your balance. You landed on your back, red dirt kicking up on the impact. 
“Your strike is strong but it needs to be faster” she held out a hand to help you up and you took it. You sprung to your feet and dusted yourself off
“I’m tired, I need a break”
“It’s barely been an hour. Do you think the mighty Agojie stop fighting simply because they are tired? Do they endanger the kingdom of Dahomey for a few minutes' rest?”
“No, they don’t” you mumbled 
“And what’s the most important rule?” she asked you
“Always listen to Izogie” 
“That’s right, and you will listen to me”
The words jumped out of you before you could stop them,“Make me” 
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” a voice asked behind you and you whipped your head around to discover Princess Shuri of Wakanda in your presence. You bowed in greeting, the scowl quickly wiped from your face
“Princess Shuri, I-I’m sorry you had to hear that , I swear I was-” Shuri held up a hand to silence you and your promptly shut your mouth
The princess ignored you and walked right past you to greet Izogie. White hot embarrassment ran up your back but you kept your eyes glued to your feet and your hands tightly clasped behind your back
“Zo, my friend, it’s been too long” you heard her say
“Far too long, I hear stories of your engineering genius more than I hear from you” Izogie laughed, and you didn’t need to see her to know her brilliant white teeth were on display 
“We’ll have to make more time to visit, won’t we, great warrior” Shuri teased her, then cleared her throat. Your skin pricked as you felt two sets of eyes staring at your back
“So, this is the one you told me about” the dirt shifted under her steps as she made her way over to where you were standing, “She seems to still be keeping you on your toes” 
“Unfortunately yes, I’m one smart word away from throwing her out into the streets” Izogie joined Shuri in appraising you up close, like predators inspecting their prey. 
You felt hot all over, petrified at how turned on you were at being spoken about like you weren’t even there
Shuri stepped in front of you, her hand grazing the hem of your training gear, and you chanced a look into her eyes but quickly averted them when you saw the fire that burned inside them 
“Keep your eyes on the ground”
You felt Izogie press her hand into your back from where she stood behind you, to test your balance, but you tensed your abs and stood firm against the warm pressure of her hand 
“Hmmm” Shuri hummed,”Maybe she needs some reinforcement” 
“What did you have in mind?”
.......... ..........
The inside of the talon fighter was beautifully decked out with the latest wakadan technology, but you could hardly enjoy your surroundings with the sight before you. The warrior and the princess sat in respective chairs, wearing identical stern expressions. Your eyes flicked back and forth between the two, your mind overwhelmed by their beautiful faces. Izogie’s voice interrupted your blatant ogling and brought you down to earth. 
“Do you understand what we ask of you?” 
You nodded
“Ah ah, use your words” Shuri instructed you
“Yes, I do” you answered immediately 
“So”Izogie continued, shifting in her seat to spread her powerful legs, “what do you say?”
“I want it” you said, your voice just above a whisper
“Good”, they said it at the same time and somehow that one word made you weak in the knees as your stood before them awaiting instructions
“I think you owe Izogie an apology, why don’t you get on your knees and show her just how sorry you are” Shuri gestured to the floor and you slowly went down. The carpet of the talon fighter cushioning you as you crawled over to where Izogie sat, looking quite bored.
You leaned in and pecked the inside of one knee, then the other. Gently, you kissed and licked the soft skin of her inner thighs, alternating between them. You paused with your face before her clothed core, and looked up at her as if to ask permission. 
“Go on, we don’t have all day” Izogie regarded you with one thick brow raised
You reached a shaky hand forward and pushed her undergarment to the side. To your absolute delight, you saw her inner labia peeking out and glistening wet. Your mouth watered, desperate for a taste, desperate to prove you were worthy of such an honor.
You closed your eyes and placed a chaste kiss on each lip, as if you weren’t burning with the desire to consume the most intimate parts of the warrior. You nippled at the sensitive skin and her legs quivered on either side of your head. 
Above you, Shuri and Izogie started talking about trade agreements and war strategies, your presence reduced to a mere object for their pleasure. This only spurred you on and you dove in, lapping at her like you were starving. Your tongue worked into her, gathering up the sweet slick of her arousal which you swallowed down greedily. Using your nose to stimulate her sensitive bundle of nerves, you moved your head side to side, your tongue rigid inside her smooth walls. 
You could tell she was close from the way she clenched and relaxed in rhythm around your tongue. The heady taste of her left you brainless, fueled only by the desire to please, and they both knew it. 
“Look at you, so desperate to please, this is who you really are, huh?” Izogie’s voice was raspy as she finally addressed you 
You moaned into her dripping sex and latched your lips around her clit, sucking on it with reckless abandon. Two of your nimble fingers pushed easily into her, and you curled them, twisting this way and that. 
Her abs tensed, her thighs shook and her hips rolled faster, chasing the climax you were determined to give her
“Bring her over the edge, show her what a good little slut you are, yeah?” Shuri instructed you from her seat beside Izogie
The words shot right through you and you felt your own arousal running down your thigh, your hole clenched pathetically around nothing. The pads of your fingers brushed up against the bumpy spot inside her and you pounded them into her, and hit it with every thrust. Your arm ached and your jaw burned, but you couldn’t stop, not when she was so close. 
You bit down gently on her clit then pulled back to blow cold breath onto the abused little bud
“Oh yesss, you dirty fucking whore” Izogie’s voice sounded foreign as she tipped over the edge, climax forcing her body forward. The trimmed curls of her sex tickled your nose and her thighs clamped down on your head, keeping you in place. You hung your tongue out of your mouth and panted, allowing her to use you as she rocked her hips steadily and came down from her high. 
When she was sufficiently recovered, she grabbed your hair in one hand and pulled you away from her. You took your first breaths of air that weren’t overpowered with Izogie’s arousal. You sucked off the remainder of her slick from your fingers, moaning around them while you licked them clean. 
You barely had time to catch your breath before Shuri was summoning you, with the crook of a slim finger. You crawled over to her and sat on your feet, waiting for her instructions
“What do you think Izogie, is she really sorry?”
Izogie put her hand to her chin and pretended to consider it,”Hmmm, not quite but she’s getting there. How about you put her across your lap? Maybe then she’ll be sorry”
The two women laughed together, mocking you. You throbbed between your legs, and a bead of sweat ran down your back, though the room was chilly from the A/C. 
“Strip. Then come lay across my lap”
You quickly disrobed then clumsily climbed across the princess’ lap. Your round ass was turned up to her and your breasts were pressed uncomfortably into the armrest
“How many spanks for this greedy little thing?” Shuri kneaded her hands into your ass, pulling them apart to expose your wet, pulsating cunt.
“Ten will suffice” Izogie’s voice floated to your ears, but you were already high off the thought of what Shuri was going to do to you 
“You must count each one and then thank me for teaching you to be a good girl. Understood?”
Your mind scrambled for the word you were trying to say, “Ungh..Yes”
As soon as the words left your mouth, her hand came down on one cheek. The sting was gone as quickly as it came and garbled out, “One. Thank you” 
The next slap was harder, your ass bounced from the impact. “Two, thank you” She continued to rain down her abuse on your ass, until tears ran down your brown cheeks and dripped onto the once immaculately clean carpet. The tenth slap she spread your cheeks with one hand and brought down the other with punishing strength on your pussy.
The skin reddened and tingled with the current of a thousand nerve endings set on fire.  You wailed loudly, thrashing around on her lap until she grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled. You stilled in her lap, gasping quietly as the tears continued to fall
“What do you say, slut?” Izogie asked you on Shuri’s behalf
“T-ten, thank you princess” 
“Good girl. Now lie on your back on the floor” 
You stood on shaky legs and lowered yourself to the floor once more, gritting your teeth at the sensation of your sore ass rubbing on the carpet. You watched as Shuri stood up and got something from a drawer. It was a dildo, black with glowing blue throughout. Shuri took out a harness and secured it on herself, then handed an identical strap-on to Izogie who did the same.
“Why is it glowing?” you asked them
“It’s made from vibranium, which means it feeds the sensation of inside you to us, so we can feel it” Shuri explained easily, as if it wasn’t a feat of engineering genius
She knelt before you and Izogie did the same, both sets of eyes assessing you from head to toe. Izogie licked her lips, her eyes trained on your breasts where your nipple were hard from being stimulated on the arm chair
“You’re so beautiful,” she told you reverently, “but so very bad” 
Shuri took hold of your knees and spread them, the chilly air doing nothing to cool the heat from your wet cunt, “Now that she's apologized so well, do you think we should show her what good girls get?” she was talking to Izogie but her eyes were piercing into yours
Izogie grinned “You fill her mouth so she’s nice and quiet and I’ll fill her right here” she trailed a digit from your knee to your pussy and ran it up and down your slit. You hissed, already worked up. 
Shuri moved to kneel behind your head and tapped the strap lightly on your cheeks, rubbing it onto your plump lips. You took it in and sucked sloppily at the head, saliva running from the side of your mouth. Shuri groaned as your warm tongue work languidly to please her
Izogie worked one digit into you, then quickly added another, then another. Your pussy ached delightfully as she stretched you to take her. 
Suddenly Shuri pulled out of your mouth and held your jaw in her skillful hand. Your forced yourself to focus on her words, even though you were being pumped full of fingers
“Repeat after me. I will listen to Izogie” she told you
You could hardly get the words out
“I will listen to Izogie” tears pricked at your eyes as you were overwhelmed by the attention of both women
Izogie leaned down to your ear and whispered “You will be a good little slut for me, won’t you?”
“I’ll be a good little slut for-”
You barely finished the sentence and Izogie stuffed your pussy full of her cock, drawing out mewls from your mouth, but the sounds were quickly silenced by Shuri. 
Your head bobbed up and down in time with each expert stroke of Izogie’s hips. The louder your garbled moans, the harder Izogie fucked into you. You screwed your eyes shut as Shuri forced the strap deeper into your throat. You relaxed it and allowed her to fuck your face. 
Both women’s strokes became faster, more sporadic and you could tell they were close. You clenched you walls around Izogie and reached a hand up to rub at Shuri’s clit below the strap
“Oh fuck yes, gag on it, whore” Shuri’s hips stuttered and your mouth filled with the slick of her climax that being fed into your mouth from the vibranium strap. It choked you.
 She pulled out and allowed you to catch your breath but it was quickly knocked back out of you when Izogie built up a punishing pace. Both of her hands grabbed hold of your breasts, slapping them and pinching and rolling your nipples until you writhed beneath her. With one last tug on your clit and her hip angled up to hit your g-spot, you toppled over the edge. 
White light burst behind your still closed eyelids and you screamed, squirming desperately while Izogie reached her own high. You felt her hips stutter and you grabbed handfuls of her ass and pulled her deeper into you
“Come inside me, please” you begged her
She obliged, your cunt leaking with the combination of both of your juices. 
Eventually, she pulled out and lay on her back alongside Shuri, showing you for the first time that she was pleased with you. Your heart swelled with pride. 
The room was silent, except for the quiet gasps of all three of you catching your breath 
Shuri spoke up from where she lay on the floor, “Just to review, who’s a good girl?”
Your voice sounded positively destroyed as you answered, “Me”
“That’s fucking right” they said it at the same time, and somehow your fucked out hole still quivered miserably. 
“Now let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” 
You could only nod and allow yourself to be lifted off the ground by the two women who had just wrecked you and fucked out every fibre of defiance from your body
761 notes · View notes
aarkose · 2 years
Text
Everyone calls Dream a pathetic petty little baby girl and like, yeah he is - but 
And the characters themselves are like Morpheus is cold, unfeeling, harsh, cruel and yeah he can be and he holds intense grudges - but 
I haven't really seen anyone talk about the scene where he's facing the Corinthian, who Morpheus admits was his masterpiece. And our favourite nightmare pointedly says that Dream doesn't care about humanity. He only cares about himself, and his realm and his rules. 
Morpheus sort of gets exasperated here, like really dude? And tells us he contains the entire collective unconscious, without his rules it would consume him and humanity. Like maybe he's been there before, or close to it. He admitted he lost an entire universe before because he didn't take out their vortex.
His voice trembles on the word consume, like its always there, ready to crush him, like he's constantly battling, like he's tired, like no one's ever really asked, understood or comprehended that before and he's admitting it for maybe the first time or it's one of the very few. And of all the beings he's admitting it to the Corinthian who throws it in his face.
Death more or less says dream mopes and he should get over it. Fiddler's Green insinuates he's almost incapable of apology or empathy. Lucienne believes he dismisses their efforts and that he's harsh with his punishments. Gault in their defiance tries to make him see that things should be capable of change and wanting something different. 
No one seems to get the truth of him? Or part of it. Or if they do it's not apparent and it seems a great tragedy to me. When he says the entire collective unconscious, I'm assuming he means entire, as in not just human - as in all life including other species we don't know of, that are otherwise 'alien'. It seems almost unfathomable to me no one stops to think he's the way he is for a reason. 
Every single unconscious thought, decision, fear, nightmare, dream, hope - anything and everything that can manifest in dreams from the nonsensical and absurd to disturbing and whimsical, including concepts we don't even understand as humans. That is what Morpheus is made of. The screams dying in throats as people wake from horrors, the reoccurring scenes of falling, being chased, being late, the grief from loved ones dying, flying, school, sex - the ones that don't make any sense. 
The nightmares that are so real and strong you can't get back to sleep. The dreams that are so sweet or fantastic you wake up mourning their loss. Day dreams, dreams that pick up where they left off, lucid dreams, depraved and disturbing dreams. The little thoughts we have about others we'd never say out loud or tell another living soul but they exist. It's all real, part of what makes us who we are and every other being that can dream - no wonder Morpheus' voice trembles on the word consume. That has to be near maddening? Like he's riding the line between insanity at any given moment because dreams can be entirely bizarre as much as they can hold significant meaning. 
So he mopes? He's distant? He's cruel or uncaring. Unfeeling in how he operates - I feel like I would be too if I contained the concepts of the entirety of existence - everything his siblings govern exists in his realm in the form of dreams. You can dream about desire, death, destruction, delirium, destiny, despair, all of it. He doesn't feel enough? Distant? Ungrateful? 
I think he feels too much, way too much and he can only push it down so far, or hold it back just enough. It makes him seem so delicate in my mind, like those who bottle and bottle. Pushing everything down or back just to keep functioning and then one little thing makes them snap. Suddenly you've damned your former lover to ten thousand years in hell because that amount of time and processing doesn't seem unreasonable against the impossibly incomprehensible thing that is existences unconscious. Let's not forget the souls in hell or every other afterlife, if they also dream, the concept of dreams as goals, the act of dreaming, creation and destruction, every nasty little thought, every fucked up thing anyone has ever comprehended and every joy. 
Maybe that's why everyone's harsh on him in my eyes, that he should have all this perspective but seemingly doesn't? But he believes what he does because he has that perspective and some things within that spectrum do not change, they repeat because there's only so much that can exist, and that has to be tiresome. 
But honestly, the other Endless, dreams and nightmares should realise what he's dealing with? Especially those close to him, or orbiting because no one is ever really close, and if dreams and nightmares can dream then Morpheus should know those too. I'd probs keep everyone away from me if I was a scrambled construct of emotions.
Fuck me up honestly. My tiny human brain is snapping trying to even comprehend the inner workings of Dream. None of this even makes sense. Just let the man rest, give the baby girl some slack. He's got both feet off the edge and no one's got his back. I'm tired now.
TLDR: Dream probably is the way he is because being who he is, is a lot. 
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wildlunar · 10 months
Text
Red Bird
Roman Roy x Reader
word count: 1800
synopsis: nervous for his mother’s wedding, Roman’s lover takes him away for a breather
warnings: mentions of abuse
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The Tuscan sun fortifies the solstice season—paints the landscape in the most vivid of colours and bleaches their skin in brown-speckled kisses. The trees flourish, all green and incandescent, and Roman can’t quite recall it ever being quite so magnificent when he was a child, though, back then, he never found the beauty in many things.
Nerves taint his palms in gummy sweat, forcing his knees to buckle under its burden, and as the black Lincoln Navigator pulls into the driveway of the Italian villa, Roman does his best to quieten his haring heat. It is not so much the place at hand but, rather, the people within it that he dreads to encounter, the false courtesies and watchful eyes of those who searched his words for his undoing. And then there was Peter, the faux husband, who he is yet to encounter and holds no interest in ever calling father. He doesn’t have to imagine how bad that encounter will be.
The car stops, respite over, and, once again, he is thrust into a game he has no desire to play. But this is for love, he swallows, and to love is to perform at being loved. He is smiling at his reflection in the window, poised with mirthful agony, preparing himself for the rendition when he is quickly goaded away from it by a hand on his knee. He doesn’t need to look at her to know she has watched him through the entirety of the journey. Worried, just as he, at the prospect of fucking something up and being torn prematurely from her mask. Simpering at her, he squeezes her hand, once, twice, to reassure her before kicking his feet out of the car and beginning again.
He holds the door open for her, holding out his palm for her to take and crows out the words, m’lord, as she does so. She returns his sentence with a relieved snicker, indulging in him, replying to his sentiment with a simple ‘milady’, as she straightens the hem of her dress.
He’s not used to her wearing summer dresses; at tracing flowers and pastels and subtle frills as delicate and ethereal as tissue paper. Fragility is a concept not meant for office spheres, and in their youth, she had been prone to parading in saturnine, comforted by boy’s shorts and oversized tees to ever consider dressing ‘elegantly’. But here, under the reckoning eyes of his extended family and the esteemed guests of his mother, she turns in sunlight and he, ever the gentle watcher, basks in her excellence.
The rest of the family trudges the path ahead of them though Roman cares little about the distance as he takes in the familiar scenery with her, hands entwined like a lifeline. He’s enraptured by it all and for a while he has escaped madness for serenity. “When did we stop coming here?” He asks her, pushing up his sunglasses.
“I don’t know.” She squeezes his hand. “For me, it was when we were fifteen.”
“I never came back after military school,” he says. “Too many randos and tom-fuckery for my liking.”
“Ah, yes, the post divorce blues of Caroline Collingwood. You could almost write a novel.”
“Hmm, very nice. Revolving door policies and sexual manipulation. Very salacious. Definitely one for the kids.”
“Sicko.” She nudges him with her shoulder and in return he pays her back, harder, a game, one they’ve played many times before. In the crossfire of their impelling bones, she lets go of his hand and the weight of its loss causes a cleave to break through.
Surrendering to the inevitable is a concept he’s never been very accepting of yet has had to conform to anyhow and for the third time in his silent, reclusive life, he finds himself faced with defiance. They stroll further to the songs of the chaffinches and all he can think about is how close they are: her hands, his hands, hands that touch, skin that’s drawn to each other, perpetually longing for the warmth of another body—it is all a mystery to him until now. Without thought, he reaches for her, dancing with her fingers till they come together once more, undoubtedly where they belonged. 
But there's a certain vulnerability in seeking her affections and doubt settles in and clogs his throat when the image of his father pushes him further and further down. Sweat exudes from his hands and it takes every part of him not to wipe his palms and shove her away. 
He stutters. “Me holding your hand doesn’t, like, mean anything, by the way. Not in that way, at least. Just to fucking clarify. Unless, you know, you, erm, want it to mean something. I don’t mind. That’s cool.”
“You don’t have to hold my hand if you don’t want to, Rome.”
“Did I say that? I don’t remember saying that. I was just being, you know, fucking, nice and making sure you—where are we going?” 
They slip away from the group without being noticed and she leads him, hand in hand, into a secluded garden. Even after eighteen years, she treads the grounds as though she’s lived there all her life. 
“You’re not gonna kill me are you? Take me into the bushes and hang me on the vines or—”
She makes a swift turn into a gap in the hedgerow and after ensuring it’s absence of people, slows her pace back down so that she’s walking beside him. “I thought it’d be nice to go somewhere quieter.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that? To murder me or to jump me? You know, if you wanted to fuck that bad we could’ve just done it back in the car. Would’ve given the driver a straight up boner to see you get your tits out.”
Rolling her eyes, she diverts her attention to one of the flower beds, crouching down to the earthskin. Picking at the cluster of lavender which scatter the ground beneath their feet, she brings its head under her nose to smell and he watches, enchanted, as he catches tiny glimpses of her mellow skin. Her knees, like roseate pebbles, rest just beneath her chin and she closes her eyes languidly as she takes it in. An existent vision bathed in blossom.
There is a part of him that can fathom the fact she’s, most likely, done it all for him though like many things, it’s a gruelling pill to swallow and not follow the urge to choke on it. Even after all these years, Roman can hardly believe she’s with him, standing by him, accepting him despite the trauma that macerates him into nothingness without so much as warning. She is the best of both of them, always has been, at almost everything really, though he can find no bone in his body that loathes her for it. He loves her, oh he loves her, but gnarled hands and welted skin acquire the words before he can ever speak them.
“You know,” she begins and he is startled out of his thought spiral. “The last time we came here you had this massive blow up argument with Logan. One of the worst ones, so bad I could hear him through the walls. And Caroline came up to my room, all jittery like a, fucking, baby bird and practically begged me to go out and find you. I mean, I had no idea you’d even gone out but when I came out to find you, you were just lying here in the garden, tangled up in a lavender bed and staring up at the sky. 
You were so fucking out of it, you wouldn’t talk to me for ages but when I laid down beside you you reached out for my hand and squeezed it until you felt like talking again. You smelt like absolute shit, looked like shit too, but you were so warm and some of the petals had gotten lodged in your hair. And you kinda reminded me of this bloodied up version of that ‘Spring’ painting by Botticelli.”
Raising from the floor, she turns to face him, finally, finally, and smiles, unabashedly. She stares at him, right in the face, as though she were studying his very being, the lavender twirling back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. Slowly, bit by bit, the gap between them closes and he searches her eyes for the reason of her unnatural silence. 
“What?” Roman’s voice is the most sincere it’s been all day, small and unsure, and he thinks his heart may stop if she doesn’t say something to him. 
Instead, she brings the lavender flower up to his face, its bittersweet aroma a pleasant intrusion on his senses, and tucks it behind his ear. Her touch is a delicate thing, as though he were a present and this flower was the final bow on his pristine wrapping, and she has moulded him into something worth having, something beautiful. She strokes his gelled hair behind his ear, careful of her handiwork, and follows the lines of his face with her eyes, with her hands, tracing patterns over his neck then his cheeks then his lower lip. 
“You’re so pretty,” she says. And he believes her to be joking until she kisses him and they mould together sweetly under the shade of the bushes like twining roots.
This is her devotion, he realises, swept up between sad eyes and fleeting touches and messages found beneath stumbled words. And he drinks it in, a man starved, eyes closed, worries to the wind, everything her. She presses into him, wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him in closer and he lets her take him apart with her mouth, stamping, burning, caging her name inside him. 
They part and Roman chases her lips, perception glazed with bewilderment. “You’re doing great,” she says, returning her fingers to the sides of his face. The touch makes his whole body shiver. “The best out of all of them.”
Ah, he thinks, half-dazed. This is her face after love. And he wonders what his looks like under her own desirous haze.
“We’ll get through this together, okay. You and me, like always.” 
Finally, he finds his voice though it comes out all clumsy and jarred. “Oh, wow, yeah, okay, we got this. Go team us.” 
She snorts, patting him on the back. “Try not to buffer too much, R2-D2.”
He can feel himself blushing and he stutters out mumbled idioms in an attempt to regain himself. It is futile. There will never be a time where she doesn’t steal his breath for herself.
“Can we, erm, ha—” he lets out a noise, somewhere between a whine and a laugh “—maybe, do that again, sometime?”
Chuckling, she returns her hand into his own and tugs him back to place another kiss on his cheek. “We can do that as many times as you’d like, Rome.”
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ohtobeleah · 1 year
Note
Please do more for the Rooster concept where the reader has a daughter! Step!dad Rooster x reader is such a great one.
Alright here we go. Another series. But honestly down bad for this one. Only fluff ahead. Based off this concept
***~***~***~
“There’s no way a bird did this—“ You huffed as you practically hung half your body over into Jake Seresins Super Hornet right engine bay. This was the last thing you wanted to be looking at at three thirty in the afternoon. “You idiot—!” Shaking your head in disbelief as you pulled feathers from the rotors. Watching as they fell from your grapes, floating down to where Jake stood below you.
“Well it’s not like I could really control it now could I?” Jake groaned in response to your dismay as he stood holding the bottom of the ladder for you. He’d been able to manage a controlled landing with one engine. Most pilots couldn’t even imagine having to do that on their best day, but Hangman? He remained as calm and as level headed as he could. “Reckon you can fix her up?”
“I mean I’ll give it my best shot, but I’m no miracle worker.” Climbing down the ladder a little before you jumped to the ground with a soft thud. Dusting the oil and gunk your gloves had collected on to your technician suit before pulling them off and pocketing them. “I’d say about two, three days tops she’ll be out of action though—I dunno if I’ll need to order parts—“
“What can you do overnight?” Your eyes grew a little wider as you crossed your arms over your chest. Wondering just where the hell on god's green earth Jake Hangman Seresin had found the audacity to come into your workshop and demand you pull overtime just for him. “Please? come on it’s my baby—“
“Jake I gotta pick my daughter up this afternoon—“ You groaned in defiance. “How’s it fair you get to knock off early after wrecking a multi million-dollar fighter jet and I’ve gotta stay back and fix your mess?” You had known Jake pretty much your entire life. He was like a brother, well– he was more than a brother considering your actual brothers hadn’t spoken to you since you were sixteen.
“All I asked Fe, is what you could do for me overnight.” Hangman smirked as he packed away the workshop ladder for you. “What can you do for me this afternoon at least?” It was almost comical just how much he really needed you from time to time. If you couldn't fix his F-18, he’d be grounded till someone else could figure it out.
“I can pick the feathers from the engine bay and clean out your intake but even that’s gonna take me like two, two and a half hours considering you missed your last service.” You said it with the deadest of deadpans you could give the blonde who had taxied into your workshop just as you were getting ready to shut up shop for the day. The old hangar had been turned into a workshop for the F-18’s on site in Miramar. “I might even be able to fix the combustion chamber—but I’ll need you to pick up Odette from after school care.”
“Yeah, I can't do that either–” Jake knew what would happen next, it had happened too many times for him to not be able to expect it. An open hand came his way, but he grabbed your wrist with just enough time to spare before it connected with his chest. “I have a date! I can't!”
“Then I can’t fix your dumb plane!” You counted as you ripped your wrist from Jake's grasp. “I have to pick my daughter up, Hangman– I can't just leave her there!”
“Bradshaw can pick her up!” It was a suggestion you couldn't even believe Jake was submitting into the conversation. “He’d be so down for that.”
“I am not asking Rooster to pick my daughter up from daycare.” You were quick to dismiss the idea from whatever reality Jake was trying to conjure up. He knew you and Bradley had a thing. Everyone did. But he also knew you were too stubborn for your own good. “Don't do this to me, Jake it's not fair, you know better than anyone Dot gets attached to people and if I–”
“If you let Bradshaw pick her up just this once.'' Jake reached out to hold your shoulders tenderly, shaking you gently as he smirked in front of your face. He knew exactly what he was doing. “The world will not stop spinning Fe.” Jake stood there for a moment with his hands still on your shoulders before he let go. Sauntering over to your workshop desk in search of your phone. He’d known for a while now just how down bad Rooster really was for you and if anyone was good enough for you it was Bradley ‘family means everything to me’ Bradshaw. “Call him, just see what he says.”
“What if he's got plans?” Jake caught the sudden nervousness coming through in your questioning before you had even noticed your exterior had changed. Dropping the independent single parent act you tried your best to display more often than not. But even you had to admit from time to time it took a village to raise a child, and you were certainly no tribe of your own. “What if he just doesn't want to?” Jake just raised a brow in response. See, it wasn’t that you didn't want to ask, it was that you were afraid of the answer.
With Jake it was a given–he had been there since the day Dot was born. He was her uncle, her godfather, her babysitter and best friend. Rooster? Well, he didn't sign up to be a father to another man's child just because he thought you were cute. You didn't want to push that narrative on him either.
“If Bradshaw generally can't, I will call and cancel my date.” Jake held your phone out to you, watching as you took it with hesitation and reluctancy. “But you have to call and ask him first.” If looks could kill Jake Seresin would be a dead man. He’d backed you into a corner you couldn't get out of. But for all it was worth, he watched as you unlocked your phone, stepping away as you held the phone up to your ear, biting your bottom lip as not one, not two, but three rings rang out against your eardrum before.
“Hey Fe, what's going on?” Oh if you could physically melt into a puddle at the sound of someone's voice, Badley would have that effect on you. Jake swore he saw your eyes light up as you turned to face him again. Only now instead of your lip you were chewing on the cuticles of your nails. Pacing back and forth like a madwoman.
“Hey Roos I uh, I need a favour–but please feel free to say no, I can always have Hangman–” Before you could finish your sentence Rooster was smirking as he packed his things away into his locker. Holding his phone between his shoulder and ear.
“Whatever you need.” Rooster let his gaze linger on the photo of you he had in his locker. Just a candid picture he'd taken of you working on something in your workshop. Mirimars resistance technician. “I'm just about to have a shower, but after that I'm free.” You usually would have made a comment about if there was any room in that shower for you, but with Jake still standing right in front of you waiting for you to ask the all important question, you didn't feel like now would be an appropriate time for you to stroke Bradleys ego. “Y/n you there?” Fuck. He said your name, your actual name. You only ever really heard mum or Fe these days. But Bradley, saying your name? Always got you far too good.
“Uh, yeah no no I'm here–I uh, I was just wondering if you'd be able to pick Dot up from daycare this afternoon?” The silence they came through from the other end of the line was deafening and for a moment you thought you'd crossed a line. “Rooster you can say no–”
“No, no ill uh, I’ll grab her.” Why would he ever say no? “I just wasn't expecting that to be the favour.”
“Yeah well, Hangman just taxied into my workshop after a bird strike, gonna try to get him up in the air again so he’ll stop pestering me.” You explained as you sent Jake a look—he had been lucky on two fronts this afternoon. You heard Roosters locker shut before he replied.
“He alright?” You caught the slight tone of concern flooding through the phone.
“Despite his best efforts, I think he’ll live.” You mumbled under your breath as Jake stood gloating. He knew Bradshaw would be down for a date with Dot. “Are you sure you’re okay to pick Odette up?”
“Consider it sorted.” Rooster still held his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he unbuttoned his flight suit. The warm water from the head of the shower could be heard through the phone as you imagined him standing before you. Exposed. “Besides, it gives me an in with the hot mum I’ve been trying to seduce for the past few months.” Rooster teased.
“Oh I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” You and Bradley Bradshaw had been in this situationship for a few months now. He’d flirt with you, you’d flirt back—but everytime you thought things were getting a little too much, you’d pump the breaks. Rooster knew why, he didn’t mind waiting. In fact he quite enjoyed the game of cat and mouse, convinced wholeheartedly that with enough persistence and sheer determination he’d win you and subsequently your daughter over too. “I’ll come by yours the second I’m finished here?”
“Yeah cool, I’ll uh, I’ll see you then.”
“Thanks Bradley.” You cooed, a bashful smile gleaming across your face as you turned on your heels. “I really appreciate it.”
“It’s not a problem, honestly—anytime.” Rooster smiled to himself before he said his goodbyes. Sighing as he let his shoulders relax under the warm water with every intention of making sure his first little not so ‘daddy daughter date’ with your daughter would go as seamlessly as ever. Hanging up the phone Jake was quick to say he told you so.
“Told you he’d froth that shit up.”
“You are unbelievable, you know that?” You huffed as you dialled your daughter's day care. “I hope your date stands you up.”
“Oh I don’t have a date—“ You were about to lunge at his throat, claw deep enough so that his life would flash before his eyes. But as always, some divine intervention saved Jake Seresins life.
“Hello Sunny Side—“ The woman answered the phone.
“Hi, my names Y/n Y/l/n and I’d like to make an amendment to my daughter’s registered list of persons for pick up please?” You waited a few moments as the line went silent, only the sound of a computer keyboard being tapped away at filled the void.
“Who would you like to nominate?”
“Uh, his name is Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw.”
***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***
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lily-orchard · 2 months
Note
Thank you. Rambling about ODD ahead, please let me know if there's anything I've said weird:
ODD is supposed to note to professionals that there is something creating worrying behaviour in a child/teen. The most common reason someone develops ODD is that they aren't being parented well. There are tables of what is likely to cause specific dysfunctional behaviours and he majority are based on poor parenting skills and/or abuse. The most effective treatment for ODD is working with the parents on their parenting or removing the abuse from a child's life.
In some of these cases it's poor parenting based on an underlying condition, most commonly ADHD or autism, where treatment is essentially just teaching parents how to help their neurodivergent children.
The biggest thing child psychologists get from an ODD diagnosis is what to look out for in the future.
ODD is split into different types of behaviour:
Irritable/angry, Defiant/argumentative and, vindictive.
The biggest worry is vindictive behaviour as it is a flag for the potential development of antisocial disorders. Irritable/angry behaviour can indicate or develop into anxiety and mood disorders and defiant ODD symptoms most often link with ADHD.
Diagnosing ODD is supposed to be a way to improve the life of the child that has been diagnosed and a warning of what disorders they may be susceptible to.
The problem is, and this is where your views on it are completely correct, many psychologists and parents take the label and decide that it is enough. ODD has been given the moniker of "bad child disorder" which seriously harms all kids with ODD! It is used more often as a way to dismiss the children who are suffering when it is supposed to be the red flag of "this kid needs help"
This is why you stop making up new disorders and start telling parents "Your child is being abused. This is a natural response to mistreatment."
This is what all that "over-diagnosis" stuff from the 2000's was about. Using overly clinical language to obfuscate a very straightforward concept, when you KNOW shitty parents are going to take a diagnosis as carte-blanche to do whatever they want.
"How are terrible people going to react to this" needs to be factored into the creation of new diagnostic criteria. It's why shit like "Antisocial Personality Disorder" and "Narcissistic Personality Disorder" desperately need to be renamed yesterday. Because the words "Antisocial" and "Narcissist" mean things that are completely anathema to how those disorders actually work. Whoever approved that name should be hit with a stick.
90% of the stigma around mental illness is based around the fact that they have such ominous fucking names.
Here's a crazy idea: Rename Oppositional Defiance Disorder to "Battered Child Syndrome." Because that's what it is.
Rename NPD "Compulsive Insecurity."
Start naming shit in ways that is both not inflammatory and actually conveys what it fucking does. Like we do with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. That's the greatest name in the world because it's clear, it tells you exactly what it is, and it's so boring-sounding that nobody could ever stigmatize it.
Everyone understands "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."
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ikayblythe · 10 months
Text
Just realized something
When you give Five Pebbles the Shaded Citadel pearl as Artificer [the one about 17 Axes] he says that none of the included qualia are in his records. 17 Axes was from the House of Braids, one of the prominent Houses in Metropolis.
And as the city's iterator, surely Pebbles would know any and all data on his citizens!
Unless 17 Axes wasn't his citizen.
Meaning their ascension predated Five Pebbles' construction.
Meaning that we have a date to guesstimate his age!
Cut for the incoming nerd ramble ⬇️
17 Axes ascended in 1514, when Unparalleled Innocence was still a WIP. Given that UP is mentioned as the "local iterator project," it can be deduced that FP was barely a concept at the time. He really is THE local group baby!
The next dated pearl occurs in 1591, with the conversation between FP and SRS. We know that happens post-global Ascension.
Guesstimating based on how long it would take for FP to get from the planning phase to the finally being online, as opposed to UP already being actively constructed, with the sheer size and power it would take to build an iterator? Let's say he was "born" around 1530 at the earliest.
This puts him at around 61 in 1591, post-global Ascension.
We dont know when exactly the Ascension occurred, but in the lifespan of iterators? Pebbles was a child! A child that had been abandoned!
We already know that FP is more fond of the ancients than Moon, being fascinated by their cultural and literary history. His construction was that of controversy—imagine just being born and being called the Apostate Superstructure Abomination?? Having come into the world with people already hating him, and preferring Moon instead...what if his "defiance" that Suns spoke of with NSH, was actually defiance towards other iterators?
From the beginning, he was just an offshoot of Moon. No one wants to be constantly compared to someone, let alone know theyre unwanted. Perhaps he delved into studying Ancient culture and history because he wanted to align himself with them, rather than with other iterators.
What if he tried his best at pleasing his "parents"? What if he actually liked the drawing of him that that child made? Why would he have kept it otherwise?
No wonder he was angry at being left behind. It's a final reminder that he was, and by extension, all iterators, a failure.
So why try so hard anyway? Sure, Suns says it's because there's nothing better to do. But what if FP thought that if he could ascend, he might be able to follow his creators? His "parents?"
Just something to think about.
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And another thing! Literally any queer story that takes place during the colonial age would have a huge gaping hole in it if it didn't have anticolonialism as a theme. Especially one that centers indigenous people. Like the reason that every culture had their own concepts of gender until something happened and then suddenly the gender binary was ubiquitous is because western European colonial powers made their view of gender the only acceptable one as part of christianizing and colonizing the world. You're not gonna have a show set in 1717 in the Caribbean where the love interest is a gay Maori man and the main deuteragonist is a non-binary mestizo catholic and just skip over colonialism. Like these are exactly the people who western gender roles are being forced on at fucking gun point during this era. Jim and Ed are both mixed race characters who's gender and sexual identities are in active defiance of the colonial powers that be. And this is the fucking Stede Ed and Jim show.
And there's something to be said for the fact that Stede's toxic masculinity plot line is internalized and Ed's struggle with toxic masculinity is largely external in the form a white guy who rubs elbows with the British Navy when Ed doesn't behave to his standard of masculinity. That choice didn't come out of nowhere and it shows a deep understanding of where homophobia comes from. That's not to say that precolonial communities of color were paradise for people that we today would consider queer but the rich tapestry of sexual and gender expressions that existed in those communities were erased in the name of colonialism. That's going to affect literally any queer person at the time when OFMD is set. These two things are inextricably linked.
Like when David Jenkins says a lot of what we're taught about being men is wrong, motherfucker who taught us what a man was. Who taught Ed what a man was? Who taught Stede what a man was for that matter? It's the white dad with the English accent who is violent (derogatory) and overbearing.
Like you get what I'm saying right? Like it's a silly little rom com but also it must necessarily be that deep because of who these characters are and when and where they exist.
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https-furina · 6 months
Text
— i’m in love with you, sorry ! ★ | edition: kamisato siblings, version 1.0
ft. ayato & ayaka x fem!reader
content. angst, unrequited love (ayato), love without a happy ending (ayaka), hurt/no comfort, reader is from a low social class, closeted ayaka, secret fling (ayaka), rejection (ayato), arranged marriage (ayaka - not with the reader) both ooc because i’m still practising. — not proofread entirely.
archon’s decree. aaa here we are! the wheel said kamisato siblings angst hehe. i was gonna schedule this for tmrw but i’m posting it now <3
taglist. @ryuryuryuyurboat @soleillunne
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✉️ mail received! sender: kamisato ayato
there was always this strange pull ayato felt towards you. it was something the elderly staff of the kamisato clan warned him about, shunning the play dates he would have with you as children, even if you were the daughter of one of their own. they couldn’t wrap their head around why someone of kamisato ayato’s ranking wanted to be around someone from a lower social class - you.
but yet ayato never felt that strange pull snap or tighten, he never yearned for you the same way that you craved every inch of his attention or the way he made you feel when you remained friends even after all the years.
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“if you keep burying your nose in official documents, you’ll look like one.” you taunt as you peek into his office, two cups of boba in your hands. ayato’s gaze seems to fall directly to them before it flickers to your face, a chuckle leaving his lips that makes your stomach do flips, butterflies fluttering in crazy motions at the mere action.
“it’s my job, y/n.” he comments as his gloved hands lower the paperwork he was holding, his eyes watching the way you’d shut the office door behind you with your foot before you approached him with the one thing he’d been craving.
it wasn’t your presence nor your comfort that being childhood friends brought; it was merely the boba. he didn’t grasp the concept of dating, not past what his parents had drilled into his head regarding arranged marriages and social classes, so the idea never entertained his mind, even when it was definitely entertaining yours.
you had been friends as long as you could remember. you don’t even remember why the rich kid from the estate inside chinju forest had visited konda village but you were entranced by pale blue locks and attire worth more than your life. he didn’t seem prejudiced to gaining a friend that day, regardless of how much mora you had to your family name.
you stayed entranced. you longed to be at his side until it got to the point of no return - it’d feel as if you was burning if you hadn’t seen him for a while. the people in the village rumoured you could create a new life for yourself, they were excited at the idea of his mora. you wasn’t; no, you was just excited at the idea of him.
“thinking?” ayato muses before his lips press against the straw of his drink, sipping at it as his eyes narrow at you in amusement. you scoff, cheeks flushing with warmth that creeps up your neck.
“is that illegal?” you throw back in defiance and ayato rolls his eyes, smiling.
“it is when you usually tell me everything.” he hums and suddenly the air is thick. tell him? if you did that you’d rather crawl to the bottom of a well in the village and live down there in the dark for the rest of your days.
it’s tense, suffocating when you suddenly forget to breathe. your lungs burn and ache for one simple breath and yet you can’t give it, throat tightening as you consider whether you do drop your feelings right here, right now. his lips are pulled tight into a smile, eyes tracing how you seem to be deep in your thoughts over such a simple thing.
it doesn’t occur to him that you’d ever fell in love with your childhood friend. the friend that your parents worked for so dotingly, treating him almost like a son when they’d pass him around the estate following his friendship with you. however more seconds passes until it appears to be minutes and ayato finds himself tensing with concern. his lips part to speak but you beat him to it.
“i love you. i’m sorry.” you finally speak, your voice meek when you can’t even bear to look at him. ayato’s lips close once more as he frowns. he’d rejected many girls growing up and you’d seen every one of them, yet here you were; clearly about to be another name to the list of women who failed so effortlessly to sway the likes of kamisato ayato.
“you know the answer already, don’t you?” he mumbles, his gaze falling to the boba you’d brought him. it was a weekly routine you’d both started, something he treasured even for a moment. he wonders if things will change now, “for what it’s worth, i’m sorry.”
you shake your head, trying to crack a small smile through the pain stabbing at your heart. your eyes sting when you force yourself to look up at him, trying your hardest to just appear normal for once. don’t let him know how much your heart is being ripped to shreds or how your stomach seems to have sunk to the deepest, darkest pits.
ayato can see it all on your face. he grimaces, biting the soft inner of his cheek when he realises he’s never been good at comforting people - how could he ever comfort you right now when he’s the one who made you feel like this? there’s an ache that pulls at his heartstrings. you are (perhaps were) his best friend, the concept that he’d reduced you to nearly tears in front of him felt almost as heavy as his words.
“i don’t want your apology, ayato.” you whisper, your voice croaking as you turn to leave his office hurriedly. he doesn’t get another chance at comforting you or making you stay longer when you disappear from his sight and he begins to consider whether he’ll ever have you in his sight again.
what a fool you’d been to think that admitting your lifelong secret would ever end up the way you dreamed.
✉️ mail received! sender: kamisato ayaka
there were words that would always be unspoken, no matter the amount of urgency they’d be ever have to be spoken with. numerous times you’d considered these words, she never explicitly said that the three forbidden words attaining to “i love you” shouldn’t be said and yet you find yourself biting your tongue and swallowing them back down.
to the public of inazuma, ayaka is a pinnacle of the socialite society. she cannot let it be faltered by her sexuality nor can she ruin her reputation if her secrets with you ever came to light. but maybe if something had been said or done, your emotional tethers to each other wouldn’t be cut with so brutal of a knife.
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her skin is as soft as always, she often lacks the ability to not pamper herself every waking minute of her days - it was something you’d always poked at. playfully, of course but you’d never had the time to be so careful and loving to your own body as much as she had. from the moment you’d wake, you were working to survive. ayaka knows that she need not sacrifice her time like you.
over your heads stand the proud cherry blossoms of inazuma, full of beautiful shades of pinks that dance to the ground in the breeze. ayaka hasn’t taken her eyes off the petals since you both settled under the tree, a woven blanket under you to ensure ayaka’s dress doesn’t dirty on the grass.
you can’t help but notice she’s troubled. there’s a glimmer of worry in her eyes and she keeps biting that plump lower lip she coats in a pretty lipgloss; the one that tastes like sunsettias because she knows you like the taste of it when you share chaste kisses in the pale moonlight, giggles hushed against each other’s lips at the secrecy of it all.
“what’s on your mind, love?” you murmur, a hand with minor callouses brushing against her delicate skin. she tenses suddenly, the light coming back to her eyes as she turns to look at you, a soft smile gracing her face. ayaka has always been insanely pretty, sometimes you’d questioned what she saw in you.
not only was you a lower social class than her but you couldn’t consider ever being to her beauty standard even if she would grimace and scold your words, mumbling about self love so sweetly that perhaps you do consider it.
“we can’t keep doing this—” she breathes, sorrow laced in her words when your brows furrow in confusion and she notes how your eyes seem to both soften and harden at the same time. ayaka wonders if you’ll hate her for this.
“what do you mean?” you cut off her explanation only to demand one, an awful idea in hindsight as ayaka makes a noise, looking away from you, “did someone find out- your brother?”
ayaka shakes her head, sitting her hands on her lap as she stares back at cherry blossoms above. she can’t bear to look at you, maybe it’s the pain in her chest that it’d even come to this but she knew it would. maybe she shouldn’t have played coy.
“they’ve arranged a marriage,” ayaka’s words sting and they burn when it feels like an arrow pierced your heart, the realisation widening your eyes that this couldn’t go on forever as it had, “he works for the tenryou commission.”
you could care less who he worked for or where, not when he’d ruined your sole solace in this damned world. not when he was stealing the love of your life from you, her soft pink lips and the nights spent curled up together under trees with a blanket draped over your bodies simply because she’d be dead if they knew.
but which part of this whole thing would kill her first? the lover from a lower social class, a sin to the socialite society or the lover who is the same gender as the shirasagi himegimi? sometimes you wonder why the woman who is considered a model of perfection in inazuman society had taken the risk in the first place.
“i love you.” you speak out, wondering if finally saying the words would make her reconsider. maybe she’d take your hand and swear her life on it, running away from the pristine life she’d been living but you knew these thoughts were futile. you just wanted her to know your true feelings for the first time since this fling had started.
“i love you too,” she means it, tears sparkling in her eyes when she gathers the courage to look at you, her heart shattering at the mere look of hurt on your face - she knows you’ll act unbothered now, only to release your emotions later behind closed doors where she can’t see, “i’m sorry.”
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limeade-l3sbian · 2 months
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What’s your opinion on radical feminists who become “blackpilled” so to speak? Who eventually loses a lot of their compassion and empathy for women who fail to help themselves? Who lose hope for a better future for women all over the world when majority of women will never be able to separate them far enough from men to make any real change forward.
I think it is perfectly natural and probably more frequent than some women will admit to lose faith and to become frustrated with the women who still prioritize their proximity to men over the progress of women as a class. I've certainly felt that way. Especially as a lesbian, the concept of prioritizing men feels completely foreign to me.
Change requires discomfort, stubbornness, and unity. And the world we face has made it much harder to be able to deal with discomfort. The short term advantages of conceding to the patriarchy has made stubbornness seem useless. And the unity of women is fractured into everyone's personal definitions of what feminism is.
And on paper, I can understand it. I only get one life and you want me to spend it being angry and fighting against this thing that's been around forever when I can just concede and live more comfortably? This is, of course, the Western thinking of feminism as there are plenty of countries where defiance and submission lead down the same path of control and abuse.
But I can't imagine giving up. I can't imagine turning inward on the women around me and calling them the real problem. I can't give my anger to women who have never known any other life than submitting to men. Who have been fed religions that teach them in their formative years that their existence, as a whole, is servitude. I can be frustrated, and yes, I can even be angry.
Compassion saves lives. It does bring change. The change we are looking for will not come in giant displays of revolution. It's little battles and persistent defiance on behalf of those women who can't. That's why fights to suppress women's rights are at an all time high. It's why men complain about not being able to find a good woman because so many "act like men." They're referring to unapologetic independence and utilizing our means of that to decide what we do with our lives.
And that's just the Western effect. What about in East Asia where the birth rates are lower? Where being a feminist is an insult and women, safely and proudly, call themselves feminists? The women in Latin America who march for abortion rights and for justice when femicides occur? The women in Africa forming spaces just for women to learn and live without the threat of child marriages and rape?
I think when you give up on women and feminism, you're giving up on those women too. How dare I, a woman in the West, proclaim that feminism is pointless and give up while women in countries that could feasibly kill them without repercussions continue to risk their lives just to say they deserve peace and rights.
I understand feeling hopeless, but you must hold onto compassion because it is what these women who cannot help themselves need. It is what they will look for when they realize the world we live in. They won't look for a fist to invite them, they'll want an open hand.
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