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minhosbitterriver · 4 months ago

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────* ˚ ✦ BONDS OF PASSION ( stray kids )

❛ In a night of profound emotional connection and intimacy, you and Minho explore your bond through the intricate art of shibari, culminating in a tender embrace that deepens your love and gratitude.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.2k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 28 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ I'm always saying this, but I really love shibari; it's quite literally one of my favorite kinks. So, thank you to my wonderful mootie, Merin, for making the request! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, this is Y/N's first time participating in shibari, Minho has experience in shibari, intensely emotional sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), penetration, unprotected sex (please don't do this), let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

The world outside seemed to fade away as if his bedroom had slipped into a realm of its own, where time slowed and the only reality was the two of you, kneeling on the floor. Every breath shared in the confined space felt amplified, the air thick with anticipation. The weight of your bare bodies pressed against the cool wooden floor, facing each other in a vulnerable dance of gazes that held unspoken promises. His eyes, deep pools of dark intensity, locked onto yours with a fervor you had never witnessed before. Minho's gaze bore into you, filled with a passion so palpable it sent shivers down your spine, yet there was something more—a quiet confidence, an ease born of experience, that radiated from him like a quiet storm. It was a look that only someone who had navigated these waters before could possess.

In contrast, you could feel the uncertainty swirling within your own eyes, a reflection of the storm raging inside you. You imagined how pale your face must appear under the soft light, as your heart pounded relentlessly against your chest, each beat echoing in the stillness of the room. The silence between you both was almost deafening, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of your breaths. You were acutely aware that this was uncharted territory for you, a space where Minho had already traveled with ease.

This would be the first time you would surrender so completely, relinquishing not just the control of your body but also the reins of your heart and soul. The thought of it made your pulse race even faster, a flutter of nerves and excitement tangling within you. The rope you had both chosen together, a symbol of trust and shared desire, lay between you on the floor, a silent witness to the intimacy about to unfold. As you knelt before him, you knew that tonight, you would willingly empty your mind, allowing Minho to guide you into a world where he alone dictated the pace, where his touch would define your every movement and sensation. And as the rope waited patiently, you found yourself ready to embark on this journey with him, prepared to lose yourself in the intensity of the moment.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly before Minho’s lips finally curled into a gentle, reassuring smile, a subtle yet powerful gesture that sent a cascade of tingles racing across your skin. The moment felt suspended in a delicate balance between anticipation and reality, where the space between you two was charged with an unspoken understanding. The warmth of his gaze enveloped you, pulling you into the depths of his emotions, where you could glimpse the full spectrum of his intentions, his unyielding desire, and the raw intensity of his feelings. In that gaze, you found solace, a calming balm to the storm of thoughts that had been churning within you.

The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you cocooned in this intimate bubble. Minho’s eyes spoke volumes, revealing the depth of his commitment to you, and in that moment, all remnants of doubt and anxiety began to dissipate. The air around you, thick with silent anticipation, was finally pierced by the soft melody of his voice, tender and careful as if coaxing your soul to dance with his. “Do you remember our safe word?” he asked, the question a gentle reminder of the trust that formed the foundation of what was about to unfold.

His eyes left yours momentarily, tracing the contours of your expression as if seeking any lingering traces of hesitation. You met his gaze with a timid nod, the ghost of a smile beginning to tug at your lips. “Mercy,” you whispered, the word carrying with it a promise of trust, a signal that you were still willing to journey into this new, uncharted territory with him.

Minho’s smile widened, a reflection of the satisfaction and joy that your willingness brought him. It was a smile that held a thousand promises, a smile that reassured you of the care he would take as he led you further into this passionate exploration. In that smile, you saw not just a lover, but a guide, someone who would hold you through the most intense moments and bring you safely to the other side. And as you both prepared to step into this new chapter together, the connection between you deepened, wrapped in the shared understanding that, no matter what, you were in this together.

Minho rose to his feet, and your eyes couldn’t help but follow the fluid motion of his form, tracing the contours of his body as he moved with a quiet, unspoken elegance. Every inch of him was a masterpiece, a living testament to the beauty that lies in the harmony of strength and grace. As he made his way behind you, you allowed yourself to drink in the sight of him, this man who stood before you like a vision of divine perfection. His naked form, something you had always admired, seemed almost otherworldly in its beauty, a reflection of the statues of ancient gods that once graced the grand temples of old.

Minho’s physique was a study in contrasts, lean yet muscular, with each muscle defined in a way that spoke of both power and restraint. His body was a work of art, chiseled with the same care and precision that an ancient sculptor might have applied to marble, capturing the very essence of masculine beauty. Every movement he made was deliberate, infused with a quiet confidence that spoke of his inner strength. There was a grace in the way he carried himself, an elegance that made your knees tremble with admiration, as if you were in the presence of a god who needed no words to command the space around him.

The sharp lines of his jaw were a testament to the precision with which nature had crafted him, a strong and unwavering feature that brought to mind the angular perfection of the statues that had survived the ages. It was a defining trait, one that spoke of the strength and resolve that lay beneath the surface, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly it seemed to fit him, as if he had been carved by the hands of an ancient artisan intent on embodying the ideal of masculine beauty.

And then there were his hands, the part of him you cherished most. Those hands, both graceful and strong, were like those of a Greek statue, crafted with a care that reflected both power and delicacy. Whether they were guiding him through the fluid movements of a dance or exploring every inch of your body with a precision that drove you to the edge of insanity, his hands conveyed an artistry that was unparalleled. They spoke of his physical prowess, of his ability to channel his strength into the most delicate of touches, and in those moments, you could feel the depth of his connection to you, as if his very soul was intertwined with yours.

Lee Minho, the man who held your heart in his hands, was a raw beauty to behold, a living embodiment of the divine made flesh. His presence, his very essence, was something that captivated you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame, and as you gazed upon him, you couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of awe at the man who stood before you, a man whose soul you firmly believed was tied to yours in a bond that was as unbreakable as it was beautiful.

Your bare skin ignited with a fiery sensation the very moment Minho's warm, naked torso pressed firmly against your back. His presence was a comforting weight, his legs resting on either side of your crossed limbs, encasing you in a protective embrace. You could feel his breath, warm and gentle, fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. As he reached around you, his hands moved with a deliberate tenderness, uncrossing your legs with a fluid grace that left you breathless. The moment his strong legs pinned yours beneath him, you felt an exhilarating surge of vulnerability and trust. His touch was a soothing balm, and as your skin prickled with tiny bumps in response, you surrendered yourself to his guidance, allowing him to mold your body however he wished.

A featherlight kiss brushed the nape of your neck, his plump lips barely grazing your skin, yet the sensation was enough to draw a muted gasp from your parted lips. Minho gently pulled you back, easing you into his embrace until your full weight rested against him, your back flush with his chest. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, and you found yourself biting back a moan as his warmth seeped into your very being.

Minho had only just begun to touch you, yet already the worries that had once plagued your mind — whether large or small, old or new — began to dissolve, fading into the background as your thoughts grew quieter. With each passing second, you felt your mind and body gradually submit to the serene headspace Minho had so patiently explained to you before. He had been right; there truly was nothing that compared to the bliss of surrendering every burden, every lingering doubt, to the gentle pleasure that was slowly consuming your senses.

Time seemed to blur as he held you close, his strong arms wrapped securely around your chest, anchoring you in the moment. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the soft rise and fall of his breathing became your world, a lullaby that lulled you deeper into tranquility. You reached up, fingers trembling slightly as you interlaced them with his, feeling the warmth and strength in his grasp. In his embrace, you found a sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself completely, letting go of everything except the profound connection you shared with him.

It took a moment for you to realize that Minho had begun gently rocking your bodies from side to side, his embrace warm and secure, as though he was cradling your very soul. His breath, warm against your ear, sent waves of desire coursing through you, a passion so intense it bordered on painful. His voice, soft and tender, murmured words that sent shivers down your spine. "Your pretty head is already so empty, baby," he whispered, each word laced with adoration. "You're doing so good for me already." As his lips trailed tender kisses along every inch of your exposed skin, you instinctively squeezed his fingers, your silent way of letting him know you were still present, still with him.

Minho’s fingers tightened around yours in response, a comforting reassurance that melted any lingering doubts. "I can't thank you enough for trusting me like this," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine reverence. "It’s such an honor to share this moment with you." The delicacy of his words sent a soft whine escaping from your lips, quickly turning into a moan that echoed the vulnerability you felt in his presence. With a final, lingering kiss pressed onto your shoulder, Minho slowly unwrapped his arms from around your torso, his touch lingering like the ghost of a warm embrace.

He shifted his position with a graceful ease, one knee sinking to the floor while the other foot remained firmly planted, his body hovering over yours like a guardian angel. His eyes, filled with a quiet intensity, never left yours as he reached for the rope that had been momentarily forgotten between you. With practiced care, he began working the rope free from its tight spiral, each loop unfurling in a fluid motion until it lay in a long, taut line behind you.

With a few measured tugs, Minho folded the length in half, aligning the two ends with meticulous precision before letting the rope rest lazily over one of your shoulders. The looped end of the rope was held between his teeth, a playful glint in his eyes as he let the rough texture brush against your overly sensitive skin. The sensation sent your breath hitching, your heartbeat quickening in anticipation of what was to come. Every fiber of your being was attuned to him, to the way his touch promised both restraint and release, as you surrender yourself completely to the moment, to Minho.

Once the rope was positioned just right, Minho wasted no time in pressing his firm chest against your back once more. The warmth of his skin sent a comforting shiver through you, and as his body began to sway, it felt as though you were both caught in an entrancing dance. Slowly, he guided you into a series of circular motions, the gentle rhythm lulling you deeper into a shared trance. The way he moved with you was like a carefully choreographed ballet, each step measured and intentional, designed to draw out the pleasure simmering just beneath the surface.

As Minho pinned your arms beneath his own, a surge of instinct had you clutching the back of his thighs, seeking an anchor in the storm of sensations that were building between you. The heat of the moment intensified, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that washed over you with each of Minho’s expert touches. His hands, strong yet tender, guided your movements, and the synergy between your bodies grew with every slow, deliberate motion. The connection was so deep, so visceral, that you lost track of time, completely immersed in the dance of your shared intimacy.

At some point, you became aware that your legs had returned to their original x-patterned position. The realization came just as Minho’s hands, heavy with intent yet comforting in their touch, pressed against your feet. He let them linger there for a moment before slowly, sensually, dragging them up the length of your legs. His fingers caressed your inner thighs, ghosting over your aching arousal, teasing you with the promise of more. Finally, his hands found their home on your waist, and the sensation was so overwhelming that a guttural moan escaped your lips, raw and unbidden.

Your head fell back against Minho’s shoulder, your eyes fluttering open for a brief second. Through the haze of desire, you caught sight of his gaze — an all-consuming love that pierced through the fog of your mind, grounding you in the moment. The way his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that spoke of both passion and devotion, sent a shiver down your spine. You reached out with a trembling hand to squeeze his bicep, offering a blissed-out grin in return, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection you shared. Then, with a soft sigh, you let your eyes drift closed once more, allowing yourself to sink back into the warmth of his embrace, the intimacy of this moment enveloping you completely.

A few moments passed in this heavenly embrace, each second stretching into eternity as you basked in the warmth of Minho’s touch. The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you entwined in this intimate dance. But then, the gentle hold on your waist faded, replaced by the firm yet careful grip of Minho's hands as they moved to capture your wrists. With a tender precision, he brought them together in front of your body, the motion so fluid it felt almost like an extension of the dance you were sharing.

He held your wrists together with one hand, a possessive yet loving grasp that sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins. His free hand trailed up the length of your arm, a ghostly touch that left your skin tingling in its wake, before finding its place in your hair. His fingers wove through the strands, gripping just firmly enough to draw a moan from your lips. It wasn't painful — far from it — but the pressure was just enough to remind you of the power he held, the control he wielded over your body and senses.

The rhythmic, circular motions he had so carefully orchestrated came to an abrupt stop, leaving you breathless with anticipation. Then, with a controlled force, Minho pushed both of your bodies forward, guiding you down until your chest and stomach were pressed firmly against the ground. Your knees spread to the sides, a position that left you utterly vulnerable and exposed, and the raw, guttural moan that tore from your throat was a testament to the overwhelming arousal that flooded your senses.

As your mind struggled to catch up with this new, intoxicating position, Minho's warm body followed yours, his presence a constant, grounding force. The sensation of his naked flesh draping over your folded form sent shivers of pleasure coursing down your spine, each touch amplifying the closeness you shared. The weight of him pressed against your overly sensitive skin was both a comfort and a thrill, intensifying the already electric connection between you. It was as though every inch of your body was attuned to his, every nerve ending alive with the sensation of Minho, his touch, his breath, his very essence surrounding you, holding you captive in this moment of pure, unbridled intimacy.

Despite the rope held between his teeth, Minho managed to press a tender kiss onto your flushed cheek, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. As his lips lingered, you felt the first tentative grind of his hardened arousal against your lower back, the intimate friction igniting a new wave of sensation that rippled through your body. The slow, deliberate movement caused both of you to rock back and forth in a rhythm that was as mesmerizing as it was intoxicating, a silent dance that spoke of unspoken desires and deepening connection.

Your mouth fell open in a wordless gasp, your senses immediately drowning in the overwhelming pleasure that blossomed from this newfound contact. Each subtle shift of his hips against you sent shockwaves of arousal spiraling through your core, leaving you painfully wet and clenching around the emptiness inside, desperate for more. The need within you grew with every passing second, a relentless ache that only intensified as your body responded to his touch with soft whines and gasps, spilling from your lips without restraint.

Your eyelids crinkled in pleasure, brows knitting together as your mind struggled to keep up with the storm of sensations crashing over you. But any semblance of control was quickly lost as you felt Minho's hardened length begin to leak onto your lower back, the warmth of his arousal mingling with your own fevered skin. The combination was electrifying, a heady mix of intimacy and desire that left you trembling.

Minho’s breathing grew strained, the steady rhythm faltering as he momentarily lost himself in his own pleasure, the sound of it like a raw, primal symphony that echoed in your ears. The very air between you crackled with the intensity of the moment, each breath, each touch, each whisper of fabric against skin drawing you deeper into the vortex of sensation that consumed you both. And as the two of you rocked together, moving in perfect unison, it felt as though nothing else existed beyond the boundaries of this shared moment, this exquisite blend of passion and connection.

However, the fleeting pleasure of Minho's grinding against your lower back was soon replaced by a new sensation as he shifted positions once again. His movements were deliberate, yet unhurried, as he slowly pulled away, the grinding coming to a hesitant halt. The rope that had been held between his teeth now trailed gently across the expanse of your back, leaving a tingling path in its wake. The sensation was enough to elicit a soft moan from your lips, a sound that only deepened when Minho's fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you back into the solid warmth of his chest. His grip was firm yet tender, sending ripples of electricity across your skin, each pulse intensifying the connection between you.

The way your body instinctively melted into each of Minho's silent commands was intoxicating, a surrender that felt both empowering and liberating. In his hands, you felt safe, cherished, and utterly consumed by the depth of your shared intimacy. There was no need to worry or overthink, as your soul-tied lover had taken control of every aspect of your pleasure, guiding you with a deftness that only heightened your arousal with every passing second. The trust between you was palpable, a silent understanding that allowed you to let go completely, to revel in the sensations that Minho was expertly crafting.

Your awareness of his actions dimmed as you lost yourself in the familiar rhythm of your bodies moving in perfect unison. The steady rocking was a dance of pure sensation, each movement a testament to the deep connection you shared. It wasn't long before you felt Minho's hand release its hold on your hair, and your dazed eyes fluttered open, curiosity piqued by the change in his touch. His free hand joined the other, which had been holding both of your wrists, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as the rope glided smoothly over your skin, its texture a reminder of the gentle power Minho wielded over you.

With slow, deliberate movements, Minho began to wrap the rope around your wrists, his expert hands tying the first knot with a precision that was both arousing and reassuring. The pressure of the rope was firm, enough to make you feel bound, yet not tight enough to cause discomfort. It was a tender introduction, a prelude to what was to come, and the anticipation of it sent a thrill through your body. The way Minho's hands moved with such care and intention made it clear that this was only the beginning, and the thought of what lay ahead left you breathless, your heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of your shared desire.

Your breath catches as Minho's teeth graze your earlobe, a playful nip that sends a shiver down your spine. He'd just secured the first knot around your wrists, tugging lightly to ensure it held firm. The binding was precise, a testament to his careful attention. "How are we feeling, my love?" he murmured, his voice softer than a whisper, as though the very air around you would break if he spoke too loudly. Even through the fog of your bliss, you managed a silent nod, your senses dulled yet heightened by the intimacy of the moment. Minho's quiet chuckle warmed your heart, its gentle timbre resonating deep within you.

Releasing his grip on your wrists, Minho didn't pause in the rhythmic sway of your bodies. His hands moved with purpose, trailing up and down your arms in a tender effort to ground you in the here and now. The sensation was electric, a soothing contrast to the growing intensity between you. "Use your words for me," he coaxed, his tone a mix of gentle insistence and deep affection. "I need to know you're here with me." The sheer tenderness in his voice drew a whimper from your lips, the weight of your love for him pressing heavily on your chest.

As his chin came to rest softly on your shoulder, you tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze. His expression was one of pure serenity, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched you. The sight of him, so calm and full of love, made your heart swell, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson. With a small, almost shy smile, you whispered, "I'm here. I'm with you." The words were meant for him alone, a quiet reassurance that you were still present, still grounded in this moment with him.

Minho's smile widened at your response, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was as sweet as it was brief. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, any hint that you were anything less than utterly content. But all he found was the evidence of your mind blissfully clouded, your expression soft and open. You managed another nod, followed by a whispered "yes," the word barely more than a breath. He hummed in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to your temple before his hand moved to rest against your throat.

The shift in his touch brought a new intensity to the moment, his wrist firm against your throat as he quickened the pace of your shared rhythm. The atmosphere in the room thickened, the air heavy with the weight of your connection. "My love," he murmured into your ear, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, sending another shiver through you. "From this point forward, I will be picking up the pace. Just keep in mind that I adore you completely, so if you need me to stop, all you have to do is use the safe word, and I will do as asked. Please nod your head if you understand this, baby. I need you to stay here with me."

The gentle pleading in his voice tugged at your heart, and you felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. His concern, his care, it all spoke to the depth of his feelings for you. With a soft yet firm resolve, you met his gaze, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that mirrored his own. Slowly, you nodded, the movement small but full of assurance.

Minho's eyes softened further, the relief evident as he leaned in to capture your lips once more in a kiss that was both tender and full of promise. This moment, this connection between you, was more than just physical—it was a profound expression of the love and trust you shared. As the kiss deepened, the rhythm of your bodies followed suit, each movement syncing perfectly with the other, a dance of intimacy that enveloped you both.

Minho presses another gentle kiss to your temple, a soft, unspoken acknowledgment of your consent. The delicate touch of his lips sends a soothing warmth through you, a silent promise of care and affection. Using the wrist he had previously rested against your neck, he gently guides your head back to rest on his shoulder, his touch both tender and commanding. At the same time, he lifts your wrists slightly by the ropes binding them, a subtle shift that draws you closer to him.

As your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to the intensity of the moment, you feel yourself being enveloped by the sensations surrounding you. Minho's movements become a rhythm you can't help but follow, his hips coaxing you to roll your own in an erotic dance reminiscent of the way you move when seated on his lap. The heat of his skin meets the tender, restrained touch of your tied hands, and you instinctively let your fingers brush against his cheek, a soft caress that makes his breath hitch—a delightful response to your affectionate gesture amidst the consuming passion.

You begin to roll your hips in sync with Minho’s guiding movements, the rhythm now an unspoken dance between you. Shifting your head, you nestle your face into the curve of his neck, the closeness a balm to your senses. With swift, practiced motions, Minho directs your bound hands to move in a semi-circle in front of you, a motion that feels like a step in a choreographed routine. The pace of your bodies swaying together grows more urgent and intense, your breaths becoming sharp, matching Minho's as the anticipation of the moment electrifies every nerve in your body.

As soon as your tied hands completed their arc from one side to the other, Minho eased back, allowing your pliant body to drape across his strong thigh. The soft, powerful support of his leg cradled you, and you surrendered completely to the enveloping tranquility that your mind floated upon. With your eyes still closed, you surrendered to the all-encompassing serenity that seemed to cocoon you.

Once you were settled on his thigh, Minho used his other leg to gently spread your knees further apart. A soft moan, which quickly morphed into a whine, escaped your lips as his firm hand pressed against your chest and traveled slowly down to cup your drenched arousal. But just as quickly, he withdrew, leaving you in a state of aching anticipation.

Minho shifted his body slightly, pulling you closer with the rope that bound your wrists. A hand guided your head forward, and you reluctantly opened your eyes to meet his intense gaze. His eyes, soft yet laden with a dark anticipation, locked onto yours as he resumed the sensual, circular rocking of your bodies. The tender yet unyielding rhythm of his movements sent shivers down your spine, and you felt a thrill at the shift in his gaze, a potent blend of tenderness and longing.

Leaning forward, Minho pushed you backward until your head nearly touched the ground, his lips parting in a teasing promise. Instinctively, you parted your own lips, expecting a kiss, but instead, he breathed into your mouth, the warm, intoxicating air a seductive caress as his eyes remained locked on yours. Just as abruptly, he pulled away, pressing you back firmly against his chest, leaving both of you breathless.

Your cheeks pressed together, and a thrilling shiver raced up your spine as you watched Minho pull the rope tighter, binding your wrists securely against your chest. The sensation of the rope against your skin, combined with the proximity of his body and the intensity of his gaze, created a heady, intoxicating blend of pleasure and anticipation that left you utterly enraptured.

As the session deepens, Minho maintains a steady rhythm, swaying your bodies together in perfect harmony. His skilled hands move with deliberate grace, meticulously tying the rope to ensure your hands remain securely pressed against your chest. The rope's embrace is both encompassing and protective, each knot and loop placed with exquisite care. Minho pauses occasionally, his eyes soft yet attentive, as if silently checking in on you.

The rope winds its way around your shoulders, torso, and then descends to your thighs, hips, and legs. Each pass of the rope feels grounding and intense, its firm grip holding your legs apart to reveal your glistening core. The tightening sensation of the rope, combined with Minho’s unwavering presence, envelops you in a profound sense of vulnerability and trust. As Minho finishes the intricate tying, the final knot meticulously placed, you become aware of the intensity of the emotions coursing through you. A few tears have traced paths down your cheeks, each one tenderly kissed away by Minho.

With a gentle sigh, Minho allows you to rest on the ground, still bound but comforted. He kneels beside you, his eyes sparkling with admiration as he interlocks his fingers with one of yours. His gaze is filled with a tender appreciation for the intricate work he has completed. Leaning in, he presses a soft, loving kiss to your lips, his free hand caressing your hair with affectionate strokes. Despite the bonds that encircle you, there’s an astonishing sense of relaxation that washes over your body, a profound feeling of safety you’ve never experienced before.

The realization of how deeply safe and cherished you feel brings fresh tears to your eyes. Minho coos softly, his voice a gentle balm to your soul, as he kisses away each tear with a tenderness that rekindles your love for him. This renewed affection is even more intense and consuming than before. In a moment of pure connection, you turn your head to capture his lips in a kiss filled with tender passion, a testament to the profound bond you share.

What began as a tender kiss soon transformed into an urgent expression of unrestrained desire. Each touch of your lips against Minho’s was imbued with growing desperation, your moans escaping into the intoxicating dance of your shared kiss. His breath, once controlled, now came in ragged gasps, a stark testament to the fervor that had taken hold. As your previously clouded thoughts cleared, all that remained was an all-consuming craving for his body.

Though your hands were bound tightly against your chest, your fingertips clawed into his chiseled torso, digging in as though to silently convey your deep-seated needs. Minho’s groans were a symphony of pleasure, his brows knitting together as he relished the sting of your touch. The closeness between you was so profound that it blurred the lines of where one of you began and the other ended. This intoxicating proximity had you pressing your hips fervently against his, the ropes he had so meticulously wrapped around your hips digging into both of your heated skins, enhancing the fervor of the moment.

You luxuriated in the way his hands roamed over your bound body, pausing to explore the ropes before continuing their journey. Minho’s movements were deliberate, a testament to his careful attention to your every reaction. He eventually positioned himself between your tied knees, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that made you shiver with anticipation. His gaze lingered, taking in the sight of your flushed, sweat-drenched skin and the rhythm of your chest rising and falling as you panted.

A moan, almost drunken in its intensity, escaped Minho’s lips as his eyes fell upon your achingly drenched arousal. “God, you’re already so deliciously wet for me,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with admiration. You responded with a desperate whine, arching your hips upwards in a silent plea for him to meet your needs. His eyes softened at your response, and he leaned in to place a brief, affectionate kiss on your lips before trailing his mouth downward. His kisses, messy and fervent, left a heated trail along your skin, heightening the intensity of the moment as he continued to explore.

You writhed beneath his touch, your mouth parting as a continuous stream of moans and gasps spilled forth. Every sensation was magnified by the ropes binding your body, which restricted your movements and made it challenging to maintain eye contact with him. When his breath, warm and tantalizing, brushed against your throbbing core, a cry of delight escaped your lips.

"Min, please," you whispered, your first unprompted plea since this passionate encounter began. The sound of your desperate request drew Minho's gaze upward, his eyes now burning with an even more insatiable hunger. "Please, baby," you continued to beg, your voice faltering as you struggled to articulate the depth of your need. "I need you, please, I really need—"

Your words were abruptly cut off by a loud, guttural moan that tore from your throat as Minho's exquisite lips finally made contact with your sensitive clit. The sensation of his lips enveloping and gently sucking, exactly as you had longed for, was electrifying. His touch was slow and deliberate, his movements methodical, each caress sending waves of unparalleled pleasure crashing over you.

Minho's tongue danced along the edges of your core, and you bucked your hips into his face, seeking more of the intoxicating sensation. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped your tied hands, a desperate attempt to ground yourself amidst the overwhelming pleasure. When his fingers finally entered the warmth of your aching arousal, your eyes fluttered back, a primal moan escaping you as another wave of ecstasy surged through your body.

In the past, you might have confidently declared that Minho was an exceptional lover, but the present moment redefined your understanding of his skill. His fingers moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a pace that was both torturous and exquisite, plunging in and out of you with an intensity that left you breathless. The sensation was so overwhelmingly blissful that it eclipsed any previous experience, tightening your lower abdomen with a fervor you had never known.

Minho’s gaze was a palpable force, watching you intently as you arched your back in response to his relentless exploration of that sensitive, perfect spot inside you. His free hand pressed firmly against your abdomen, enhancing the pressure and making each thrust of his fingers feel even more profound. Meanwhile, his mouth returned to your pulsing clit, lavishing it with tender, expert attention.

The building pressure in your abdomen reached a crescendo, and you were overwhelmed by a powerful wave of pleasure that swept through your convulsing body. Minho's voice reached you as though from a great distance, his words muffled and indistinct amidst the roaring storm of your climax. Your focus remained solely on the rhythmic motion of his fingers, which continued to move deliberately in and out of you, guiding you through the final throes of your release.

As the waves of pleasure began to recede, Minho withdrew his fingers, and you watched with a mixture of awe and lingering desire as he brought them to his mouth. He cleaned your arousal with a slow, savoring sweep of his tongue, his eyes never leaving you as he did so. The sight of him tasting you, coupled with the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips, left you breathless and yearning for more.

As your breathing gradually evened out, Minho’s form loomed over you, his presence both commanding and tender. He crawled with a deliberate slowness, the heat of his hardened length brushing against your stomach with each movement. Supporting himself on his forearms, which framed either side of your head, and balancing on his knees that bracketed your hips, he created an intimate cocoon of sensation and anticipation.

Minho’s eyes sparkled with a gleeful satisfaction as he gazed down at you, a radiant smile lighting up his face. The sight of him made your cheeks flush with a warm, bashful hue, and you responded to his smile with one of your own, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his gaze. Yet, each time his aching, hardened core brushed against your skin, a hitch in his breath made it clear that the night’s pleasures were far from over. The renewed flutter of arousal in your own still-sensitive core sent a thrilling shiver through you.

“You were mesmerizing just now,” Minho murmured, his voice a soft whisper meant solely for your ears. The intimacy of his words deepened the blush on your cheeks, and rather than voicing a response, you pressed your lips to his in a fervent kiss. It was a silent plea for more, a desperate declaration of your lingering need for him. The intensity of your kiss drove Minho to groan deeply, his hips settling onto your pelvis. You felt the undeniable heat of his hardness and the telltale slickness that marked his need.

The contact elicited a shared moan from both of you, and you instinctively arched your hips upwards, meeting his body with an eager urgency. Minho shifted his weight to one arm, his free hand gently cradling your jaw as he pulled away just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze held a silent question, one that was answered by your breathless plea. “Please, Min, I’ve never felt so good,” you panted, “I want to have all of you, please.”

His eyes softened with understanding, and he leaned in to capture your lips once more. The hand that had held your jaw now descended, wrapping around his aching arousal. He groaned deeply at the touch, momentarily pausing to steady himself before he began to pump his length, spreading his own wetness and heightening his anticipation. When he finally pressed the tip of his length against your core, the breath between you both became a held moment of shared expectation.

With a careful, measured thrust, Minho sheathed himself fully inside you. Your eyes rolled back in your head as his tip found that sensitive spot with a precise, overwhelming pressure. Your back arched instinctively, seeking deeper connection. Minho’s forehead pressed against yours, his face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and intensity. His groans vibrated through you as he surrendered to the enveloping warmth of your pulsing tightness, the sensation of being within you driving him to the edge of his control.

Though Minho was often the type to drive you to the edge with relentless, vigorous thrusts that had you chanting his name like a sacred mantra, tonight was a different kind of exploration—one that delved deeply into the emotional connection you shared. This evening was about savoring the intimacy and connection between you.

The ropes that Minho had meticulously bound around your body pressed gently against your skin, creating a delicious tension that made your blood hum with heightened sensation. Each touch of the rope intensified the bliss that flowed through you, amplifying the pleasure you felt with every slow, deliberate motion of Minho’s hips. He would draw back just enough to tease, then push back into you with a depth that elicited soft, breathy moans from your lips.

Minho, too, was caught in the throes of this more tender passion. His eyes struggled to remain open as the pleasure overtook him, pulling him deeper into the shared experience. When you felt the telltale twitch of his length inside you, it was clear that he was nearing his peak. Determined to enhance the moment, you began to move your hips in time with his, each motion guided by the need to match his rhythm. Your moans grew louder as your sensitive clit grazed against his pelvis, driving both of you toward the precipice.

As Minho’s thrusts became more erratic and fevered, his control slipping as he chased his climax, the intensity between you both surged. Finally, with a thrust that struck your sensitive spot with a forceful precision, you both were pulled into an intimate, breathless crescendo. In that climactic moment, you pressed together, bodies entwined, as you both reached the peak of your pleasure simultaneously.

As the intensity of your shared passion began to wane, minutes slipped by in a languid haze. Your breath gradually settled, finding its rhythm once more, while Minho tenderly withdrew his softened length from your still-throbbing core. The room was infused with a soft glow, and you admired the way Minho’s skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, a testament to the fervor of your union. You scarcely registered the sweet, murmured praises he offered as he meticulously began to untie the ropes that had bound you so intimately.

Your mind was still enveloped in the intoxicating fog of your shared ecstasy, yet every fiber of your being was alight with a blazing warmth that spoke of deep affection. “I love you, Min,” you breathed out, gently interrupting his gentle murmurings. His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and his eyes softened with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. The unspoken emotion between you was palpable, and you continued, “Thank you for taking care of me. You have no idea how much I love you.”

As Minho unfastened the final knot securing your wrists, you did not hesitate. You drew him closer, enveloping him in a wordless embrace that conveyed a depth of emotion words could not capture. The silence of the moment spoke volumes, a shared connection that transcended language, as you both held each other tightly, savoring the quiet after the storm of your passion.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

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gayerthanevertbh · 2 years ago

Text

my tears ricochet.

pairings: older!natasha romanoff x fem!reader

n.r masterlist | navigation | n.r one-shots masterlist

summary: after your divorce from natasha, life was never the same again. and when you and her revisit the past, it made you realize how much you were always in love with her.

warnings: unprotected sex, g!p natasha, dirty talking, pet names, sex on the couch, fingering, dry humping, angst, and fluff - 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count: 4.7k

author’s note: hopefully you’ll enjoy this one!

You were once married to an Avenger. You felt seen and loved by this Avenger at some point, and you never doubted their feelings for you. But as time goes on, you two grow apart and lose touch with one another's emotions. You've become the stereotypical housewife who cooks for their individual party, provides the best sex that they require so that they never have to seek it elsewhere, washes their clothes, and takes care of them as they should be taken care of. But as the routine continues, you find yourself wanting more. The problem is that you feel guilty. Why should you feel bad about wanting more? Why should you feel guilty when everything is perfect? That's where you feel completely alone and unnoticed by the woman you love.

It continued for a year or two after your daughter turned six. You remember vividly that night when you had dinner with your family, and Natasha came home that night on a very cold night – well, morning. She was devastated, her hair was all over the place. She looked unhygienic, and you didn’t want to admit that to yourself. When you saw her by the door, you were angry. You were demanding her time for your daughter, but she always gave the same excuse. I’m doing this for our family, Y/n. Can’t you see that? You do appreciate what she gives. In fact, you never complained in your life.

After that argument, you brought a file of divorce papers and gave it to her before she left for another mission the following month. She appeared distressed by your actions and begged you - repeatedly - to wait for her until the mission was completed. But you simply told the older woman, "I'm done with this cycle, Nat. I can't do it anymore." When she got tired of convincing you to stay, she just nodded and left.

She was gone for at least 3 months around that time.

And when she returned home from Budapest, she found an empty house. The couch she bought in the first month of marriage was still sitting against the wall, but the majority of the furniture had vanished. She dashed into the bedroom, where she found the bed clean and an old vintage lamp on the floor. That's when she broke down - that's when she realized she'd messed up her marriage and that she'll never get you back.

Five months later, you won custody of your daughter with Natasha. Although Natasha could still see her daughter, you had complete control over whether or not she could take her out of the state. But Natasha mostly just listened to you and respected your wishes. She would come to see you twice a month, mostly to look after Riley while you were at work. And when you returned home, Natasha would leave you food that she had ordered while you were away.

Everything you two had in the past had come to an end; you were now civil with her, which was a new routine - and you liked it at times, but you missed her. You must have missed her terribly. It's as if whenever she was away on a mission or simply unavailable, you would reflect on the times you spent with the woman. She was so caring, intelligent, and romantic that you wondered if you could ever be as romantic as her. She gave you everything you deserved in life. So most of the time, you felt guilty and unwanted.

You wanted your wife back, your wife that she used to be.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and you looked at the window noticing that the skies were gray once again. It had been raining in your state for quite some time, but you’re sure enough that there’ll be a storm around nighttime. You were making lunch while listening to quiet jazz music until Riley came to the room and asked: “Can I see Francis today, Mommy?”

You turned over your shoulder and jutted your lower lip out, knowing that it was too dangerous to go out and play.

“Honey I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s possible today.”

She sighed, holding her teddy bear close to her chest.

“Francis wants to play with my dolls,” she said in a very tiny voice. “And there’s no school today, why can’t I play with her?”

“Because there’s a storm coming, sweetheart. We have to stay at home for now,” you walked towards your daughter and pecked her left cheek. She smiled at your gesture, it definitely warms your heart. “But guess what? Mama will be visiting later! She brought something for you.”

Her face brightens up, as her grin widens. “Really? Mama bought me another set of trains?”

“Well, she said it was a surprise,” you responded, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “But don’t worry, I’m sure my little girl would love it.”

After you finished preparing lunch, Riley went back to her room, and you continued working in the kitchen. Suddenly, you heard a bell coming from the front door. Natasha came into the house after hearing your daughter squeal before you could turn around. She ran to her mother and immediately embraced her tightly around the neck.

“Oh, my baby,” Natasha sighed, kissing her forehead. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, Mama,” Riley whispered, giggling as Natasha pinched her soft cheeks. “Did you bring me a toy?”

“Hmm, if I could get a kiss first.”

After giving Natasha a second peck on the cheek, Riley jumped to the ground to retrieve a box from behind her. You looked back at your daughter, curious to see what she had received from Natasha this time.

“It’s a train! The one I wanted!”

“I’ll give you everything you want, my darling. Everything.”

You chuckled, your arms crossed tightly across your stomach. “You’re spoiling her too much, Nat. She’s gonna expect this from you whenever you come back home from work.”

The older woman smiled at you kindly, and replied: “It’s the only time that I get to see her, so she deserves everything.”

You could tell by her smile that she yearned for you to give her another chance, which caused you to look away from her gaze and give your attention back to the kitchen, leaving the two pairs alone and playing.

You had this strange feeling inside of you that yearned for her as well, but you couldn't say it out loud. You could never admit that you missed her, despised her, and still loved her. You noticed Natasha playing with another toy train with Riley as you brought three plates to the dining table. You enjoyed watching them play; it was one of your greatest joys.

You can't say that out loud either.

You kept your mouth shut as always and continued to become hysterical.

As the hours passed, Natasha was putting Riley to sleep in order to get back to her house before the storm hit. You had just finished picking up, which meant that you were prepared to head to bed as soon as the older woman departed. As you passed by your bedroom, you noticed that Riley's door was cracked open just a little bit.

You decided to give it a shot and observed the two girls conversing.

“Do you miss Mommy?" Riley inquired, her face stricken with sadness: "It hurts you to see it.

Natasha nodded, which wasn’t so surprising.

"I do," she said quietly, as if it were a dirty secret, and pushed some of Riley's hair away from her face. “But it’s over now, sweetheart. We both agreed to be with you, though. So you’ll always see me, okay?”

“You’ll never disappear?”

Natasha smiled, tears welling up in the brim of her eyelids as she softly kissed her daughter's forehead. This scenery made your heart clench, and you realized how much it hurts to lose someone you care about in this way. It hurts way too much, it’s almost insane that you feel this way.

“I will never disappear, baby. I promise.”

“Do you still love Mommy?”

Natasha chuckled, placing the teddy bear in between your daughter’s arms.

“I love her with all of my heart, Riles. I will always love your mother.”

This feels like a train wreck for you, and you absolutely hated it.

"I hope Mommy loves you too," Riley yawned, her eyes fluttering shut as slumber overtook her. Natasha sighed deeply and turned off the bedside lamp. You hurried downstairs and prepared her jacket for her before she could leave the bedroom, so you wouldn't have to talk to her when she leaves.

You turn your head when Natasha comes back down, rubbing her left eye tiredly before smiling sadly at you.

“You have a place to stay?” you asked, knowing that somewhere deep in your heart, you’ll always be concerned for her.

“Yeah, I’ll be in New York for a little while before I find a new job.”

A new job? Since when did she want a new job?

You couldn’t help but ask, “What do you mean by a new job?”

The older redhead looks at you briefly and gazes at the ground, replying quietly to your question. “I retired.”

“From being an Avenger?” she nodded. You never expected this from her, not in your damn life. Why would she quit now? Her being an Avenger revolved around her life, it was her first happiness before she met you. So why would she quit now? You can’t keep your mouth shut.

“Why?”

She tucks her hand into her pockets, looking at you with bright green eyes.

“Because I’m done being an Avenger,” she said. “I just… want to live a normal life.”

“H-How are you going to get a job? You’re a criminal everywhere, Nat. I don’t think it’s–”

“Tony will be sending me money every once a month,” she chuckled, taking a few steps closer to you. “I deserve every ounce of it, anyway. But while he does that, I’ll do my best to find a job. Probably work as a mechanic, who knows?”

You nodded, giving her a sidelong glance.

“You’re gonna have a hard time.”

“I know,” Natasha whispered, giving you a sad smile. “But I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

For a while, neither of you moved, until a thunderclap shook the sky, causing you to jump. You chuckled as you walked into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t like the sound of… that.”

“I know,” she chuckled wholeheartedly because deep down inside of her, she knew everything about you. Likes and dislikes. “You’re still cute.”

“Don’t flirt with me like that.” you pointed out, straightening your voice.

“Don’t flirt like what?”

“Like you want me back.”

Natasha pushes back her hair – which you notice how short it was – and asked quietly, “You don’t want me to flirt with you?”

“Does it look like I want you to?”

"No," her heart clenches at the sound of your voice, making her more tense - which sometimes scares her because she doesn't like seeing you angry; it's one of her flaws. “But you know my answer, you know what I want.”

She can be too honest at times like this, too bold whenever she has the chance. You gave her a solemn look before turning away. Because showing your vulnerability to her will make you appear to want her as much as she does. But you want her, and you want her badly.

Natasha walks in front of you and kneels on the ground, softly touching your knee with her calloused hands. You look at her gesture but don't appear to move away from it. She looked at you with puffy cheeks and eyes that were more sorrowful than usual.

“Have you found someone else?”

You shake your head, she continued.

“Do you want me back?”

You shake your head once more, and this is when she lets out a quiet sympathetic laugh.

“You’re lying to me, Y/n.”

“I’m telling the truth,” you stated, pushing the tears away from your eyes. She tries to hold your hand, but you pull away from her grasp – showing a hurtful expression on her face. “Natasha, we can’t.”

“I promise I’ll be good to you this time…”

“That’s–” you let out a stressful sigh and pinch your nose bridge. “I don’t want to fight, okay? We both agreed to be civil for our daughter, so let’s just keep doing that.”

“I never stopped thinking about you.”

“Nat–”

"I still love you," her voice and touch become more desperate. "When we divorced, I never looked at anyone else in my life except you," she sniffled. “I never dared to touch a woman because I still love you. Did you know that? You have no idea how many times I've thought about you in a day, how many times I want to love you all over again - like you deserve to be loved."

You pushed her away as you turned your body away from her, more tears streaming down your cheeks. You've become weak once more, far too weak when it comes to her. Natasha tries to touch you, but she stays put.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you muttered, throwing your hands in the air. “Who asked you to be devoted to me after our divorce? You’re making yourself miserable because I’m never going to fall in love with you ever again!”

“You know what you’re saying is not true, Y/n,” Natasha shakes her head, biting her lower lip. “You know that’s not true.”

“You’re just a pain in the ass for not believing it then! God, you’re so hard to talk to.”

She mumbled, “Fine. Maybe I’m a pain in the ass, but at least I have never lied to you. I have been devoted to you since I first met you, and I never looked at anyone the moment I fell in love with you. You’ve become my whole world, my entire being. You are what I breathe and what I take, you are what I need when I go to bed and when I need to be loved. Every time I get back home from a mission, I crave your hugs. Because they only make me feel better when it’s you because it’ll always be you!”

You let out a hiccup, which you never expected, and watched Natasha’s throat bobbing as she controlled her tears. You were supposed to have a good night, but things got out of hand once more and you just painfully wanted to go to sleep and forget about how you two got here. But your emotions took over you, and it did for her as well.

“You were always gone, Natasha,” you sobbed, feeling your voice lighter as you hugged your torso. She turned her gaze away from you, knowing what she had done. “I respect what you do, but I needed you as well. I needed you to help me take care of Riley, I needed you when we were going broke. I needed you when Riley turned s-six, and I needed you when I couldn’t handle that cycle anymore.”

"But you weren't there," you sniffled, wiping your tears with the hem of your shirt. "You decided to spend more time with your friends at the pub, decided not to read my message when I needed money for the rent, and especially when it was our wedding anniversary! You didn’t give a damn about me and our marriage, you only cared when you were hurt! But what about me, Nat? What about me? I was always hurting when you were gone!”

“Baby…”

You lift a finger at her, letting out a sarcastic laugh. “Don’t call me that, you don't get to call me that.”

“I’m sorry–”

"I know you're a loyal woman," you said, smiling briefly. "I believe you would never cheat on me. But sometimes maybe I prefer you cheating on me so I have a reason to leave your stupid ass! You hurt me, Natasha. You're always causing me pain! And you know what’s worse? I still fucking love you!”

You tried standing up to avoid the agonizing silence, but two strong hands held your waist down, her head motioning to your chest. She sobbed alongside you, desperately kissing your neck. You tried to push her away, but you let her hand move to your torso until she wrapped her arms around you tightly. Natasha sobbed until your shirt was soaked in her tears.

"I'm here now," she said quietly, looking you in the eyes as she always does. “I’m here now and I’m so sorry you felt that way, darling. I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry for everything, I didn’t mean to hurt you this way. I just… I wanted what’s best for you a-and our beautiful daughter.”

You were aware of this. Of course, you were aware of this. Natasha would go out of her way for you and your daughter. She would move the moon for you, giving you what you needed until you could truly say you were satisfied. But money, even if it was luxurious, was not always the solution. It was her love that prevailed.

“We’re meant to be together,” she continues to sob, holding your face as she brings your forehead against hers. “You’re always going to be the first girl I’ll lay eyes on. I love you so much, darling. I love you too much to let you go.”

You shake your head, knowing that you could always come back to her with her sweet words and innocent touch - which you didn't want. But, knowing yourself too well, you desired that above all else in the world.

She took advantage of the opportunity to softly kiss your lips, letting out a quiet moan as she feels your lips after a long time of desperately wanting to taste you again. She draws your face in closer, refusing to let you go. She probes the depths of your mouth, re-memorizing you - as she always does. You couldn't push her away because you felt her tongue on the roof of your mouth. Natasha has captured your heart once more, and you know you don't want to let go.

The older woman pulled away with a smacking sound before whispering, “I fucked up bad, I know that now. But I promise you, I will be good to you this time, little girl. I promise, okay? I’m here now, I’m never going far away again.”

Give her a chance, explore the moment. You want her, you know it yourself.

You stared deeply into the wonders of her eyes, taking a moment of happiness. After months and months of sorrow, of mourning for that matter, you finally have her again – you needed to take it all in.

“I know,” you smiled, feeling more tears in your eyes. “I’m giving you another chance.”

Natasha gently pushes you back onto the couch and separates your legs so she can get in between them. She kisses you slowly and sensuously, her hands exploring the side of your waist until her fingers are hooked into your shorts. "I've thought about this moment, did you know that?" she pulls her lips away for a brief moment.

You moaned when you felt your shorts being pulled down from your legs, feeling the cold air hit your skin as you felt more of her open-mouth kisses on your jaw and all the way down to your neck. The redhead brought her thumb to your face cheek and made circular motions while staring down at you, smiling to herself. Finally, she had you once again. She couldn’t believe it.

“D-Do you want to do it here?” she asked hastily, after removing your undergarments. You nodded, looking from the side to find protection – which seems to be not in the living room since you don’t put those kinds of stuff in your house. And plus, you haven’t had sex in a while. “Baby, I don’t have a condom with me.”

"It's okay," you said, catching her lips and feeling her warm breath enter your mouth. She moaned lowly above you, unbuttoning her pants and pulling them down to her ankles. “You have to pull out, though.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, her tongue darting on the skin of your neck, groaning to herself. “Oh, you make me so happy… You want me to fuck you here? Out in the open? What if our Riley–”

“She’s dead asleep,” you giggled, massaging her dick through her boxers as you received a long, strained moan from her, which turned you on even more. “You’re getting hard, Tasha…”

“Rub it, baby,” she whispers, rushing down her words. You squint your eyes to see an evident wet patch on her underwear, continuing to stroke your hand onto her covered cock. “Oh fuck, that’s it–Mmph… your hand f-feels so good.”

You take your time to stroke her cock through her boxers, watching her whimper and biting her lip to prevent letting out loud sounds wake your daughter up. You enjoyed doing this, watching the woman immensely falling apart for you, and the more you stroked her harder and faster, the more she rolls her hips down on you.

You began to ask, “You want to fuck me?”

“Uh-huh,” she muttered, her thumb circling your clit, smirking as you began to let out tiny moans. “Y-You like it when I touch you like this, kotenok?”

“Please–”

"You're so wet for me," she says softly as two of her fingers spread through your folds, almost entering your tight entrance. She shudders above you, then continues to finger your cunt until she is satisfied. “I’m gonna put it in now, okay? Let me just pull down my underwear.”

Her cock grew another inch after she removed her boxers. She almost sits up and strokes her thick length, watching her bulbous head turn red with torment. You observe her hand stroking her penis while your inner walls clench each time pre-cum dribbles on your lower stomach, a string connecting to your skin and to her head. She slides her hand beneath your shirt, gasping as she feels your nipple harden against her palm.

“Gonna break you in, again?” she chuckles, strongly kissing your lips. You held her face as the tip of her cock was at your entrance, moving the head up and down to gather more of your juices – which felt sensitive. “Shh, keep your voice down little girl, you’re gonna wake our daughter up.”

Once she slid inside of you, you and her moaned together as the air thickened around the room. Natasha holds your waist closer to hers, slowly ripping you apart once again. She stutters out a moan before pressing her lips on the corner of your mouth, pushing more of her length until both of your pelvises have touched.

“Fuck,” she whispers, looking down at both of your sex. “Y-Youre so tight, and so warm… you take my dick so good, little girl.”

“Tasha,” you moaned out her name as your voice got pitchier. “T-Too big.”

“You can take it,” Natasha mumbled as she slowly pulls out, pushing back in once again without any restraints. “Too small for my dick, huh?”

She continued this motion, slowly pulling out and pushing back in while peppering kisses all over your face. You scratched her back, wanting to hold onto something while she let out a hiss, but smirked because she liked it whenever you did that to her. The older woman starts to pick up an unusual pace since you both had to be quiet or else you would get caught red-handed.

“I like the way your pussy clenches around me,” Natasha grunted as she got turned on even more by the sloshing sounds coming down from your cunt. “You like this, huh? You like being fucked by me? Ruining you all over again? Tell me you like this…”

You gasped for air as you fluttered your eyes closed, feeling her thick cock pounding into you slowly. “I-I love this,” you mewled. “Go faster, Tash. Ruin my pussy.”

“Argh, you want me to ruin your pussy?”

“Uh-Huh…”

She withdraws her length from your pussy, slapping her head against your clit, causing you to moan aloud. “Okay, baby. I’ll ruin this fucking tight pussy.”

Natasha covers your mouth with her damp hand as she continues to roll her hips into you, the couch creaking and shifting slightly. She thrusts into you at a faster pace, your skin slapping together, filling the room with wet noises. She smirked, biting her own lip and containing her own pleasurable moans as she looked down at your sweaty face.

“Can’t c-control myself when I’m with you,” she whispers breathlessly, whimpering each time her head hits your spot. “Fuck, you’re taking me all in, huh? You’re such a good little girl, baby. Such a good little girl…”

"Ah!" you screamed into her hand as you felt her penis pistoning inside of you, the creaking of your couch becoming more audible, and you're sure Riley's room can hear it. You put your hand on her hips to slow her down, and she did. But she kept giving hard thrusts, moaning each time she was buried deep inside you.

“You make me want to bust my nut into you,” the woman panted hard, her hips making circular motions to keep maneuvering her cock inside of your depth walls. “Gonna remove my h-hand now, okay? Stay quiet.”

She slowly moves her hand away from your mouth and kisses your lips with such need, her hands moving up and down on your waist as she continues to fuck you on the couch, her ass clenching each time she hits the spot inside of you that she loved. She looked behind her shoulder to see if her daughter was awake, but she was glad she wasn't anywhere near both of you.

She continued to pound you hard into the cushions, lifting your hips to the side so she could go deeper into you.

“Ugh yeah,” she whined as she shut her eyes tightly. “Shit, shit shit… Take it all in, sweet girl. F-Fuck me!”

“You feel so good inside of me,” you let out a long moan, threading your fingers through her short hair. “Keep going, Tasha. K-Keep going.”

"Oh my fucking god, you're taking me so well," she begins, making the entire couch shake and creak loudly. She didn't care if anyone heard you both, but if her daughter awoke from the strange sound coming from the living room, she would quickly pull out. Despite knowing her daughter was a heavy sleeper, she continued to rock her hips back and forth until there were red marks on your thighs. “Take it, take it, take it…”

Your moans started to get louder and louder, and you were holding Natasha tightly from her back as you felt your inner walls being abused by her penis, her thick long dick. The woman starts to helplessly moan and kisses your mouth hard.

“I’m gonna fucking cum all over your stomach,” she whispers slowly to you, bringing your hips up and down to take her length all the way inside of you. “You wanna cum with me, baby doll? Wanna cum with me? Oh fuck, I’m going to blow–”

Natasha pulls out quickly as she presses the tip of her cock against your clit, furiously rubbing it to catch your orgasm. You grabbed her neck and screamed, "I'm cumming! I’m gonna cum–Oh my god, Nat… I’m gonna cum!”

“Me too, baby! I’m here now–shit!”

You roll your eyes back as you feel your legs twitching from your orgasm, the head of her cock rubbing up and down on your clit, intensifying your orgasm. As the world darkens around you, you arch your back, knowing that it has become this much for you. Natasha looks down at your face and pumps her cock hard, spitting thick sperm all over your cunt, coating your clit and folds. She lets out a deep moan and thrusts her dick into her hand as she continues to cum. Her thick sperm coated your cunt, but most of it was on your lower stomach.

Her balls contracted as she continued to pump herself. As soon as she slows down, she sighs heavily and hugs you from behind, kissing your reddened cheeks while smiling softly down at you. Natasha whispered, “That was amazing, baby girl. You did such a great job for me.”

"Thank you," you muttered as you fell asleep, too tired to speak and too tired to think. Natasha recognized this and decided to kiss you on the cheek one last time before standing up to find a blanket for the two of you, butt naked. She decides to slip her unhardened cock inside your vagina once she is comfortable with her position behind you and sleeps peacefully on your warm walls hugging her dick.

i got lazy at the end but hope you enjoyed this one!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x yn #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #black widow x you #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff au #natasha romanoff smut #a's oneshots!

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lovemomhatepolice · 8 months ago

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charles leclerc swf alphabet

navigation taglist requests

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Charles is a very affectionate person. Regardless of whether you are alone or around other people. It also doesn't matter to him if there are paparazzi or fans around. Showing affection is very important to him. He even has his arm around you all the time - whether it's around your waist or around your shoulders. He likes to feel that you are next to him and wants to show it himself, too.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) Hm, as a friend Charles is someone everyone would like to have. Literally. Leclerc is able to do anything for his friends. Help clean up after a party? He's already the first one there. Having a hard time in life? Oh, don't worry, Charles has it under control and is already on his way to you - if you feel like it of course. A man will never be able to cross someone else's boundaries.

How did it start? I think Charles is the kind of person who can create a friendship literally out of the silliest situation that could be. How about a simple meeting in a coffee shop when they mixed up your orders? Or a meeting among the same friends? That's definitely the key to success.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) He loves to cuddle!!! Especially when he is sad or misses you a lot when you were not next to each other. Although he likes to show affection in front of others, when it comes to hugging, it is a more private sphere. When you are alone, he usually cuddles you to his chest (especially at night) or is a little spooner (he loves it) when you cuddle on the couch. Charles is also a fan of hugging you from the side - his arm around your shoulders, that is.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) I think slowly yes. Charles has been in several relationships in his life, but only with you did he feel that it was time to settle down. It is known, he is still young, after all, he is 27 years old, however, every year he glances more and more towards creating a home nest with you somewhere in Monaco. Well, in cooking he is not perfect, but he likes to help. More often than not, however, he cleans, oh he really likes to clean together with you. You share rooms, that's why it always goes faster for you.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) Something quiet. Charles knows very well what it's up against. Social media, mass of hate, comments…. With each passing time, these breakups, as well as the relationship itself, are more private. Of course, it is not hidden, however, more protected. And privately I think Charles tries to handle it gently, with respect for the other person.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) For Charles, a proposal is something big, it's not like simply giving a ring and that's it. I think he would definitely prepare something big, but private. I also think he would have been advised by his brothers when it came to the whole pre-engagement thing. How soon? Ay, definitely not as fast as one might expect, for him it must take a long time before he takes this step.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) Charles is very subtle with you, as well as with others. Never in his life has he said such words to you that would hurt you somewhere more, or touched you in a way that could offend you He always wants the best for you and treats you like glass

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) As I mentioned. Charles likes to hug - sometimes, especially in the beginning it can be something like black magic for him and looks very comical, but it gets better with time (please tell me you've seen all those edits where they show Charles hugging people in an awkward way, I'm crying)

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) Yup, it took him a long time - you kissed faster than it came to the utterance of these words, what's more! You were the first to say them, because you were already fed up with his procrastination - you threw everything on one card and acctually, it worked out

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) The man is jealous. He may not show it, but he's jealous, dammit. Even of Arthur, although less so here He always has his hand on you somewhere or his watchful gaze And if his jealousy scale kicks in (very quickly) he wants to take you away from that person at all costs or just cozies up

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) His kisses mainly depend on whether he is wearing facial hair or not. If he has - there is a lot of laughter at it, by the fact that he tickles you, however, when he doesn't have one, you completely give yourself away to pleasure. The most you both enjoy is just kissing each other on the lips, it gives you a lot of comfort after a long day. However, he also likes to kiss you on the belly when you are lying down together, and he himself likes to be kissed on the neck. He loves it.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) Totally like daddy material! The kids love him, and he loves the kids. He knows well how to take care of them, even though he hasn't had much exposure to them in his life, and he loves it when he has the opportunity to do so

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) Mornings with Charles are hardcore - even when you have the chance to spend them just the two of them. This man is always in a hurry, he has a lot of things to do and to get up together, it really must be a miracle I don't even mention eating breakfast.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) Oh, evenings are definitely your time. You always spend it together, no matter what the day was like. You prepare or order food together, sometimes you drink wine. You must watch a movie or at least an episode of a TV series (depending on how much time you have and how tired you are) and often take baths together. It's time for you to calm down and get ready for bed, before which you talk for a long time

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) Charles was attentive, as in any relationship he starts or even already has. I think he is well aware that many people want to take advantage of him because of the benefits. That's why he opened up to you slowly and it took him a long time to trust you 100%, but when he did, he was very happy

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) He's patient - ha, well after all he works with the Ferrari team, if he wasn't so patient he probably wouldn't have been there long ago (pardon the situational joke) Coming back, to you he has great patience, I really don't know what it would take to bring him out of it

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) Fifty fifty Charles definitely does not remember dates, although your birthday and your anniversary he tried to forge by heart (poor result), but small details about you are with him forged in such a place to which nothing and no one has access Will you mention your favorite flowers? Have them on the table the next day Favorite drink? Always fresh whenever you feel like it

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?) Definitely one of the first dates, where you took him to your favorite childhood spot and just lay there on the grass and talked about various topics - it was there that he opened up about his dad and Jules, and you gave him a comfort he hadn't felt in a long time Later you ended up at your house, snuggled together on the couch, watching his favorite movie, which soon became yours as well (there will be a chapter of this in the relationship series!!)

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) He is protective, very protective. By virtue of the fact that you have a relationship with him, you face a mass of hate - in many cases unjustified. Leclerc has therefore been tempted more than once to clarify some issues with his fans. In the real world, not the media world, he is also protective.

No one will lay a hand on you in an inappropriate way or speak to you that way, because they are immediately next to you. How would he himself like to be protected? Ah, he pretends he doesn't need it, however, he likes it when you make rude comments that are thrown at him. Or when he gets into an argument with someone on the team over wrongful accusations and suddenly you step in, defending him.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) He is making a huge effort. Leclerc is a perfectionist, so everything at his place must be buttoned up to the last button. Maybe sometimes he will forget a date, such as your anniversary, but then he tries to make up for it and it definitely helps.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) Emm, I get the impression that Charles can be a bit selfish or complacent at times. Let's not lie to ourselves, social media can mess with your head quite a bit and Charles is a good example of that, unfortunately. That's why sometimes you have to bring him down to earth, so that fame doesn't go to his head

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) He focuses on his appearance, no question about it. Over time, he has started to dress better, which can be seen without batting an eye (well, I beg you, who among you doesn't remember his tragic outfits of a few years ago), and he tries to keep his hair and facial in good condition

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) Yes, I think he would feel that way. You were the one who let him settle down by your side and showed him yet another vision of life that he hadn't seen until now. Together you make a really strong couple, and by not giving it to so much media remark, it definitely helps.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) One of the things that literally knocks him off his feet is your contact with his family. You've single-handedly started learning French to better communicate with them (if you speak French, forgive me) and Charles is fascinated by you. From the first meeting of yours with his mother, he knew you were the only one

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) Charles doesn't like to lose - he often doesn't show it, but it's definitely one of the things that affects him the most. He takes it very much to heart, which makes him try several times harder later on - which has its pros and cons. In people, he very much dislikes hypocrisy and taking advantage of others, which is also what guides him when he meets others

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?) Charles has trouble sleeping. Due to the experiences he went through when he was a young man, which caused him mental problems, sleep problems also arose. He often sits for long periods of time, and you try with all your might to sit with him so that he is not lonely.

A/N: please do not copy or translate my work! if you have any issues regarding this please contact me in the messages :)

and so we have officially started the alphabet SWF series, one at a time will appear for everyone :) in the meantime also the rest of the NSWF alphabet

more content: formula 1 masterlist, latest one-shot with lando norris, charles leclerc masterlist

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asumofwords · 2 years ago

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: I am home from the shit show that was my work meeting haha. Feels good to be back in my own bed, and I will hopefully be able to write more and post more often. I went back through all my planned chapters and holy shit I have a lot hahaha, might have to cut it down a bit oops. Thanks for all your love and support as always and thank you so much for all the beautiful birthday wishes!!!! <3 Enjoy

Chapter 69: Alone

You had stewed in your chambers, staring out the window at the water, willing the oceans swell to calm your rising waters, but it did nothing but let you sit in your bitter anger and resentment. Thinking of all the ways he had hurt you. Of all the ways he had wronged you. Of all the ways the Greens had taken everything from you.

From your mother.

From your brother.

It spiralled out of control and you found the anger mount within you at a frightening pace. Your blood rushed in your ears as you stared into the fire, pacing in front of it. Thinking more and more of what they had done.

What they would do.

What they could do.

What you were forced to do.

Forced to lay beneath a man you did not love. Forced to have his seed inside of you as he thrusted above, or below. Forced to kiss him back. Forced to smile at him, and dress prettily for him like a doll.

You were voiceless.

Powerless.

Defenceless.

You thought of how you had crawled on top of him and ridden him, seeking your own pleasure and basking in his. How you had moaned and whined, uttering his name to the Gods as you peaked. How you had let him touch you, hold you, whisper praise to you.

The doors to the chambers had opened, and Aemond entered quietly, whispering your name as you stilled. Without turning to face him, you kept your eyes on the flames, watching them devour a log inside. Wishing the flames were devouring the Keep. Devouring the King.

Devouring him.

Aemond came to stand beside you, and you saw in your periphery that he placed your book down on the coffee table beside you. He uttered your name again, but you refused to meet his gaze. Refused to meet his eye knowing that you would lash out at him.

Strike him.

Curse at him.

You wanted to hurt him.

You wanted to so badly that your fingers twitched at your side, forcing you to bite the inside of your cheek, tasting the bitter copper of your blood flood over your tongue. Your hands shook in anger, bawled in tight fists as he continued to stand there.

What did he want?

My blessing?

To fuck her?

To leave me with them?

Fuck you.

Aemond whispered your nickname, trying once more to gain your attention, standing still as he watched you, but all it did was make you bristle.

“Dracarys.” Came the whisper of Lucerys.

You blinked, and let your eyes drift to the window away from the raging flamed.

There, seated on the seat beneath, was a mop of brunette hair you wished to bury your face into. The boy you missed dearly. Someone you would do anything to have back, including giving up your own life for his.

Lucerys sat, wet, watching you, stiff backed, but eyes dangerously angry. His hair stuck to his forehead, robes dripping below him creating a puddle on the chambers stone floors.

He reflected the anger within you.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to turn to look at Aemond. Instead, keeping your eyes on Lucerys who continued to whisper over, and over.

Dracarys.

You heard Aemond sigh beside you. His footsteps moving away from you, halting by the door. Pausing as though he wished to say more. As though he wished to do more. Thinking, waiting, wanting.

The chambers doors opened and then closed.

Lucerys leant back against the window, watching you as you watched him. He looked comfortable now that Aemond was gone, relaxed, at ease. Like all the anger had drained out of him with his uncle’s leave.

His head tilted, dark curls flopping over his forehead. His robes had stop dripping, the sound of water ceasing in the room, only to be filled with the crackling wood.

You moved to step forward, to reach out, to touch him.

Would you feel him as you felt Helaena?

The young boys lips split into a smile, teeth showing and cheeks rosy. And with a blink, he was gone.

You exhaled the breath you didn’t know you were holding and looked at the empty space he was was in. The space looked cold, sparse.

Haunted.

Why did he have to leave?

Why could he not stay?

The book on the coffee table caught your attention, and all the rage and anger came back.

Grasping the book, you hurled it across the room, pouring all your anger and resentment, fear and disgust, into the movement as you screamed. The book flew across the room and hit the wall beside the window where Lucerys had been. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud, cover half ripped off in the impact, and pages bent beneath its weight on the stone floors.

You stood, chest heaving as you stared at it without moving.

When the sun had sunk below the horizon, the maids came to your chambers bringing your supper, and only yours, placing it on the table. The smell filled the room and your stomach rumbled. Only then did you move away from the book, only then did you make your way to the table to eat alone.

One of the girls moved to pick the book up from its discarded spot on the floor, seeing how your eyes never left its sight.

“Leave it.” You all but barked as the girl neared it, hand outstretched to pick it up.

The maid rescinded her hand beside her, uttering an apology and moved to leave the chambers with the other girl quietly.

You ate alone, stewing your anger. Replaying the events that had led up to this very moment over and over in your head. Every single waking moment where Aemond had imposed himself onto you. Where he had come to haunt you. Where he had come to hurt you.

His visits to your chambers when Viserys was still King.

The glass in your feet.

His fingers in your core.

His hand around your neck.

Lucerys.

The fall.

The wedding.

All of it.

The longer you thought, the more resentful you became, drinking the entirety of the decanter of wine, not caring for the headache that would no doubt greet you when you rose in the morning.

The maids came later when you had finished to tidy the chambers and ready you for bed.

They did not greet you, nor did they bid you a good night. The two girls seemed to have sensed your anger, and most likely had learnt that keeping their head down and staying silent was the best way to deal with a Targaryens fury.

They would have learnt this the hard way from serving Aemond.

When your hair had been brushed, and you were dressed for bed, you moved to lay in the sheets of the bed and stared at the ceiling thinking. Waiting. Turning possibilities over in your head. Thinking of the promises you made to your family, thinking of your duties to them.

You fell asleep that evening, the flames within being doused with wildfire.

And you let it consume you.

When you woke the next morning, your head throbbed, but your thoughts were clear. The maids came, and you greeted them softly. If you were to do this right, you needed their sympathy, their loyalty, their love. You needed to be kind to them, not bark orders at them like your husband.

You ate alone, were dressed with their help, and once you were readied for the day, you stood and walked to the side of the room where the book had spent the night.

You stood over the black leather cover, looking down at how it had half of its spine separated from the glue. It was broken. Ripped apart. Yet it was still the same. Still held the same words of ‘The Fourteen Flames’. Still held the tales of the Gods. It was still, despite its outer appearance, a holder of memories, truth, secrets.

Crouching down, you picked the book up, careful to not rip the spine any further, feeling its weight in your hand. The pages were a little bent from where it had fallen atop itself. The crisp paper creased and marked.

The Septa would be enraged if she saw this.

With a gentle hand, you smoothed out the bends and looked at the pages.

Still the same words, still the same tales, just marked.

Never to be unmarked again.

Scarred.

You were the same.

Scarred. Bent.

Broken.

No.

Not broken.

Different.

Changed.

You took the book down to the Gardens by the water to read.

The sun peaked behind clouds, occasionally casting warmth upon you. The soft formations moved across the skies, growing heavier with each passing, and you wondered if it would rain.

You hoped that it wouldn’t.

You spent your first day alone, as you always did, seated where you and Helaena always had, looking out at the water and reading. And when the day had ended, and the evening had creeped in, you went back to your chambers and ate alone, as always, and went to bed alone, as you would with the absence of Aemond.

You had passed Aegon in the halls on the way back to your chambers, skin prickling and anger simmering as he smiled at you and continued on walking with Otto and Jasper Wylde.

That smile followed you into your dreams.

When you woke the next morning, you followed the familiar routine, though not having seen Lucerys again, and sat yourself at the water with the torn book. You wondered if you could ask for some glue, or perhaps should take it to the Septa or Maester or maids, and have them fix it for you.

“I thought I would find you here.”

You lifted your head at the voice to see Aegon approaching you, smirk on his face and hands behind his back. Ser Cole stood behind him as he approached you, armour tight on his body and crisp, white cloak clasped to his pauldrons. Your eyes flitted between the knight and the false King.

Aegon’s green robes had a large, golden, three headed dragon on the front.

You looked at your eldest uncle expectantly, waiting for him to continue speaking.

He walked around the space, looking at the table and chairs, the bench, and the flowers surrounding you in false interest. When he got close to where you sat, you shut the book in your lap with a thud, finger in-between the pages to keep your place.

Cole stayed where he was, at the entrance of the sitting space, hand on the pummel of his sword.

“Thought I would give my niece some company, now that her husband has gone from Kings Landing again.” Aegon sat himself on the pillow that Helaena favoured, and you had to force yourself not to scream.

“Aemond is performing his duties to the realm.” You replied, watching the man closely as a smirk wound its way on his face.

Aegon cocked his head as the smirk rose higher, “I wasn’t aware that his duty was between a woman’s legs.”

Cunt.

You breathed deeply, pushing down the fire that burned you hotly.

“The Prince assured me that his duties lay elsewhere,” Lie, “By your command.”

Aegon frowned at you in a mocking manner, a falsely sad smile as though he pitied you, or found you to be simple.

“I am sure that he did. My brother has other interests in Harrenhal that I don’t require.”

Was Aemond lying?

Aegon smirked as he saw your composure falter. Standing, the King looked out at the water.

“Helaena loved this spot.”

Your brows furrowed as you stared up at him.

How did he know that?

“She spoke of you often.” He added, but his voice was quieter.

Softer.

Nostalgic.

You watched as Aegon turned his head, his silver waves moving to look down at you. And for the first time, you saw some form of mourning for his sister-wife.

His eyes were soft, and if you weren’t mistaken, held sorrow. But as soon as you had witnessed the storm cloud pass over his eyes, it went, and instead, the King grinned slimily down at you before bidding you a good day.

You watched in confusion as Aegon left you behind to sit with your thoughts.

Did he love her?

Did he regret what he did to her?

Was there a small piece of Aegon that mourned her death and descent to madness?

Did he mourn his son?

You shook the thought away.

No.

No one who loves someone would do what he did to her.

You went to bed that evening with a crawling feeling of being watched. You had to remind yourself that Aemond was not there.

You were alone in your chambers.

And you woke alone the next day too.

The same routine, just as bland as the last.

Wake. Eat. Dress. Walk to the gardens to read.

Yet now there was a new part of your routine which set you on edge, something that you couldn’t seem to escape, like flies on a hot day, or the smell of soldiers after training. It came as a great annoyance, an irritant. Something that stirred fear and fury alike within.

Something that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

Someone.

Aegon.

The King came to visit again that day, Ser Cole behind him as he came to observe the water with you for a moment, if only, just for a moment.

He made a comment about the weather, which had earned him a look of confusion, which had then earnt you a laugh in return. Aegon asked if you were in want of anything in the Keep whilst Aemond was away, and you had answered, uncertainty in your tone, that there was nothing you were in need of.

Aegon had left you to your reading, yet you found that you could not concentrate for the rest of the day. When you returned to your chambers that evening, you had a crawling sensation upon your skin and felt dread begin to settle in.

Aegon’s sudden interest in you whilst Aemond was away was not a good sign. His sudden interest in your wellbeing, the weather and your peace was not a change in heart, nor was it a King doing his duties.

It was a man who was plotting.

A man who was fertilising the seed that he had sown, checking if it was time to reap.

A man who clearly had interests in Aemond being away for long periods of time.

The next morning you refused to go down to the Gardens, instead keeping to your chambers, having your meals brought to you by the maids. You told yourself you were not hiding, and that you were tired. That you wished to see if Aegon would notice your absence and storm the chambers. That you were testing him in the same way he was testing you.

You wrote a letter to your family, telling them that you would regrettably not be able to join them for Jacaerys and Baela’s union, and each stroke of the quill made your heart break. You had cried as you wrote the letter, and tears landed upon the ink, causing it to smudge the ink, and the parchment to dry funny.

You promised that upon Aemond’s return, that you would find when was best for you both to visit them. Perhaps on Driftmark, instead of Dragonstone. You had told them about the beautiful flowers in the Garden, and even made reference to one of the songs the Septa had sung.

You described the purple flowers, and hoped that they would understand, and that should anyone from the Greens read the letter, they would suspect naught. They would simply read the letter and see a lonely girl, writing to her family about the days that drag on, and the nights that get cold.

That evening you could scarcely eat your meal as you mourned the union you would miss. A union in which you desperately wished to see. A union of love. A union of promise. A union of happiness and goodwill.

Something you wished you had.

You felt a calmness in knowing that Baela would not meet the same fate as you. For to wish your own sister that fate would be a cruel thing indeed. You knew that their marriage would last, and bring laughter and happiness for them both. And you knew that Jacaerys would be loved and would love fiercely in return.

When you finally retreated to bed that evening, letter drying of your tears upon the table, you found that you tossed and turned until the hour of the owl, and the sun began to rise. When at last you did fall to sleep, you were haunted by dreams of a woman with black hair and glowing green eyes.

When you rose the next morning, you decided to go for a walk around the Keep, opting to not return to the Gardens until later that day, when the sun had begun its descent in the sky, and Aegon would no doubt have lost his interest, if indeed he had any at all, and went back into his chambers to drink himself into a stupor.

Your feet ached from how much you had walked, and your stomach growled in protest. You had not stopped to eat, aimlessly walking around the Keep, checking each room, each chamber, and each corridor for how many guards were stationed there. If there were any guards at all. You would turn corners quickly and pause, pressed against walls as if in thought, but waiting to see if any familiar face followed behind.

Watching you.

You watched the people go about their day, noting their appearance, their colours, and any house sigils they have have adorned. You used the day well, finding that every single passage to the Dragon Pit was heavily guarded, and a small servant boy with bright blue eyes seemed to round the castles corners at break neck speed when you would hide amongst the shadows.

A day of observing had helped in more ways than one.

One one hand, you were beginning to recognise members of the court, their houses, their spouses, and their duties in the Keep. You were learning the movements of guards and knights. And were not at all surprised about the small servant boy following you. You wondered if he was a spy for Larys, or for somebody else.

Perhaps Aemond?

But then on the other hand, your walking and observing, counting and hiding, gave you an opportunity to desperately avoid the company of the King.

The more you moved, the less likely he would find you, and the more you would learn.

The birds chirped in the trees as they readied themselves for their sleep, and the waves below rolled softly up the cliffs. A calm spread through you as you looked out at the water, leaning over the edge of the wall. The sky was a soft pink, like dragonfruit flesh in the spring, or the peonies that sat at the bottom of the Gardens.

“I’d say that you have been avoiding me.”

He was like mould that you thought you could clean away. Hands scrubbing the dark spores until the surface was clean, and you would stand back in triumph and look at your success. A false sense of conquest. Only for it to return some days, months, or even years later, Aegon would come back to haunt you.

You didn’t bother to turn to face him as he came beside you, the sound of Cole’s armour clinking behind you noisily. He could not sneak about the Keep even if he tried. He should put bells on instead to announce his arrival. Aegon leant against the ledge beside you, looking out at the water and the sunset.

“Perhaps you should take it as a subtle hint.” You purred, hoping the tone would keep him at bay.

Aegon laughed in earnest, a guttural laugh that was not spiteful or mocking in its tone. It was a true laugh to your comment.

You sighed.

“Does it anger you?” Aegon asked, curiosity laced in his voice.

“What?”

“That I am King.”

Yes.

Dracarys.

“I didn’t think you were that stupid.” You mused, keeping your eye on the water as a way to keep the rising anger locked down.

Fucking stupid cunt.

Aegon laughed again, leaning further forward on the edge as he looked over it and down to the cliffs and ocean below. Images of you pushing him over and watching him fall to his death flashed across your mind.

It could be easy.

A hard push would send him tumbling over and down on to the jagged rocks below. With any luck, he wouldn’t die straight away, and would spend his last living moments in agony upon the cliffs, body twisted and broken.

But a quick death would be too merciful for him. As much as you wished to see his head dashed against the rocks, skull and blood around his head like a halo, you knew it would be too swift, too unjust, too painless.

“I’ve missed our little talks.”

“I wasn’t aware that we had them.” You quipped back, voice light.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“It was a lot easier than I thought it would be.”

Aegon waited for you to ask ‘what’ but you didn’t. You had no desire to play into his little games, and so silence spread between the both of you uncomfortably, and fell flat like a bad joke. Aegon huffed at your silence, before turning to look at you. You could see his face in your periphery as he observed you.

“Mother had told me when we were young, that I was the challenge to Rhaenyra’s succession. I didn’t believe her at the time, but it is my birthright to be King.”

You finally turned your head to face Aegon, a triumphant smile on his lips as he saw that you had finally turned to look at you.

“Viserys never named you his heir. Not once.” You looked him up and down, pausing at the crown atop his head, “Not once in his life, did he see potential in you. Not once, did he see you as being worthy. But he saw it in my mother.”

“And yet I sit on the Iron Throne.”

“A punishment from the Gods, I’m sure.”

Aegon smirked, hand coming touch you. You stiffened and grit your teeth as one hand came to touch the hair that had fallen over your shoulder. He held it in his fingers before gently pulling on it.

You stared at him blankly, but within you were fuming. Screaming at him in your head.

You are no King. You could never be worthy of being a King. You are nothing but scum.

A waste of space. A waste of flesh, and air.

A pile of dragon shit would have more right to the throne than you.

You are filth.

I cannot wait to see you burn.

I cannot wait to hear your scre-

“I have missed your fire, niece. It gets boring in the Keep with all these Lords.”

“I’m sure you can find the comfort of someone’s cunt to dive into.”

“Only yours.”

You sneered at Aegon and slapped his hand away from your hair. The sound of Ser Cole moving towards you came from the side. Aegon lifted a hand to halt the knight and quiet fell around you.

“Aemond should return soon. I am sure your mood shall improve once he has warmed your bed. After he has warmed Alys'.”

“And you will return to your empty bed.”

“Did you bleed when he took your maidenhead?”

You blinked.

You were so taken back by the comment that you could not even respond.

Aegon smiled as he looked at you.

“Does he fuck you often? He is such a serious man, always brooding. I wonder if he takes it out on you.”

“Your repulsiveness never ceases to amaze me.” You snipped, turning your body to face him, hands pressed at your side to prevent you from hitting your uncle.

A lazy smile stretched up his face.

“Does he make you scream on his cock? Does he kiss your cunny til you weep?”

You breathed a heavy breath out your nose.

It could be so easy.

You could simply grasp his shoulders and hurl him over the edge. If he grasped your robes and took you with him, you would not be upset. At least he would be dead and you would be free.

Aegon’s hand came to touch your hair again and you had to force yourself to hold still, touching the strand as it fell down the front of your gown, but his hand did not stop there. It trailed a path down the strands and grazed itself over your breast.

Bile rose in your throat as he openly touched you. A thick finger trailed over your nipple and you felt it stiffen beneath your robes. His hand finally fell back to his side, eye locked on your breast, clearly able to see the way your body had reacted.

Shame and disgust curled around your gut and you fought to not gag. You thought of the night in the dungeons and swallowed thickly, rushing away from him without a word. You fled back to your chambers, heart racing and tears rising to your eyes.

You moved through the Keep so quickly, so angrily, so fearfully, that your breath was caught in your throat and your eyes stung with tears.

There was no escape from him.

There was no escape from this.

You wished to act now. To push forward and cast the first blow, but it was too early. It was too rushed. And you knew that you had to endure for this to work. For the pieces to fall into place. For the Gods to give you a sign.

And until then, you would wait, and endure, and suffer.

You passed the knight at the door of your chambers, swinging the door open and all but racing into the chambers. The door shut quietly behind you.

Your eyes were blurred with tears as you made your way to the fire, staring at its flames, trying to steady your breath and fury. Trying to force the bile that sat in the back of your throat back down into your stomach.

It was too much.

It was overwhelming.

It was-

“Y/n?”

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bohemian-rhapsody-in-blue · 3 months ago

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Beboptober 2024 Day 2: Crash

Thanks to @bebopcrew for the prompt list! This one takes place about ten years before the events of the series, and slightly before Spike joined the Syndicate—I used this timeline from The Cowboy Bebop Attic, which places Spike’s Syndicate years at about 2061-62 to 2068. This fic turned out WAY longer than I planned, and I stayed up WAY later to write it than I'd hoped, so apologies if some of it makes no sense at all, but I had fun with it!

Okay, so technically speaking, Spike didn’t have a real spaceship’s license yet. And technically speaking, this wasn’t even his ship. One could even say he’d stolen it. But did it really count when it was from the garage of one of those crazy Martian billionaires who probably had fifty identical, sleek and newly-purchased ships in their garage? They wouldn’t notice this one was missing at all.

Spike had engaged in petty thievery before, sure, but this was different. This was the big leagues. A ship of his very own—now that he’d wiped the tracking and identification as best he could with his shoddy, hodgepodge tech skills—opened up whole new worlds to him, literally. After seventeen years of being stuck on Mars, hopping ineffectually from city to city whenever he could hitch a ride, he’d crossed a Hyperspace Gate for the very first time and, after some annoying waiting, was by a whole new planet in a matter of minutes.

Once he arrived, it was an adventure in itself to try and navigate the overlarge ship past all the debris and space junk that circled Earth, almost like an old video game. And then he could see it, the pockmarked blue marble floating in space. A whole new planet. Although he was alone, he couldn’t help but give a low whistle at the sight. He wasn’t given to poetry, but he had to admit a sight like this would be breathtaking to anyone.

And the flying itself! Okay, so technically he’d never been in a ship’s cockpit before, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out the controls. He’d driven a car, and the mechanics of this weren’t too different. But flying? It was light-years away from driving.

He loved everything about it: the way the stars raced past him in the cockpit window, the whooshing sensation of freefall in his stomach as he dipped and glided and spun just for the hell of it, the way the ship responded beautifully to his every little touch to propel him faster and faster into the darkness as he whooped in delight. The way no one could find him or catch him way out here. It was freedom, so much more than he’d thought he’d had before on the streets, so much more than he’d even thought possible. It awakened dormant parts of him he didn’t even know existed.

It was bliss.

That is, until he pushed too hard and too fast—or maybe the dumb ship’s controls responded too well—and found he’d somehow fucked up. The ship was rapidly losing power and altitude, careening down towards Earth.

Shit, shit, shit! Spike wrenched at the controls and pushed frantically at all the buttons he could reach, pretty much at random, trying desperately to silence the beeping warnings that flashed all around him in the cockpit. And maybe it slowed down his entry speed a little. But it didn’t stop the warning signs from flashing faster and faster and more urgently, and for Earth’s surface to grow larger and larger below him. And eventually all Spike could do was curl up in the cushy pilot’s seat and brace for impact as best he could.

The ship crash-landed at what had to be a horrific angle, leaving a trail of cratered dirt and debris up until its final resting point. Rocks and detritus rained down, marring the ship’s perfect surface and adding another strain to the deafening noise. Airbags deployed all around Spike, burning against his skin. For the first few minutes, Spike wasn’t entirely certain he’d survived.

Figures. My first-ever real taste of freedom, and I almost die not even twenty-four hours in.

Well, if he really was dead, at least they couldn’t catch him for stealing that ship.

~~~~~

Of course, after a while Spike had to realize that he was, in fact, alive, and unfurl himself from the ruined cockpit to clean up his mess.

The trip had been pretty impulsive, and he didn’t know what, exactly, he’d been expecting to find on Earth, but he had expected to return to his home planet eventually. He knew that owning a spaceship of his own could open up a lot more opportunities to get money and power and a bit of food in his stomach. It could even make him look more attractive to some of the bigger crime syndicates on Mars, even if he still had to start out as a grub doing all the grunt work. At least they’d consider him.

But for that, his spaceship had to be working. And as he surveyed the ship, having extricated himself from the wreckage and now looking up at it with arms akimbo, he figured that his hodgepodge tech skills wouldn’t be of much help here at all.

At least it wasn’t on fire. Maybe a better mechanic could somehow revive it, even if they had to replace all its parts one by one, like that old Earth story about the wooden boat. It would be better than no ship at all, especially if it made him harder to catch by the guy he’d stolen the ship from.

He should be as destroyed as the ship, he thought. He really shouldn’t have survived that crash. Maybe he had a lucky star up there, somewhere, watching out for him.

Somehow, he doubted that.

There was only one thing he could do. He hated feeling dependent like this, and if it didn’t work pretty soon, he may as well pack up and set out on his own—find some decent food and shelter, try his luck on Earth, maybe eventually find a way back home, such as that home was. But for now, he let out a defeated sigh, leaned against the ship’s ruins, and held up one thumb.

He saw rockets taking off in the distance; he heard the distant purr of cars’ engines. There had to be someone willing to pick him up eventually and take him to a place where his ship could maybe get fixed. If his lucky star was still watching out for him. If it even existed at all.

~~~~~

“This isn’t getting fixed today, kid.”

“Whaddya mean?” Spike scowled at the mechanic—Doohan, according to his assistant who’d driven Spike here—an old, cantankerous-looking guy with goggles perched on top of his wild gray hair. Every part of his clothing was either singed or actively smoking. He’d thought a guy like this could bring his ship back to life right away, as if by magic.

Doohan was still peering around the ship with an appraising eye, examining the mangled remains of its dashboard, the hunks of metal that used to be its hull. “I can keep it here and modify it. Or, if it turns out to be truly useless, save it for scrap. But if you were planning to be out of here in an hour and race home on this pretty little number, that’s not happening.”

“But—but the person who drove me here, your assistant—Jimmy or something—he said you were the best mechanic this side of the planet. He said you could work miracles.”

The man snorted and turned away. “Flattery like that is exactly why he won’t last around here.”

Even though the news was a disappointment, Spike honestly kind of appreciated that Doohan wasn’t bullshitting him. And obviously, the guy knew ships. As Spike gazed around the hangar, he saw several ships of all sorts—some that must have been historical artifacts from the early days of hyperspace gates, some brand-new ones like the one Spike had just crashed—in varying states of repair. One, a half-finished model with a slender red body and a long nose, particularly caught his attention. Surprisingly, some sort of looked like what he had originally expected: old relics, nursed back to health. He wondered how many of those could actually fly. He wondered what it would feel like. Already, his hands itched for the controls of a spaceship again, any spaceship.

“It’s been through quite a crash,” Doohan said, squinting up at Spike from the other side of the ship. “Where’d you get a ship like this? Only to junk it up right away?”

Spike had long since learned that the best response to questions like this was to stay silent, so that’s what he did.

“Rather not say? Okay. What’d you do to crash it?”

Simple as possible. “I went too fast.”

Doohan grunted. “Seen that before. Teenage boys who think they know everything. They always think they’re invincible.”

Something about that smarted. It hit Spike in the chest, white-hot on his already-frayed nerves.

Doohan turned back to the wreckage. “They always eventually get cut down to size.”

Spike felt his hands involuntarily balling into fists.

“You think I’m some privileged little rich boy?” he said, and it came out as an unexpected growl. “I sure as hell know I’m not invincible. I’m from Mars, I just got here. I’ve got no family. I’ve been cut down to size plenty of times in my life.” His voice was getting louder, more insistent. “I need a ship, any ship. I can work off whatever debt I owe to you. But don’t go thinking I did this just for the hell of it!” His last words were a yell, echoing in the silence.

Doohan just grunted again, not looking up. Silence fell once again for a while as he fiddled with the inside of the ship, tinkering with his tools. Spike’s breaths came out shuddery, but slowing.

“I think something was fucked up with the accelerator,” Spike said, quieter this time. “It was my first time piloting a ship and I went through a Gate no problem, I could do loop-de-loops and shit, and I guess I went a little overboard. But I barely touched that pedal thing and next thing I knew I was crashing here. I think I could do better with another craft.” He looked up at Doohan, choosing his next words with caution. “Or if I could find out how this one worked. How ships work. And how to fly them for real.”

Doohan inspected a panel of metal sheetwork on the side of the ship, his face inscrutable.

“That was you,” he finally said. “Doing the loop-de-loops in the sky. That was you.”

“Uh, yeah.” Damn. Spike hadn’t been as surreptitious with that stolen craft as he thought.

“And you say that was your first time ever piloting a ship?”

“Yeah,” Spike said again.

Doohan made eye contact with Spike for the first time. “How’d you feel when you were up there?”

“Uhhh…good? Happy?” Dammit, Spike wasn’t good with talking about feelings or whatever, and Doohan looked thoroughly unimpressed with his attempts. He didn’t even really know why Doohan was asking about it, but he could tell there had been something different, something distinctive, about that feeling. He racked his brain for the right word to describe how it had felt, soaring through the stars.

“Free,” he finally said. “I felt free.” He cupped his hands as if around the controls in a ship’s cockpit, and he felt his eyes narrowing in determination. “I wanna feel that way again.”

Doohan nodded slowly, then put his hand on what used to be the hull of the ship. “New ships like this, they tend to be trigger-happy. They advertise responsiveness, they say they’re user-friendly, and then they go way too far with it.” Spike nodded. Reminded him of some people he knew back on Mars. “You’ve got some natural talent,” Doohan continued. “But if you want to learn how to fly a ship right, you have to know how it works. You either work for the machine, or it works for you.”

Spike nodded again, at first slowly, but then with more determination. He could do that. In fact, the thought excited him. Something to fill his days that wasn’t petty crime and rooting around for his next meal. Something that actually felt purposeful. Like he was born for it.

Doohan looked over the ships in the hangar, appearing contemplative. “Been working on fixing up that old MONO racer for a while now,” he finally said, gesturing to the red ship that had caught Spike’s attention earlier. “Now, get me a 3/8 gauge from the toolbox in my office.” He turned to the assistant, who’d been leaning against the car he’d driven Spike in and watching the conversation with interest. “Jimmy, you’re fired.”

“Aw, man,” the assistant said, staring down at his sneakers. “Mom’s gonna kill me.”

~~~~~

Spike had worked for Doohan for a few months now, learning the ins and outs of amateur spaceship repair, not to mention how to actually pilot different types of crafts so they wouldn’t crash. Over the course of weeks, they’d watched ships transform from beaten-up hunks of junk, or broken-down relics that belonged to a museum, to actually usable, sometimes even restored to their former glory. It was a hell of a hobby, but no one could say Doohan wasn’t passionate about it. He worked from sunup to long past sundown, through mealtimes and rock showers and explosions that signed off his eyebrows. And, Spike had to admit, it was gratifying seeing their progress every day and week, bit by bit.

Spike had memorized every tool Doohan owned, where to get or borrow the ones he didn’t, and which ones just flat-out didn’t exist. He was used to getting barked at by his boss, sent on so many impossible tasks and wild-goose chases that he could no longer count them, sometimes having sharp implements thrown at him. (He’d learned to only piss Doohan off when he was holding something soft like a newspaper.) But he’d managed to avoid getting unceremoniously fired, like poor Jimmy. Or quitting, like a lot of assistants in Doohan’s past apparently had.

It wasn’t like Spike wasn’t used to rebukes or harshness. In fact, he kind of appreciated that Doohan didn’t baby him. And he thought maybe Doohan respected that he didn’t crumple under the pressure—although that may just have been wishful thinking on his part.

Still, after a few months of practice, even Doohan couldn’t find fault with the way he flew. (Or at least not very much fault.) The controls felt natural in Spike’s hands, like an extension of himself. He could effortlessly swoop and dive through the sky, at least in Earth’s atmosphere, as easily as moving his own body. And no matter how often he set off from the hangar with a whoosh, or how often he practiced all the proper measurements and calculations to land the way Doohan had showed him, it still felt just as freeing as it did the first time. It gave him a strange, bright sense that maybe he could do more when he got back to Mars. Maybe he could have an actual future.

But it still caught him completely off-guard when Doohan took a satisfied look at the newly-refurbished MONO racer—the Swordfish II, he’d called it (Spike decided not to ask what had happened to the Swordfish I)—and declared, “It’s yours now.”

“M-mine?” Spike babbled, like some sort of idiot.

Doohan nodded quite sensibly, as if this were the only logical option and any idiot would understand that. “You’ve done enough work on it to have earned it fair and square. You know it inside and out. And besides, it’s sturdy enough that it should survive a crash or two.” And for the first time, he flashed a smile at Spike, a knowing gleam in his eye.

Spike smiled back. The ship really was beautiful, lithe and maneuverable but still tough. Not some delicate thing that would crash and burn at the slightest provocation. It had been through some shit, just like he had. And it had come out alive. Maybe it was an old model, but it was his.

The words Thank you felt awkward on his tongue, tripping it up. But he hoped his face would show his gratitude.

Doohan patted the ship’s hull in satisfaction. And okay, technically speaking, Spike knew it wasn’t meant for him, not really—but it felt almost like a pat on the back.

“Why don’t you take it for a spin?”

#cowboy bebop #beboptober #beboptober 2024 #beboptober2024 #bebop crew #wild horses #spike spiegel #doohan #prequel #pre-canon #crash #textpost #fic #my fic #maya’s musings #maya’s masterpieces

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dystopicjumpsuit · 1 year ago

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 20

A Whimper

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: the shit hits the fan; mentions of Plan 99 (spoilers for TBB season 2 finale); angst; suspense; canon-typical violence (bearing in mind that in canon Mando cuts a dude in half, soooo... adjust expectations accordingly); references to torture; choking; blood and injury; character death; language.

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Summary: Echo deals with the fallout of Plan 99; Cerra has a polite conversation with the Empire.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings, "Double, Double Boil and Trouble" (part 2 here) and "Do It Again," but all the fics can be read as stand-alones.

…Not with a bang but a whimper.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Echo sat motionless in the cockpit of the Marauder, staring blindly at the navigation controls. Tech was gone. They’d lost. And all of it had been for nothing. They had no way of locating Hemlock or his base—no way of finding Crosshair. Echo hadn’t just failed to bring one brother home; he’d lost another.

He mentally replayed those fateful moments in the railcar again and again. Could he have worked faster? Could he have done anything differently? Could he have changed the outcome? He didn’t know, and that uncertainty haunted him.

He turned to stare at the empty pilot’s seat. For an instant, Echo could almost see Tech there. He swallowed hard, pushing down the overwhelming grief that tightened in his throat, choking off his breath. His head hurt; his chest ached; his eyes burned with unshed tears.

Gonky shuffled into the cockpit and squawked so quietly that Echo didn’t hear him at first. The droid moved closer and honked a little louder, trying to get Echo’s attention.

Echo blinked and looked away from the vacant pilot’s seat. “What is it?”

Distantly, he heard a familiar rumble, and his heart began to race. He launched out of the co-pilot’s seat and sprinted out of the Marauder. He spotted the Venator hovering over Ord Mantell City and immediately commed Hunter.

“Hunter, the Empire's here.” No answer came. “Hunter, do you copy? Wrecker?”

There was no reply; nothing but static on the comms.

Kark.

Cerra stumbled as the TK trooper shoved her into the corridor. She subtly tested the binders on her wrists, but they held fast. She fought down the tide of panic rising in her chest and tried to ignore the way her breath was beginning to spiral out of control.

Exhale. One, two, three, four, five. Inhale. One, two, three, four, five. Oh, god, what if I never see Gregor again? Exhale. One, two, three, four, five. Don’t think about it. Inhale. One, two, three, four, five.

She forced herself to focus on solving her immediate problems. First, she needed to get out of the binders. Impossible. Next, neutralize the trooper and take his blaster. He’ll blast me before I ever touch the deecee. Next, get to the hangar, steal a shuttle, and hit up the first Starcups she could find.

Piece of uj cake, she thought. Kriff, I’m going to die.

Her sense of impending doom only intensified when she reached the torture chamber—or rather, “enhanced interrogation room.” A stocky man in an officer’s uniform waited next to a table fitted with numerous restraints and an array of control panels and sinister-looking instruments. A tray of surgical tools and hypo-syringes sat next to it, neatly arranged.

At least he’s organized. I’d hate to be tortured to death by someone who was sloppy.

“Agent Daivik, I presume?” she asked.

“Ah, Miss Kilian. So good of you to join me,” Daivik said smoothly. He turned to the TK trooper. “Take off her binders and get out.”

“Can’t wait to get me alone?” she quipped as the trooper unlocked the manacles.

“Hardly,” Daivik sniffed. “You are only useful because of the information you possess. Please lie down.”

“Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?” she asked, rubbing her wrists to get the blood flowing to her hands again.

Daivik smirked, then his fist slammed into her shoulder and sent her careening backwards, the backs of her legs colliding with the interrogation table. He grabbed her by the throat and shoved her down onto the table. She kicked her feet desperately, but he pinned down her thighs with one of his legs as he forced her to lie flat on her back. She scratched and grappled with his hand that clamped around her throat in a vise-like grip.

“Ju—Ch—” she sputtered as her airway closed.

“Ready to talk so soon?” he snarled. “I’m just getting started.”

Nevertheless, he loosened his grip enough that she could speak.

“Choke me harder, Daddy,” she rasped.

He snatched his hand away with a revolted curse, and she saw her opening. She headbutted him with all the force she could muster, and his nose made a sickening crunch as her forehead smashed into his face. He staggered backward, and she seized a scalpel off the surgical tray and plunged it into his neck. Blood sprayed out of him instantaneously, spattering thickly over her hand, arm, and face, and she lost her grip on the scalpel as the hot, slippery fluid coated her fingers.

Daivik’s pale blue eyes opened wide with shock, but he staggered toward her, his hands outstretched toward her neck. She clenched her hand into a fist and pounded the scalpel deeper into his throat, then curled her legs up and kicked him away with both feet. He lurched backward and fell, landing with a heavy thud. He went abruptly still as his head collided with the durasteel floor.

She leaned forward on the edge of the table, bracing her hands on her knees as she gasped for air. Her vision blurred, and with her clean hand, she wiped Daivik’s blood out of her eyes. The door hissed open, and the TK trooper rushed into the room. Cerra lunged for another scalpel, but before she could strike, she saw a flash of blue, and the trooper collapsed to the floor. A clone in gray and white armor stood behind him, blaster still raised. Cerra crouched in a defensive position, scalpel clutched in her fist. The clone smacked the control panel to close the door behind him, then lowered his blaster.

“You know, if you wanted to see me, all you had to do is comm,” he said as he removed his helmet to reveal a familiar scarred face and mismatched eyes: one brown, and one a cybernetic silver.

“Wolffe?” she gaped, her voice hoarse and ragged from Daivik’s bruising grip on her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Saw you on the security holofeeds and thought you might need help.” He spared a glance at Daivik’s corpse. “Looks like I was right.”

“I had it under control,” she lied, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“You were about to bring a scalpel to a blaster fight,” Wolffe said pointedly.

“Kriff you,” she replied without heat.

“Kriff me yourself, coward,” he grinned.

“Holocams?” she asked.

“Surveillance feeds are off for this room and the corridor outside. You all right?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” she asked, pulling off her jacket and using it to wipe the blood off herself as much as possible.

“You don’t look so bad,” Wolffe said as he quickly began to strip off the TK trooper’s armor.

She moved to help. “Been better, been worse.”

“What’s your plan for getting out of here?” he asked.

“Steal a shuttle,” she said.

“I like it. Simple, straightforward.”

“Want to come with me?” she asked.

He shook his head as they wrestled the TK trooper out of his compression suit. “I’ll stay here and cover for you from the command deck.”

“You sure?” she asked doubtfully. “They’re going to suspect I had help.”

“I’ll stay,” he repeated. “I have… other duties to fulfill.”

He turned his back to give her privacy as she changed into the black body glove, then handed her the armor one piece at a time as she suited up.

“It’s a hell of a coincidence, you being on the exact ship they brought me to,” Cerra observed.

“Sure is,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“Almost like someone knew I got captured and sent you in after me,” she said.

“That’d be quite the twist, wouldn’t it?” he agreed noncommittally. “Good thing neither of us knows anyone who would do that.”

“Good thing,” she agreed as she settled the helmet onto her head. “How do I look?”

“Not bad,” Wolffe replied. “You might want to take this, though.”

He drew one of his blasters and offered it to her.

“I’ve got his deecee,” she said, gesturing toward the unconscious TK trooper. “I’m good.”

“Trust me, you want this one,” Wolffe said.

She glanced down at the blaster in his hand, and her breath caught as she recognized Jesse’s modifications.

“I could only find the one,” he said. “But I knew you’d want it back.”

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard before she managed to reply, “Thanks.”

He nodded, his eyes sympathetic. “Ready?”

“Any time. It was good seeing you, buddy.”

“You, too, kid,” Wolffe said, sliding his helmet firmly into place. “I’ll see you around.”

“That a promise?” she asked.

“Clone’s honor.”

They stepped into the corridor, and Wolffe closed and locked the door behind them. With any luck, nobody would discover Daivik’s body and the TK trooper until Cerra was safely off the Venator. With one final nod at each other, they parted, Wolffe heading to the bridge while Cerra made her way to the flight deck.

She forced herself to walk at a normal pace to avoid drawing attention, though her instincts screamed at her to run. Her heart pounded, and she was grateful for the helmet that hid her face from the Imperials she passed in the passageways; she didn’t think she would be able to disguise her anxiety without it.

The hangar was nearly deserted when she arrived—no doubt thanks to Wolffe. Nobody noticed an extra TK trooper in the shuttle bay. Cerra selected a shuttle, then quickly located and disabled its transponder beacon. Once she powered up the shuttle, the Imperials would know something was wrong. She would have an incredibly narrow window to get out of range of the tractor beam. There would be no time to program the hyperdrive navicomputer; she’d have to use the last inputted coordinates and hope for the best. She took a deep breath and boarded the shuttle.

Settling into the pilot’s seat, Cerra began running as many of the pre-flight protocols as she could before engaging the sublight engine. This is it, then, she thought, beginning the power-up sequence and maneuvering the shuttle out of the bay.

The comms crackled almost immediately. “Nu-class shuttle, you are not cleared for takeoff. Return to the—”

She muted the transmission, then punched the thrusters to top speed, blasting out of the hangar and into space. The Venator opened fire, but as soon as she was clear of the ship, Cerra jumped to hyperspace. Safely away, she yanked off her helmet and leaned back in her seat, gasping for air.

“I can’t believe that worked,” she said aloud with a short, incredulous laugh.

Riyo stared at the flickering hologram of Echo’s face, feeling as though all the oxygen had been forcefully ripped from her lungs.

“How?” she whispered. “What happened?”

“The Trandoshan sold us out,” Echo replied, his face grim and twisted by grief and anger. “We barely made it out alive.”

“Why would the Empire take Omega? What do they want with her?”

“I don’t know. That Imperial—Hemlock—he said something about Nala Se. He said she’s still alive.”

Riyo frowned. “Could she have escaped the destruction of Tipoca City? Halle Burtoni told me there were a few Kaminoans scattered throughout the galaxy, but she didn’t mention Nala Se.”

“If Nala Se is working for the Empire, that can only spell trouble for us clones,” Echo said.

“I agree. We should discuss this with Rex. When will you be back to Coruscant?” Riyo asked.

Echo glanced away, refusing to meet her eyes.

Her heart began to pound. “Echo?”

He took a deep breath before he replied. “I’m not coming back to Coruscant.”

She blinked. “... What?”

“I’m staying with Hunter and Wrecker,” he said quietly. “Omega is still out there somewhere, in Imperial hands. We have to find her.”

“Cerra is still out there, too!” Riyo protested. “We need you here! We need you—”

“Riyo,” Echo said gently. “Rex and the others are doing everything they can to find her. I trust them, and I trust that she can take care of herself until they find her. Besides, if I know Cerra, she’s already making whoever took her wish they were never born. But Omega is only a child. We can’t abandon her.”

He was right, of course. She knew he was right. But knowing he was right didn’t make the crushing weight in her chest feel any lighter. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She bit back the selfish words that sprang to her lips, knowing that speaking them aloud would only make things worse. Nevertheless, they reverberated in her mind.

I need you. I love you. Come back to me.

Echo reached for her through the holocomm, and she closed her eyes for a moment, imagining that she could feel the warmth of his touch.

“We will see each other again,” he said. “I swear it, Riyo. This isn’t the end for us.”

Without her comlink, Cerra had no choice but to use the shuttle’s communicator to contact Rex. Not only were the shuttle’s comms not secure, it was possible that the Empire was actively monitoring them. She keyed in the details for one of the team’s burner comm channels.

“Code kilo-three-two-seven. Scrapper to Monarch, come in,” she said. The minutes ticked by in agonizing slowness as she awaited a reply. When none came, she tried again. “Monarch, this is Scrapper. Please respond.”

The comm was silent. Fighting down her rising panic, Cerra ran a diagnostic to make sure it was functional. All systems were normal. She was just about to try a third time when the voice she loved most in the entire galaxy crackled through the speaker.

“Scrapper, this is Watchman. Good to hear your voice.”

Gregor. Oh, thank kriff. Tears of relief stung her eyes, and she hurriedly blinked them away as she responded.

“Back at you, Watchman.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed. “Really good.”

“What’s your status?”

“I’m all right, but I could use a ride. Any chance you’re free for a pickup?” she asked.

“Affirmative. Head to delta-one-alpha-eight-two. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Copy that, Watchman. Fly casual.”

“You, too, Scrapper.”

Gregor ended the transmission, and Cerra let out a shaky breath. It was over. She was going home.

---

Next chapter

#echo tbb #captain gregor #captain rex #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #echo x riyo chuchi #gregor x oc #clone trooper nemec #clone trooper fireball #star wars #the bad batch #star wars fanfic #tbb fanfic #stars beyond number #dystopicjumpsuit writes #Spotify

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kenny-the-ken · 2 years ago

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Don't Kiss and Tell

ALL AGED UP CHARACTERS!!! Warnings!!: strong language

Kyle hated Eric, that wasn't news to anyone in South Park, let alone you. Your older brother always was a bit of a dick towards him, and you always found it unfair. Eric's friends were always so lovely to you, and maybe it was because while yes, you were their best friends little sister, you were also the complete polar opposite from him.

Eric was loud, boisterous, rude, insensitive and quite frankly, kind of aggressive in his actions. But you were nothing like that, you were shy, reserved, kind and caring and most of all, not a complete racist.

Eric and you would come to blows quite a lot, and his friends loved it when it happened, because while you were quiet, you did have his temper, and two Cartman's arguing was quite a sight to behold.

But you knew Eric wouldn't take lightly to what was happening here, if he knew you were in Kyle's apartment with him, he'd explode, in fact you were pretty sure he'd try to reenact World War Two, with Kyle being the only victim. They were friends but also enemies, and that made this so much worse.

But you couldn't help it, although you were only nineteen and in your first year of college, the twenty four year old curly redhead who's arms were snaked round your waist as you cuddled beside him watching a movie on his couch, was all you could think about. Guys your age didn't understand, they were all fuck boys, only out for one thing.

Kyle was different. He'd always been kind to you, but when you turned eighteen and you started going clubbing with your brother and his friends, Kyle started to develop feelings, feelings that he knew were wrong, but the way you looked, the way you moved, the little touches you'd leave lingering on his arms, god he was smitten.

Kyle pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his long fingers running through your soft h/c hair, a contented sigh leaning your mouth as you leaned against his light touches.

"I'm really glad you could come over." Kyle's words broke the silence, and you turned your head a little to gaze at him, a small smile on your face.

"Me too. I really missed you. It's just hard... you know what Eric's like." You spoke, and Kyle nodded, placing a small peck on your cheek.

"Let's not worry about him, baby. Let's just enjoy each other in the little time we have." Kyle whispered, and you felt your cheeks flush, earning a small laugh from Kyle.

You had been together for around four months, not that you got to see each other much, between college and work, and trying to escape the suffocating grasp of your control freak brother, it was hard to navigate, but you both made it work, and it made little moments like this together all the more special.

"I love you." You spoke, and Kyle's face lit up, a wide smile on his face. He responded the same way every time you told him you loved him.

"I love you too, darling. I had a little idea in mind for tonight's date, if you wanna hear it?" Kyle replied,a cheeky grin on his face.

"Okay sure, what have you got planned, hunny?" You asked, leaning your head back so you were laying on Kyle's chest, your body between his legs.

"I was gonna drive us to central Colorado, take you on a nice fancy date, somewhere we can be seen together, hold hands, kiss under the street lamps where no one will see us. Well, so Eric won't see us." Kyle spoke, his voice hushed, gazing down at your face, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"That sounds amazing! But won't it be expensive? I don't want you having to waste your money on me!" You spoke, and Kyle shook his head.

"Baby, if we have a lovely date that we'll never forget, then it couldn't possibly be a waste of money, in fact, I'd see it as an investment." Kyle grinned, and you smiled back at him, before shifting to sit up, stretching your arms before getting off the couch.

"I better go get changed then! Which means I'll have to escape the house without Eric seeing me all dressed up." You said, chewing on your bottoms lip, your eyebrows knitted together with worry.

"Already thought of that. I bought you that dress you showed me a few weeks back, and the shoes to go with it, so you can get ready here." Kyle replied, and your face lit up, moving back over to him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips once more.

"You really do think of everything, you're so smart." You cooed, making Kyle's ego grow slightly, as he stood himself, his arms finding their way round your waist.

"Plus, it's an excuse for me to see you all dressed up just for me." He smirked, as you both stood still, your mouths meeting each other for a few quick kisses.

"I'm gonna go get ready, okay?" You whispered, and Kyle huffed a little. "One last kiss?" He begged, puppy dog eyes making you melt, placing another kiss on his lips before walking into his bedroom, and gasping at the dress he bought you, it was the exact one you'd shown him a while ago, and it fit your body like a glove, your feet slipping into the pair of heels Kyle had bought for you, and lifting the little handbag that matched perfectly.

And Kyle's eyes nearly popped from their sockets when you emerged from the bedroom, his mouth agape, and you swore you seen him drooling. "Holy fuck, you're hot." He spoke mindlessly, making you giggle and blush at his statement.

"Thank you, baby." You replied, as you embraced each other, Kyle's hand cupping your cheek, staring deeply into your eyes. "I am the luckiest guy on planet earth to be able to call you mine, y/n. I would fight your brother for you!" He announced, making you chuckle.

"You two would fight each other just because! Don't even lie!" And Kyle laughed, a grin on his face. "Yeah, I suppose that's true, babe." And just as you were ready to leave, your phone started ringing, it was Eric.

You answered his call, your finger coming up to your mouth to let Kyle know to be quiet. "Hey bro, what's up?" You spoke, before an onslaught of shouting kicked off on the end of the line, startling you.

And Kyle took your phone from your hand, pressing the screen to put it on speaker.

"HOW COULD YOU DATE THAT JEW! Of all the people in the world! You chose KYLE! You're a traitor! A fuckin' traitor and I'm telling mom!" Eric shouted, and your eyes rolled, Kyle couldn't hold his tongue any longer.

"HEY! I'll have you know that this Jew loved fucking your sister earlier, how's that fat boy?" He retaliated, and suddenly they had both gone from respectable twenty five year old to literal children, throwing stupid insults at each other.

"Eric, I'm an adult now, you can't just tell mom that you don't like who I'm dating! What's she gonna do? Ground me? I'm nineteen, Eric! And who cares what religion Kyle is! He treats me well, that's all that should matter, right?" You shouted back, a pause coming from the other end of the line, before hearing a loud sigh coming from your brother.

"Kyle, I'm gonna find you, and I'm gonna beat your ass catholic!" Eric shouted, before hanging up the phone angrily.

You pulled your boyfriend into a tight hug, his head resting on your chest, and you peppered gentle kisses on the top of his head, your hand running through his his thick, curls.

"C'mon darling, I promise Eric won't do anything. Let's go on our date and have a nice night like we'd planned." You reasoned, and Kyle nodded meekly, looking like the colour had drained slightly from his face, and upon noticing his anxiousness, you cupped his lightly freckles face within your hands, your thumb brushing over his pale pink lips, standing on your top toes to give him a quick kiss.

"Don't listen to Eric, by the time our dates over he'll have found something else to get pissed off at, so please don't worry." You soothed him, his gaze fully focussed on you.

"I'm just... I don't want to lose you. I know your brother thinks it's wrong, but I love you, I always have, I just... I'm scared, that's all. Your brother is revenge crazy, I don't want anyone to get hurt." Kyle spoke, his gaze averted to the ground, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Kyle, no one is gonna get hurt, my mom won't allow it, okay? Eric can be hard work, but I'll talk him round, I always do." You spoke, meaning every word behind what you'd said. Kyle had changed you as a person, and he understood you on a level that no one else ever had. He truly was the most amazing guy you'd ever met.

"Now let's go on our date, and now you can take me wherever you want, because we're not a secret anymore." And Kyle nodded shyly, his slender fingers intertwining with yours, and he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, before moving to open the door, holding it open for you.

"Ladies first, my love." And as you exited his apartment, you felt as though this was the first date you'd both been on, those familiar butterflies swirling in your stomach, as Kyle unlocked his car, opening the passenger door for you to hop in.

Even if your brother did try to overshadow things, and tell you what to do, there was no way you could ever pry yourself away from Kyle, you were in too deep, and you liked it. You liked him, in fact you loved him, and that was what mattered most.

#kyle brovlofski #kyle x reader #kyle sp x reader #sp kyle #south park x reader #south park fandom #kyle south park #south park #south park x y/n

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hannahssimblr · 1 year ago

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Chapter Sixteen

The snow exits as quickly and as quietly as it entered, and within a few days the streets are slick from the melted flurries, the odd pile of dirty slush piled into the corners between the steps and the walls of the georgian townhouses and on patches of grass where snowmen once stood. I miss it the moment it’s gone because it means that the end to my cosy week with Claire and Shane has ended, just like all good things do. I feel a sick, twisting kind of dread as I pack my bag for college on Monday morning, every fibre of my being wishing to avoid computer labs, to avoid Marnie and Fiona now that I’ve been hit with this realisation that I didn’t miss them at all during our week apart. In fact my life was actively better without them.

I’m unfit after sitting around for the entire week and my legs are heavy and shaky on my bicycle, but despite this I hit the college gates on time, something I have been getting better at since I started, and it’s only taken six months or so. I’m the first one in the labs too, which seems to surprise our tutor, sitting alone at the top of the room clicking around on his PC, and he almost does a double take when he sees me walk in at a normal pace instead of frantically bursting through the doors in the manner that he’s become used to.

I sit at my desk and calmly boot up the computer, signing in to my accounts and generally feeling very pleased with myself. Very organised. Perhaps this is my new frontier.

And then Marnie comes in, and I have to suppress a sigh.

She immediately swings over to my desk and leans over me for a hug. “Evie! I missed you, bitch.” She says into my shoulder in a voice that very much suggests that she in fact, did not, further proven by the fact we didn’t text each other once. “How was your snow week?”

“It was fine.” I say.

“So crazy right? The whole country just shut down like that. I didn’t know what to do with myself.” She leans her hand on my desk so that she’s in my eyeline. “Listen, I have something mad to tell you.”

“Do you?” I focus on loading up photoshop and navigating to my most recent project.

“Yes, it’s absolutely bonkers, you’re going to love it.”

I doubt it. “What is it?”

She perches on the edge of the desk then, ready to divulge the big piece of odious gossip or whatever it is. “Well during the snowstorm-”

“Good morning.” She’s interrupted by Dean, who has just entered the room. He saunters over to us, taking his usual seat next to me, leans back in it and looks at me, then at her, then back at me. “Well?”

“Hiya.” Marnie says to him while I start blushing uncontrollably all of a sudden, avoiding his gaze in case my feelings about him are somehow obvious, and as I angle my face away from them both Dean reaches out and touches my knee, shaking my leg playfully. “How are you, missus?”

“Oh, I’m fine, thanks.” I say, and when I finally glance over I automatically erupt into this goofy, embarrassed smile because my body is a traitor to my feelings that I’ve never been any good at controlling. He lifts his hand to my face and squeezes my nose and then goes about booting up his computer.

Marnie is silent for a few moments, and I become afraid to look at her because I know. I just know. I know the look that will be on her face, I know that she’s figured it out but when I bring myself to meet her eyes her face isn’t doing any of the furious things I expected it would be. Instead she looks… entertained. Her eyes are dancing with devilish little flames as though she’s truly delighted by what she’s just seen, and somehow that look frightens me so much more than anything else I could have anticipated.

“Well, I suppose I’ll leave you to your work.” She puts a hand on my shoulder, her acrylic nails scraping against the thin material of my top and whispers to me with minty breath on my cheek. “I’ll see you at lunch, we can catch up on our week then.” When she saunters away to her desk on the other side of the room, she leaves me sweating, palms prickling, brain whirring, and I don’t get a lick of work done for the rest of the morning.

“You seem nervous, why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

Marnie stretches her legs out in front of her as we sit on a bench in the yard outside the college canteen. She’s eating a cheese sandwich and I’m eating nothing because my stomach is acting up again. “You always lie, Evie, and it’s very obvious when you do, I’m not sure you even know how bad you are at it.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are.”

My leg is bouncing around and I’m worrying my lower lip with my teeth in an extremely nervous way, so I can see why she thinks that.

“There’s a vibe between you and Dean.” She says at last. “There was blatant sexual tension this morning.”

“I think that’s just your perception.”

“No, I have an eye for these things.”

“You don’t-”

“But why can’t you just be honest with me?” She says with wide eyes, a hand landing on my knee to try and stop it from jerking. “I don’t understand why you’d feel the need to lie about something to me when it’s very obvious that there’s something going on, in fact it’s been obvious for a while. I’m pretty sure everyone can see it. You like him.”

I sigh and say nothing.

“It’s okay, it’s not a big deal. In fact I’m glad that you like him. I feel like you’ve made, like, progress in your personal journey, like this is a sign that you’ve pushed through a mental block, so just admit it.”

“Fine.” I say. “I like him, and he seems to like me. We’ve been hanging out together a bit, I dunno.”

“Since when?”

“A few weeks is all, since that night that he said he’d choose me if he had to pick someone out of the three of us. We went to another bar when you left and he kissed me and we’ve been… kissing ever since.”

Her eyes light up with excitement. “Oh I knew it!” She cries gleefully. “I knew that you were lying when you said you wouldn’t get with him! You cheeky divil.” She pinches my cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with liking Dean Cullen, he’s a nice looking boy.”

Her reaction is confusing to me. Why is she so delighted by this when her entire being had seemed to rattle with white hot fury that he hadn’t chosen her instead. “Yeah I know, I just didn’t want a big deal made out of it.” I say.

“And have you had sex yet?”

“No!”

She grins. “Well I’m sure you will soon.”

I avert my eyes again, the word “soon” sending this ominous rush through me as the fact that something big, important, and scary is imminent springs to the front of my mind. I’m not having sex with him yet, but I might be… soon.

“How sweet.” Marnie hums, leaning back into the bench and balling the brown paper sandwich bag in her hands. “You two are so nice together.” The smile that she flashes at me seems to display an unsettling amount of teeth. “When it happens, be sure to tell me all about it.”

“I will.” I say, my mind quietly consumed with images of Dean kissing me in the dark of my bedroom, warm, bare skin pressed against mine, and the idea of him having me like that makes me drunk on some cocktail of fear and desire. I have to do it eventually, right? I think, and then shake myself away from my own lustful imaginings before they start showing on my face. Clearing my throat I say to Marnie: “Let’s talk about something else. What was it that happened during the snowstorm?”

“Oh, that.” She says, and tosses the balled up paper bag towards a bin across the yard, smiling with satisfaction when it hits its target perfectly. “It doesn’t matter. In fact it’s so stupid, I don’t think you’ll think it’s very interesting at all.”

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#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #writing #fiction #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims storytelling #sims4 storytelling #lucky girl part 2

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vir-tanadahl · 3 months ago

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Chapter 14: Veil of Shadows and Secrets

I’m eagerly rewriting As the Moon Rises, which was originally written back in 2017, in anticipation of Dragon Age: Veilguard, channeling my excitement into refining the story. Summary: Isera Lavellan, at her mother’s behest, is sent to assist her twin brother, Banreas—the Inquisitor—in his mission to stop a force determined to bring about the world’s end. Together, they uncover long-buried secrets of their shared family history while Isera finds herself drawn to a mysterious non-Dalish elven mage whose knowledge of her heritage runs far deeper than she could have imagined. As the stakes rise, Isera must navigate this dangerous journey of discovery, where the past holds as much peril as the looming threats of the present. Solas x F!Lavellan.

[Ch1][Ch2][Ch3][Ch4][Ch5][Ch6][Ch7][Ch8]

[Ch9][Ch10][Ch11] [Ch12] [Ch13] [Ch14]

The wooden caravan shakes with every step of the horses pulling it. It has been an hour since Cullen left Skyhold to visit Honnleath and see his family. Four months had passed since the defeat of Corypheus, yet the shadows of that battle still loomed large over him. He had thrown himself into his duties, working tirelessly to ensure the safety of the realm, even after the fall of the darkspawn magister.

Cullen had dispatched troops to monitor the movements of fleeing Venatori, protecting villages and rebuilding what had been lost. Leliana had collaborated with him, strategizing their efforts to track down Solas after his sudden disappearance—a task that had yielded no results, no leads, only unanswered questions.

Now, as he traveled away from Skyhold, Cullen couldn’t shake the weight of concern that pressed on his chest. It had only been two days since Isera was declared missing, and the air was thick with anxiety. The Inquisitor insisted that he depart for Honnleath, with Cassandra stepping in as acting Commander until his return. Publicly, no one dared to question Cullen’s departure, especially after the unsettling news surrounding the Inquisitor's sister.

Cullen glanced around the road, scanning the landscape for any signs of trouble. It had been a few hours since he departed from Skyhold. He took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs as he tried to steady himself. “I think you can come out now, just keep your head covered,” he announced, his voice tinged with nervousness as he rubbed the back of his neck.

A trunk behind him shifts, the lid squealing open as a figure rises from within. “I am never doing that again,” Isera mutters as she climbs into the front seat, adjusting her cloak with a frown.

Cullen shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Isera, you didn’t have to leave like that. You had a choice.” His voice carries a mix of concern and authority, his hands gripping the reins of the horse tightly.

Isera shakes her head, her expression resolute. “I don’t want people knowing,” she replies cryptically, leaning back against the seat as she wraps the cloak tighter around her body, as if seeking comfort in its fabric.

He lets out a long sigh, nodding in understanding. “I know.” A heavy silence lingers between them, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of hooves on the ground. Cullen hesitates, stealing a glance at her before looking away, wrestling with his thoughts. “I’m sorry. Mia will help, though. You won’t have to go through this alone.” His attempt at comfort is sincere, though he knows words can only do so much.

“Do you think it’s the voices urging you to leave?” he asks after a moment, curiosity and concern intertwining in his tone.

Isera shakes her head. The voices often took control of her body when they desired, weaving their magic through her limbs, but they never truly possessed her mind. They shared their knowledge when it suited them, but they did not compel her in the way he suggested. “I don’t think so.”

Despite her reassurance, Isera’s smile feels forced, as if it barely touches the sadness in her eyes. “Thank you for letting me stay with your family,” she says, her voice softening, genuine in its gratitude.

Isera watches the trees blur by as they slowly trot past, their trunks flickering in and out of focus. A sense of unease settles over her, and she can’t quite place the source of her desire to hide. Perhaps she’s running from the memories etched in every corner of Skyhold, or maybe the voices are silently influencing her decisions once again.

Cullen coughs, discomfort flickering across his features at the gratitude she's expressed. “You’ve been…extremely helpful. This is the least I can do,” he replies, a hint of awkwardness in his voice as he snaps the reins, urging the horses to pick up their pace.

Isera nods, her expression shifting from thoughtful to serious. “There’s a stack of potions hidden in the chest by your desk. Only drink one-fourth of it. The ones with the green ribbon are more potent,” she instructs, her voice firm and practical. “Only drink that when you start to notice a tolerance developing. I don’t foresee that happening, but I won’t be there to monitor you.”

She had planned this for a month in advance, meticulously considering every detail, and Cullen’s willingness to assist her meant more than he likely realized. The thought of him relying on her creations, however, only deepens her resolve to ensure they are effective.

Cullen glances at her, his expression softening. “I trust you, Isera. You’ve done well with those potions. I’ll be careful.” His assurance brings a small measure of comfort. As the rhythmic sound of hooves on the forest floor fills the silence, Isera feels the weight of their journey ahead pressing down on her.

It didn’t take much to convince Cullen. He had been the one to offer for her to stay with his family, emphasizing that Honnleath was close enough to Skyhold for her to return quickly—or for her brother to visit her. He described his sister, Mia, as open and protective, assuring Isera that she would be welcomed into their hearth without hesitation.

Banreas hadn’t been thrilled with the arrangement, but he had agreed—not that it mattered; Isera was determined to go with or without his blessing.

“The Inquisitor won’t be able to write to you directly if you wish to remain hidden,” Cullen explained, his brow furrowed in thought. “I can write to Mia, and she can write back to you if that is what you prefer.” He took a deep breath, glancing at her with concern. “You’ve set a motion into play that will be hard to explain if our letters are intercepted.”

The caravan rocked her body gently as it traveled down the winding road. “I know,” she whispered, trying to convince herself as much as him. “We can do that.” There was a sense of relief that washed over her since leaving the confines of Skyhold, a weightlifting from her chest with every mile they covered.

Cullen continued, his tone earnest. “Leliana has ordered Inquisition agents to integrate into the town. They’ll come under the guise of farmers, watching from afar.”

Isera nodded, her mind racing with the implications. “I know.” The knowledge that she wouldn’t be alone in this journey provided a small comfort. Always watching, always protecting—she could feel their presence like a safety net woven into the fabric of her new life.

Yet, despite the reassurance, an unsettling instinct coiled tightly in her gut. The nightmares had grown more vivid, more oppressive, and their meanings eluded her grasp. Banreas had reached out to the Seers in Rivain, hoping for clarity, but all they offered was vague foreboding—an ominous warning of something yet to come.

As she settled back into the cushioned seat, Isera stifled a yawn, placing a hand on her swelling belly. Things were continuing to change, and with each passing day, she felt a mix of excitement and dread. The future was a murky shadow ahead, but she would face it, no matter what it held for what choice did she have?

---

Isera paced anxiously in her brother’s quarters, her mind racing with the startling realization that she had not bled in almost two months—possibly more. The weight of her discovery pressed heavily on her chest, constricting her breath. She had never been diligent about tracking her cycle; the thought of being late had barely registered in her chaotic life. Solas was nowhere to be found, and she needed to tell him.

When Banreas finally entered the room, Isera was a whirlwind of emotion. The moment he opened the door, she blurted out, “I’m pregnant.” Her voice trembled, and her body shook with the anxiety that surged through her. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued to pace, each step echoing the turmoil inside her, the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Banreas’s expression shifted to one of cautious concern. He slowly nodded, his mind racing as he assessed the situation. “How far along?” he asked, his voice low and steady, an anchor amidst her storm. He moved to his desk, the weight of her news settling heavily between them.

“I’m not sure,” Isera admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe two months…maybe longer.” The reality of her situation hit her like a wave, leaving her feeling unmoored and vulnerable.

His body movements stiffened as he focused intently on Isera, his expression shifting to one of concern. “There are potions…if that is what you want,” he gently suggested, trying to offer a lifeline amidst the chaos.

Isera recoiled at the suggestion, shaking her head vigorously. “No!” she exclaimed, her voice sharp and filled with panic. After a moment's hesitation, she continued, “I don’t know. If I take something now, without knowing how far along I am, I could kill myself and the child.” The weight of her words hung heavy in the air.

She recalled the faces of young girls she had seen during her travels—desperate and filled with regret—who had unintentionally ended their lives while trying to rid themselves of an unplanned pregnancy. The haunting images flashed through her mind, intensifying her resolve.

Banreas grimaced, the anger simmering just below the surface. “Have you heard from…him?” he asked, his voice tightening as he struggled to maintain neutrality. Isera recognized the fury brewing in her brother; his hand was clenched into a fist, resting against the desk, the tension radiating from him. She could sense that he wanted to lash out, to find Solas and confront him for the pain he had caused her.

Isera shakes her head, her voice trembling. “Can you… I know it’s a lot to ask. One last time, can you send out agents to look for him?” The desperation in her tone is palpable. She had tried to reach Solas in her dreams, but her efforts had been in vain. Despite using his necklace as a focal point, every time she felt close, magical barriers would spring up, thwarting her attempts. She had theorized that he was actively blocking her from his subconscious, a painful realization that twisted her gut.

Banreas nods, his expression softening. “Of course, I will.” He pauses, rifling through the reports scattered on the table. “I haven’t heard from Mother since we received that letter. Have you?” His question hangs heavy in the air.

“No,” Isera replies, her brow furrowing in worry. “It’s unlike her to be gone this long.” The uncertainty gnaws at her, a constant ache in her heart.

Banreas exhales sharply, frustration etching lines on his forehead. “I’ll send agents to look for her as well.” He moves closer to Isera, his concern evident as he studies her face. The fear etched into her features deepens his own worries.

Weeks pass, and despite their efforts, the agents fail to uncover any leads on Solas or their mother. Each day that passes without news feels like a weight pressing down on Isera. Exhaustion settles into her bones, a heavy cloak of despair. Banreas sits across from her in the War Room, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. The Advisors are aware of her condition, their sympathetic gazes filled with helplessness as they glance at her, wishing for results that remain stubbornly elusive.

“Isera…” Banreas begins, his voice low and careful, breaking the silence. But the words feel inadequate against the enormity of their situation. She looks at him, and for a moment, the room feels suffocating, the walls closing in around her as the weight of uncertainty hangs heavy in the air.

It is clear that the Inquisition has exhausted all avenues in their search for Solas and their mother. Isera sighs, her resolve hardening. “I want to leave. I don’t want people to know that I am pregnant or where I am going,” she announces, determination lacing her voice. With her pregnancy just beginning to show, this is the perfect time—if not the only time—she can slip away without attracting undue attention.

Leliana nods, her expression serious yet understanding. “If that is what you would like, it can be arranged for you to disappear.” Her gaze shifts to Banreas, who sits stiffly at the table. “Banreas will need to play a part if that is to be.”

Banreas raises an eyebrow, his face a mixture of concern and determination. “What role would you have me take?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest as if to brace himself for whatever task lies ahead.

“An official absence,” Leliana suggests, her tone steady. “We can create a cover story that you are focusing on diplomatic efforts elsewhere, making your own leave for a short time. It should draw attention away from Isera’s departure.

Isera shakes her head, a sense of urgency in her voice. “No—I need to go missing.”

Leliana’s brow furrows slightly, her eyes narrowing as she processes Isera’s insistence. “You understand the risks involved, don’t you?” she replies carefully, gauging Isera’s resolve. “I do,” Isera insists, her gaze unwavering.

Banreas shifts uncomfortably, his concern for Isera palpable. “But what if something goes wrong?” he asks, his voice low. “You’ll be alone.”

“She won’t be alone. She can go to Honnleath. Mia can help her with the birth and keeping her presence a secret.” Cullen’s voice is soft. Leliana studies Isera’s expression, recognizing the fierce resolve in her eyes. “Very well, if this is truly what you wish,” she concedes, though her tone remains cautious. “But we must ensure that we cover your tracks thoroughly. The Inquisition will not easily forget you nor will anyone else who has an interest in your whereabouts.”

---

Isera stands over the hearth, her body weary and heavy with exhaustion as she attempts to breastfeed her newborn. Viera, her tiny daughter, is refusing to latch onto her nipple, leaving Isera feeling frustrated and defeated. “Why can’t you be like your big sister and nurse?” she pleads softly, glancing at Mia with a mixture of hope and desperation.

Mia chuckles from her chair, where she cradles the other baby, Sora, who is peacefully sleeping with a full belly. “She’s going to be a stubborn one, that one,” Mia replies, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watches Isera’s struggle. She rises and approaches, her steps light as she balances Sora in her arms. “What will you call them?” she asks, genuinely curious.

Isera hums thoughtfully, finally feeling Viera latch on. Relief washes over her as she glances down at her daughter. “This one is Viera,” she announces, her voice warm with affection. She gestures to the other child nestled in Mia’s arms. “And she will be Sora.” Both babies have skin as soft as freshly made caramel, adorned with delicate freckles that seem to dance across their cheeks.

“How will you tell them apart?” Mia jokes, her tone playful as she coos at Sora, who begins to stir, opening her big eyes. One iris is a brilliant golden hue, while the other is a striking blue, creating an enchanting contrast.

Isera smiles as she watches Sora, then turns her gaze back to Viera. “Oh, their eyes,” she replies, a glimmer of pride in her voice. “Sora’s right eye is golden and her left eye is blue. Viera’s right eye is blue and her left eye is golden.” The uniqueness of each child fills Isera’s heart with joy, and she can’t help but feel that they are destined for something extraordinary.

Every time Mia has come to check in on her, the twins were sound asleep. But Isera has had countless sleepless nights, staring into the eyes of her daughters, particularly Viera, who is a notoriously difficult sleeper.

Mia looks at her in surprise. “Surely, you are joking?” She leans over to the nursing child, who opens her eyes intermittently. “Ah! She does!” Mia gasps at the discovery, her face lighting up with excitement. “They are going to be quite enchanting.”

Isera smiles, settling into a rocking chair as Viera continues to nurse. The rhythmic motion of the chair provides a soothing balm to her weary body. “The Inquisitor will be making a visit in the coming weeks with Cullen,” Mia informs her, pulling out a letter from the pocket of her gown. “He is excited to ‘meet the new pup.’” Mia grins, clearly amused by the hidden meaning.

Isera laughs, rolling her eyes in playful exasperation. “I still hate that I was dubbed a mabari in the letters!” she exclaims, her voice tinged with humor. She remembers the sting of tears that fell the first time she read a letter referring to her as a dog; the image of herself as a farm animal felt both absurd and demeaning.

But it was a convenient deception, considering Mia had a mabari who was also pregnant. The playful lie about Isera being a "dog" took on a humorous twist, as they could both claim to be nurturing new lives.

---

Banreas is sitting across from her, cradling Viera in his arms. He coos softly at the baby, who gazes up at him with wide, innocent eyes. The twins are now six months old, and Viera responds to his playful storytelling with enthusiastic babbles, a broad, toothless smile lighting up her face.

“And then Leliana is going to be the new divine!” Banreas concludes, grinning widely. Viera reaches out, her tiny fingers wrapping around his, pulling it to her mouth with an adorable curiosity.

Isera, with Sora securely strapped to her chest, pours water into cups at the nearby table. “She’ll have them ramming drakes in no time,” Isera jokes, setting a cup near Banreas, the sound of porcelain clinking echoing softly in the cozy room.

Banreas chuckles, glancing up at her, his expression bright. “You should come back, sister. They’ll want to meet their aunts and uncles.” His voice carries a hint of longing, a soft reminder of the chosen family ties they share.

Isera feels the familiar pang of guilt tugging at her heart. Each time he suggests returning to Skyhold, she has offered a different excuse, each one flimsier than the last. “I’m... just not ready yet,” she says, her tone evasive.

Isera frowns, her expression clouded with uncertainty. “Maybe when they are a year old,” she tells Banreas firmly. “I do not feel comfortable leaving just yet. They are too young.”

Banreas studies her skeptically, his brow furrowing. “The Dalish travel with children much younger,” he points out, knowing full well that his sister is avoiding the memories that linger like shadows. He just wants her to create new memories with those who would help keep her safe.

“I don’t care,” Isera replies, her voice flat and monotone as she meets his gaze. She knows she is being difficult, but the thought of returning to Skyhold feels overwhelming. Deep down, she understands that it would be easier to go back—surrounded by friends and guards, where the girls would always be watched and safe. No member of the Inquisition’s inner circle would allow harm to come their way.

“Isera…” Banreas sighs, his tone filled with concern.

She looks down at Sora, who is content against her chest, her little eyes staring off into the distance, unaware of the tension in the room. The sight of her daughter calms Isera’s racing heart, if only for a moment. “Maybe,” she finally concedes after a prolonged silence hangs between them, the word escaping her lips like a whisper of hope.

---

Isera sits in the clinic at Skyhold, a warm smile playing on her lips as she watches the inner circle fawn over her daughters, who are celebrating their first birthday today. The atmosphere is lively and filled with laughter. Leliana, soon to depart for her new role as Divine, cradles Sora in her arms, singing sweetly to her. The soft notes of the song drift through the room, enchanting both the baby and Isera.

The girls are captivated by Leliana’s voice; Sora coos in delight, and Isera can’t help but reminisce about how reluctant Leliana once was to share her songs. Now, it seems she can’t stop, filling the clinic with melodies that dance around the air like sunlight.

Viera, ever the spirited one, is more rambunctious than her sister. She babbles a string of nonsensical syllables, her expression serious as if she’s sharing a profound secret with the adults. The inner circle plays along, pretending to understand her gibberish, and Iron Bull is particularly animated in his responses, changing his tone dramatically to match her excitement. Viera giggles, utterly enthralled by his antics.

Banreas, seated beside Isera, leans in closer. “Will you take them to the Clan?” he asks, his voice low but hopeful. “We can ask the Clan to come here.” Despite everything Isera has shared about the Dalish failings, he still clings to the traditions he wishes to pass on to his nieces.

Isera shakes her head firmly. “I’ve overheard that the Lavellan Clan is doing well in Wycome. I do not wish to move them. The elves will need the political power.” The lessons she’s learned about the Game from her time at Skyhold have sharpened her instincts. Briala of The Dales has reached out to her multiple times, seeking a stronger elven alliance, and Isera knows that her daughters are part of that future.

Banreas nods thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward Cassandra, who is attempting to balance Viera on her hip. The Seeker’s face is a mix of concentration and amusement as Blackwall steps in to help her, demonstrating a firmer hold on the squirmy toddler. “Mia says your nightmares are coming more often. Have you been able to make sense of them?” he asks, concern etched across his features.

“No,” Isera sighs, her voice heavy with fatigue. “It’s always the same. I feel like I’m being pulled from something—there's smoke, fire, and fear. Someone always calls out to me.” The dreams have persisted through the years, haunting her even now. Each time she attempts to block them, they return with a vengeance, stronger and more vivid. The pain of waking up has become an all too familiar agony.

Banreas frowns at her admission but nudges her shoulder lightly with his own, a comforting gesture. “I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers, his tone sincere. “And so are they.” He gestures toward the inner circle, who are engaged in playful chaos, surrounded by laughter and joy.

He’s right. The moment the inner circle learned that Isera had “returned,” they all flocked to her side, eager to reconnect. The excitement had felt almost overwhelming, yet warm, filling her with a sense of belonging. The Advisors had to gather everyone for a meeting to clarify that she had not truly been lost, leading to a few awkward conversations. Isera found herself apologizing repeatedly for the secrets she had kept, trying to navigate the delicate balance between her past and present.

“They just want to see the babies,” Isera grins, her eyes shining with warmth as she watches the inner circle fawn over her daughters. Each laugh and coo from the group fills the room with a vibrant energy, creating a comforting atmosphere that wraps around her like a warm blanket. Yet, amid the laughter, a pang of sorrow tugs at her heart—a reminder of the one person she longs for the most to meet them: Solas.

#solas #solavellan #solas x lavellan #solas x female lavellan #solas x oc #solas dragon age #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas x inquisitor #solavellan hell #isera lavellan #As the Moon Rises #vir writes #dragon age veilguard #datv #dragon age the veilguard

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insomniamamma · 2 years ago

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Ribbons & Wings: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: I started this on a night of heavy snow followed by blistering cold. I have seen the northern lights, once in Alaska and once in in western New York state. Set between after "Rain" around the same time as "Clean Dirt." I may revise the timeline as I see fit. As with everything else in this AU, this can stand alone. Reader is nicknamed "Artichoke" and "Prickle." Ships and Kings is a game that persists through my Prospect fics,. Cross DND with chess played on a hexagonal board. As with any game there are house rules that vary. Kevva’s Flick is a highly contested (and some claim illegal) move in Ships and Kings.

Warnings: Language. Anxiety. Food mentions. Mentions of old injuries. Snowball fights?

"--all ships in northern quadrant be advised boost is not recommended at this time. Hold tight if you are able--next pickup is in 10.25 cycles--"

"What does that mean?" asks Cee, "Understood, drop-com, we'll see you on the other side--" "Ezra, what does that mean?" You hear the rising panic in Cee's voice and reach for the thrower you keep stashed under your bunk. "There's a storm coming," says Ezra, "Might close our take-off window." "So we're stranded." Says Cee. She stands and gets in Ezra's face, "You told me this wouldn't happen." "I can't control the weather, Birdie," says Ezra, "We launch into a blizzard and there's a chance we break up." "Fuck--" "How long?" You ask and they both snap their heads around as if they've forgotten you're there, "If we get grounded how long are we here?" "You heard the man," says Ezra, "10.25 cycles." "That's two hands," you say, "We can make that. We'll be fucking sick of Bitz-bars but we've got enough margin." "What if we boost now? Minimum checks--" "C'mere," says Ezra, he sits on the edge of his crash couch and Cee takes her place beside him, "You too. Let me show you something." Ezra plops his battered data pad into Cee's waiting hands, she holds it so he can manipulate the touch screen. You hunker behind Cee, peering over her shoulder, hunched in the confines of the pod. "I'm getting the same info yon freighter's getting from the weather sat, about a sixteenth delayed," says Ezra. He zooms into the northern quadrant where the pod rests near a large, frozen over lake. "Ooo-oooh," says Cee, face pinched with worry, "That's bad. If that's from a sixteenth ago--" "Conditions are likely worse by now." "What are we looking at, Ez?" You ask. "The lines are wind direction, the color scale is speed. We take off now, our boost curve takes us through the worst of it, right at the point of maximum dynamic pressure." "That could tumble us." "Could do worse than that," says Ezra, "Big gust could crumple us like a beer can." "But if we miss the sling--" "Artichoke's right," says Ezra, "We've got rations for at least 15. More if we stretch it." "If worse comes to worse we can do some ice fishing," you say. "Bleee-arrgh," Cee makes a wretching sound. You were harvesting the spiker fish for their odd, metal-rich navigation organs and you'd cooked one over the camp fire just to see what the meat tasted like. "That was like licking a battery terminal." "Lick many battery terminals, Little Bird?" Cee laughs. "Spend enough time in a pod and you'll do just about anything for fun." "The spiker wasn't that bad," you say. Ezra and Cee look at you with mixed horror and fascination, "I've had worse things in my mouth." "Didn't need to know that," says Cee.

We best power down what we don't need, said Ezra, and the three of you began a systems check. Reading off the things you were each responsible for when getting ready to drop or boost. Proximity radar and chute pyro-batts were obvious. Local comms. External lighting. Scrubbers. You sure about the scrubbers? Air's fine, it's just cold, we can reverse the aft vents and draw heat off the RTG baffles. "We're only talking two hands," you say, "Between the reserve tanks and the scrubbers we should be fine," and Ezra gives you a flat-eyed look that means you've strayed somewhere you're not supposed to be just yet. "Two hands have a way of becoming more,"says Ezra, "We take what care we can. Clear?" "Sure. Clear."

The pod sounds strange half powered down. You don't notice the faint clicks and chirps of the guidance computer until it's offline. In your head you know it'll boot back up just fine, but it still feels deeply wrong having it off. Same with the Baas converter, all the hardware that does the thinking for you. The wind moans through the trees outside, a low warbling wail that resonates through the pod. You and Cee exchange glances. She's got her music player on, but her eyes are big and dark and scared, and you don't like this any more than she does. There's no snow on Falnost but wind is something you understand, driving sand before it that can etch windows, it never happened to any of your livestock, you and your father and brothers were too careful for that, but you'd hear stories about pink skeletons, stripped of flesh but still fresh enough to ooze from their marrow. "We'll be fine," says Ezra, "We're stable." Eventually you drift into an uneasy sleep. There's nothing else to do.

"We've definitely missed the window," says Ezra, confirming what you expected, "But we might as well have fun little while we're here, right?" You are barely awake, sipping fake coffee from a pouch. "Fun?" "Snow, stupid!" Says Cee, she's already wriggling her way into her thermal gear, "It snowed like crazy overnight! We can bury ourselves in it! We can make a snow fort! Let's go!" You smile, but you feel it curdle, you know what snow is, you've seen vids, and the way Ezra is looking at you you can tell that he knows, he knows you've never seen snow, never felt it for yourself, and you can't look at him. There is so much you don't know. You start suiting up out of habit, thermal gear for a cold world, outer layers for batt-assisted heating-- "Hey," says Ezra, "You okay, Prickle?" "Sure." "I know they didn't--" "Yeah, yeah, we didn't have snow there. We didn't have RAIN there. We'd get a little bit of hard frost come winter but that doesn't count--" "Easy," says Ezra, "Easy. Cee's just over excited." He nods towards the open hatch now venting your hard-won warmth. Cee's voice comes faint from outside, you guys coming or what? "She hasn't had much chance to play in the snow." You exit the pod into a new world. The gravelly shores of yesterday are blanketed in white, the branches of the feather-trees droop in low arcs, burdened with snow. You can feel the snow collapse when you step in it, hear it, a small crumping sound beneath your boots, you turn towards Ezra, smiling and something frigid and granular and wet splatters against the nape of your neck, and you whirl, reaching for the thrower your left on the pod and Cee's laughing, her cheeks pink with the cold. "Gotcha!" She crows and bends down, sinks her hands into the blanket of white. You smile. This might be your first snow but you know mischief when you see it. You scoop up two handfuls of snow and squish them together, noting the give and push-back as it compresses down even as you aim for your crewmate's head. You miss by an Ephrate mile, and her next shot catches you mid-chest. For every shot you land she gets in at least three, and at last you scoop up and armload of snow and start chasing her round the back of a huge feather-tree, and Cee throws up her arms in defense and splutters laughter when you dump it on her. The two of you pause, laughing and out of breath, Cee's cheeks and nose flaming pink. "Cee? Artichoke?" Ezra's voice peals out from the pod , "By your silence I am assuming you are up to no good and I will act accordingly." "He's so goofy," says Cee, and grins at you, "Allies?" "Yeah. Let's get him." Cee bends and starts making snowballs. Ammo dump, she whispers and you nod. Right. "Cee? Prickle?" Cee leans around the tree trunk and yells. "Come and find us old man!" "Old man," you hear him mutter and Cee giggles. She knows just where to poke and how much pressure to apply, "You think you're so hard to track leaving boot prints in the snow--" Ezra rounds the tree trunk and you paste him, snowballs exploding all over his suit. You try not to aim for his head. Cee has no such compunctions. One of her snowballs catches him right in the face, and he shakes his head, snow caught in his mustache, wipes the snow out of his eyes-- "--Oh," he looks past you and Cee, his eyes wide, white limned, "Oh Kevva what's that?!" You turn your head to the dark undergrowth and there's the whine of a discharged thrower over your head and you barely register Ezra's laugh before you and Cee are buried in a shower of snow from above.

You splutter and swipe snow out of your eyes, out of the open neck-hole of your suit. Cee shakes her head, a brief, indignant halo of flakes ringing her flushed face. Ezra howls laughter. He's bent double, face red, eyes squinched shut. "You shoulda seen your faces--" he wheezes. "That was cheating!" says Cee, "No fair--" "That was tactics! That was strateegery--" Ezra takes a bad step and overbalances, flails his arm out and falls on his ass in the snow. "That was Kevva's Flick!" You say and grin. Kevva's Flick is a marginally legal move in Ships and Kings, the kind of thing that will get you stuffed out an airlock if you try it in the wrong company. A badly missed stealth roll followed by a natural sixteen means that your opponent can flick one of your pieces off the board like dislodging and errant piece of lint. The only reason you even know about it is because Ezra pulled it on Cee and they spent the next eighth arguing and wasting precious bandwidth looking up the legality of the move over the drop-net. Cee throws back her head and laughs, bright and clear. Ez crawfishes in the snow and then manages to heave himself upright. "Hmmm," says Ezra, narrows his eyes, but his dimpled smile gives him away, "I know where you sleep, little bird." "I know where you sleep too," says Cee, "Call truce?" A hard gust bends the tops of the feather trees, sending snow down in slow whorls, a low moaning sound that makes the nape of your neck prickle. "We should get back inside," you say, "Wind's gonna pick up." "Truce," says Ezra, and flashes you a smile, "Let's get on in before our C5 friend freezes solid." You trace your tracks back to the pod, landing struts buried in white, it's uglier angles and dents covered over. "Oh hey!" Says Cee, "We can make snow angels!" You and Ezra look at each other, but before you can say anything, Cee is stomping out into the wide expanse of unbroken white. "It's easy, see?" She flops down on her back in the drifted snow and fans her arms and legs. "We called 'em phoenixes back home," you say, and pull Cee to her feet, careful not to step in the wing shaped marks she's left behind, "Once things settled after a storm we'd draw pictures in the dust." You take a few steps so you don't mess up Cee's snow angel and flop down yourself. It feels different. Not like the dust that would puff up in your eyes and stick to your skin but the motion is the same, cloud laden sky instead of the screaming bright stars back home. Cee offers her hand and pulls you up. "Not bad, dirt-farmer," she says, "You do one, Ez. "If I must." Ezra takes a few steps and drops into the snow like a felled tree, makes his own pattern beside yours and Cee's. "I'm somewhat lacking in the wing department," says Ezra, "If I'm to be an angel--" "Hold up," says Cee. She wanders away from Ezra, back towards the dark of the trees and roots around, finds a fallen limb, some feather-needles still clinging to it. "My ass is getting awfully cold, little bird," "Stay still," says Cee, using the branch like a paint brush. "There." She casts the stick aside and offers her hand. She pulls Ezra up and turns him around so he can see her handiwork, a feathered wing traced in the snow, fanning out from the shortened arc at his right side. "See?" "Yeah. I see." Ezra pulls Cee against his chest, she stiffens, then lets herself be hugged, her arms creeping around his middle. "S'okay, Birdie," he murmurs into her hair and you turn away, embarrassed, feeling like you've seen something you shouldn't. The next gust of wind comes with a raft of blown snow, rough and cold against your cheeks. You bend down and draw your name in the snow with an outstretched finger and think of how very far you are from Falnost, the only one in your family to make it up out of the well and see snow. "Come on in before you freeze," calls Ezra, he stands at the ramp and waves, "The snow'll be here tomorrow." You smile. "Yeah. I suppose it will."

"Hey! Hey wake up!" Cee's voice cuts into your dreams, harsh and breathy and urgent and you are reaching for the thrower beneath your crash-couch before your eyes can unstick themselves. "Whuzzit birdie--" Ezra's sleep befuddled voice murmurs someplace to your left "Come on!" says Cee, and she's climbing into her gear, green witch-light shines through the pod's small, rounded windows, "You've got to see!" You pull on your thermal gear and follow her out the door and down the ramp, still half asleep. "What is this?" "I don't know," says Cee, her hand finds yours and the sky writhes overhead, shivering bands of green like curtains, like incandescent ribbons, dimming and shifting and brightening, columns that ascend into the dark, stars muted behind them. No sound at all, a silent ignition, silver-green edged in red. You feel Ezra fetch up beside you, his hand finding yours. "What am I looking at, Ez?" He squeezes your fingers. "It's an aurora," he says, "I think. I've never seen one before. Just vids." "It's so quiet," you say, your voice dropping to a whisper without even thinking. "It is," says Ezra. There is no sound at all associated with the shifting columns, the world gone so still that you can hear your crewmates breathing, hear the soft sussurration of your own pulse. You pull your eyes away from the churning sky to look at your friends’ faces, Cee smiles, wide and open, her pale hair frosted green, eyes alight. Ezra's face is a study in naked wonder, and it's like you’re seeing him for the first time, no spacer's charm, no worldly confidence, just him smiling up at the sky. You squeeze their hands and they squeeze back.

#prospect #prickle 'verse #ezra x f!reader w/cee #ezra x prickle #prickle 'verse au #ezra prospect #cee prospect #ezra and cee #ezra (prospect) x f!reader w/cee

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boy-above · 10 months ago

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HI MARMAR can u tell me abt miss furina please. I haven’t been playing and probably won’t be able to for a while and I wanna know her deal…everybody loves her so much i must know context + ur statistically correct and based opinions

omg omg huge poilers everyone but!!

furina is the hydro archon. or is she?? 🤫 for 500 years she's been masquerading as the hydro archon but she's not quite as she seems. furina as we know her is basically human, and when we first met her she actually couldn't even control the elements, she didn't even have a vision! it's more complicated than i'm abt to explain and i could have misinterpreted some things (so if anyone sees any inconsistencies let me know lol) but basically: every person native to fontaine is an oceanid who was turned into a human by the previous hydro archon, egeria. this act was considered "creating life" by the heavenly principles which is a big nono so as punishment fontaine was destined to be flooded by the primordial sea. and because the people of fontaine are oceanids with that sea water in them, touching primordial sea water causes any person in fontaine to dissolve back into water. thusly, if fontaine was flooded not only would it be destroyed, but everyone would dissolve immediately upon contact with the water, so there'd be very little hope of survivors. after egeria died, the new archon focalors took her place. focalors made it her mission to stop the prophecy from coming true, and to do that she needed to fool celestia. so she split herself into two beings, the divine focalors and the humanity that's furina. furina was made to masquerade as a goddess for 500 years, waiting for the moment focalors could finally put her plan into action. these 500 years were full of loneliness and despair as furina couldn't tell anyone of her secret lest the plan fail. pretending to be an archon as a human is a very hard thing to do, she couldn't even manipulate the elements because she didn't have a vision! anyway, focalors managed to enact her plan by executing herself and giving her power back to neuvillette, the hydro sovereign dragon. he then used his power to turn all the oceanids into real humans, so when fontaine flooded nobody dissolved. focalors plan was successful and fontaine was saved, but it was a bittersweet ending for furina because she still had to live with the trauma of those 500 years she spent alone, and since focalors had died a piece of her was missing. on top of her trying to navigate her new life as a regular person with a regular human job and apartment. she never acted again obviously, but managed to find her passion in the form of directing instead, finally feeling a sense of control in her life, and she recieved her vision as a result :')

i love furina very much and i think a lot of ppl love her bc of how detailed they get into her character in terms of how she feels, we know the most about her out of any archon probably (i suppose nahida is up there tho). i wish so badly that we could get an in depth look at venti's feelings for example the same way we did for furina, but alas it's not so.

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themculibrary · 1 year ago

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Fics With Titles That Start With Z Masterlist

Zap! (ao3) - orphan_account steve/tony, pepper/tony E, 13k

Summary: All you had to do was touch your other half and zap! Literally, you got an electric shock and some lovely blue patterns wherever you happened to touch. Tony never thought he would get a soulmate until he did, and as luck would have it, it would be the good old Captain America! How could two people be so different and yet so perfect for each other?

Zap (ao3) - LegendsofSnark bucky/clint E, 1k

Summary: Tony creates a set of Avengers toys, Clint tests one out

Zelenyy (ao3) - hitlikehammers steve/bucky, clint/phil T, 3k

Summary: zelenyy, зеленый (adj): green; verdant.

If anyone thinks the whole Right on, fuck yeah, let’s join up with the goddamn Avengers! choice was an easy one, well: they’re wrong.

Screwing with Tony Stark, however, is a really good barometer of how far Bucky’s come in the process of living out said choice.

Zen and the Art of Steve Rogers (ao3) - Gfawkes steve/bucky E, 45k

Summary: "Damn. This fucker is stripped."

And so he was.

Bucky had stripped off his t-shirt. A beautiful thunderbird tattoo flexing its spread wings across his shoulder blades.

Desire flared inside Steve, like the flaming bird burned into Bucky's skin. Half of him suddenly regretted every decision he'd ever made. The other half thanked the gods he was standing where he was.

zen & the art of superhero maintenance (ao3) - curiouslyfic clint/steve T, 7k

Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Bed-Stuy, Clint gets a new tenant.

He doesn't move in alone.

Zenith (ao3) - Cyan_Rain wanda/vision T, 61k

Summary: Billy and Tommy wake up miles from Westview, in a world that's nothing like the idyllic life their mother made for them, a world still reeling from a bizarre mass disappearance and reappearance people are starting to call "The Blip."

Six years later, there has been no sign of Wanda for so long she's presumed dead. Her children decide it's time to find answers.

Billy, Tommy, Vision, Doctor Strange, America Chavez, and Reed Richards follow a series of clues to another universe, to a variant Earth so different from their own it might as well be an alien planet, where they will face unknown dangers, strange mysteries, and possibly the Scarlet Witch.

Zephyr in the Sky (ao3) - Ladyladylady bucky/clint E, 32k

Summary: Bucky Barnes did not expect Clint Barton to walk into his bar, but he wasn't surprised when he went home with him. No, it was more the three kids and ex-wife that caught him off-guard the next morning.

Join Bucky as he navigates a relationship with a (sexy) older man who's awfully good at keeping secrets while balancing his school, work, and borderline co-dependent friendships with the Maximoff twins.

A love story told through tarot cards and dim-lit bars.

Zeppelin Bend (ao3) - msraven clint/phil M, 8k

Summary: The idea of intimacy of any kind is laughable and my paranoia is increasing to the point where I rarely get more than a few hours of sleep at night. I’m tired and I’m lonely. So if you can help me with all or any of those, I say show me where to sign.

Or the fic where Phil is a very high-priced prostitute.

zero missed calls (ao3) - zippe mj/peter G, 6k

Summary: SPIDER-MAN: NO WAY HOME SPOILERS

Multi-universal communication through phone calls isn’t the easiest way to reach someone. Peter doesn’t care, because his phone is ringing when it never does.

Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart (ao3) - ereshai clint/phil G, 3k

Summary: Phil likes Clint more than he should, so he's just going to distance himself until he gets things under control. Too bad Clint isn't cooperating.

Zombie Hunters, Assemble (ao3) - ereshai clint/phil T, 1k

Summary: Clint has been traveling through the zombie-infested Midwest, alone except for his dog, Lucky.

Zombies (ao3) - EaSnowPw tony/stephen G, 4k

Summary: OR

The zombie survivors welcome a new member in their midst.

Zoo (ao3) - Crockzilla peter/wade, bucky/peggy/steve, pepper/tony, rhodey/sam T, 4k

Summary: Sam takes all five Littles to the zoo. At the same time. Rhodey helps.

Zoodipity (ao3) - Captain_Panda steve/tony T, 14k

Summary: Fury's finally had enough and has kicked the Avengers out of his house headquarters.

With the Grand Zoo Opening just around the corner, Tony's ability to wave a magic wand gets them a chance of a lifetime--or maybe the chance to get a lifetime ban from a Zoo that hasn't even opened yet.

On the bright side, at least they'll have lots of good stories to not tell!

Z to A (ao3) - memoriaeterna wanda/vision, pepper/tony T, 88k

Summary: The moment of disorientation was nothing compared to the next thing he saw. He was standing in the midst of an airport, looking directly at a girl with the familiar red leather coat. The mutual recognition was instant. Leipzig. Or, Peter and Wanda sent back in time to stop the inevitable. Good news: they are not alone. Bad news: who and from when.

#themculibrary #masterlists #marvel #mcu #ficsz #ficsz masterlist

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vinnymauro · 2 years ago

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wip search game

i was tagged by @quinnkeerys thank you!! my words are: sweet, deal, touch, wish, secret. i currently only have 3 wips so let’s see how this goes. forgot to post this the other day and have since finished the last chapter of don’t so this is my celebration.

from tied me to you (cheerscoops part 1)

In effort to forget about Chrissy Cunningham and her stupid smile, her stupid hair, Steve headed straight bore the backyard. Instantly met with cheers and immediately asked if he’ll raise his personal keg stand record. With a quick look at the keg and the guys surrounding it, the charming smile he’s known for slipped on and he gave one nod. “Fuck it, let’s do it.” King Steve does what King Steve does best. Later he ended up in bed with someone he’d never see again and it didn’t bother him. Truthfully, it doesn’t. By the beginning of November, Chrissy was out of his mind and replaced with another sophomore. Someone equally as warm and sweet, with sharper angles but beautiful eyes, a shy smile. She cares about school and grades and doing well. She’s so much better than any cheerleader. Nancy Wheeler felt right.

from cos you live in my daydreams (jargyle)

Did he? Things don’t feel the same anymore and Jonathan liked to believe it just had to do with the move, missing their friends and Hawkins, and that they’re going through the same trauma that he is. They’re still healing and maybe it’ll be a long while before anything will feel close to how they used to feel. El was still trying to get used to not having her powers and dealing with the loss of Hopper, all while trying to navigate high school and being a kid. Will is more withdrawn, missing his friends but it’s something more than that. Jonathan may see that they’re struggling but he’s finding it hard to reach out. Because a part of him wants to withdraw too.

from tied me to you

But nothing could ever touch Richard Harrington. Not even after getting caught with his assistant, Julie, and it’s why Steve’s mother can’t leave Richard alone on work trips. Richard Harrington is perfect. So his family had to be too. Fuck perfect, Harrington, live a little. Tommy’s voice wheedled into him, with a laugh and a shit-eating grin while Carol’s was milder, a pop of gum for emphasis while her laugh grated him. There is no angel that lives on Steve’s shoulders. He had a devil and a devil and they were apparently in love with each other.

from the last chapter of don’t don’t don’t throw it away (edancy)

*wish came up 4 times just from eddie’s pov. “Shit.” He scrambled getting up, not bothering to pick up any of their stuff, “hey! Come on. Where are you going?” “Away from you before I decide to kill you,” luckily she had stopped walking shortly after speaking, leaving them to be coated in darkness, the music barely reaching them. He wished he could see her properly. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”

from the last chapter of don’t

*secret came up three times in this chapter Instead, Holly had been the one who had pulled the whole thing into light. She had grown attached to Eddie after their one time hang out, evident enough to Nancy whenever she would ask and often reminded Holly not to say anything in front of their mother. It was supposed to be a secret between sisters. Well, six year olds aren’t the best secret keepers in the world. She asked, rather loudly, if Eddie would be coming to Nancy’s graduation dinner. All while Karen was still holding on her hand and Eddie had walked up at the same moment.

tagged: @stargyles @iero @willaferreyras @rejectofsociety and if you feel like doing this at all just feel free to say i tagged you!! idk who writes anymore bc i’m self absorbed 💀

your words are: alone, control, pieces, home, stay

#acey writes #anyway i feel very 🥺 abt tagging so don’t feel the need to do anything

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jcmarchi · 8 months ago

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Demystifying Screen Readers: Accessible Forms & Best Practices

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/demystifying-screen-readers-accessible-forms-best-practices/

Demystifying Screen Readers: Accessible Forms & Best Practices

This is the 3rd post in a small series we are doing on form accessibility. If you missed the 2nd post, check out Managing User Focus with :focus-visible. In this post we are going to look at using a screen reader when navigating a form, and also some best practices.

What is a Screen Reader?

You may have heard the term “screen reader” as you have been moving around the web. You might even be using a screen reader at this moment to run manual accessibility tests on the experiences you are building. A screen reader is a type of AT or assistive technology.

A screen reader converts digital text into synthesized speech or Braille output, commonly seen with a Braille reader.

In this example, I will be using Mac VO. Mac VO (VoiceOver) is built-in to all Mac devices; iOS, iPadOS, and macOS systems. Depending on the type of device you are running macOS on, opening VO could differ. The Macbook Pro that is running VO I am writing this on doesn’t have the touch bar, so I will be using the shortcut keys according to the hardware.

Spinning Up VO on macOS

If you are using an updated Macbook Pro, the keyboard on your machine will look something like the image below.

You will start by holding down the cmd key and then pressing the Touch ID three times quickly.

If you are on a MBP (MacBook Pro) with a TouchBar, you will use the shortcut cmd+fn+f5 to turn on VO. If you are using a traditional keyboard with your desktop or laptop, the keys should be the same or you will have to toggle VO on in the Accessibility settings.. Once VO is turned on, you will be greeted with this dialog along with a vocalized introduction to VO.

If you click the “Use VoiceOver” button you are well on your way to using VO to test your websites and apps. One thing to keep in mind is that VO is optimized for use with Safari. That being said, make sure when you are running your screen reader test that Safari is the browser you are using. That goes for the iPhone and iPad as well.

There are two main ways you can use VO from the start. The way I personally use it is by navigating to a website and using a combination of the tab, control, option, shift and arrow keys, I can navigate through the experience efficiently with these keys alone.

Another common way to navigate the experience is by using the VoiceOver Rotor. The Rotor is a feature designed to navigate directly to where you want to be in the experience. By using the Rotor, you eliminate having to traverse through the whole site, think of it as a “Choose Your Own Adventure”.

Modifier Keys

Modifier keys are the way you use the different features in VO. The default modifier key or VO is control + option but you can change it to caps lock or choose both options to use interchangeably.

Using the Rotor

In order to use the Rotor you have to use a combination of your modifier key(s) and the letter “U”. For me, my modifier key is caps lock. I press caps lock + U and the Rotor spins up for me. Once the Rotor comes up I can navigate to any part of the experience that I want using the left and right arrows.

youtube

Using the Rotor in VoiceOver

Navigating By Heading Level

Another neat way to navigate the experience is by heading level. If you use the combination of your modifier keys + cmd + H you can traverse the document structure based on heading levels. You can also move back up the document by pressing shift in the sequence like so, modifier keys + shift + cmd + H.

youtube

Using the Heading Level Shortcut with VoiceOver

History & Best Practices

Forms are one of the most powerful native elements we have in HTML. Whether you are searching for something on a page, submitting a form to purchase something or submit a survey. Forms are a cornerstone of the web, and were a catalyst that introduced interactivity to our experiences.

The history of the web form dates back to September 1995 when it was introduced in the HTML 2.0 spec. Some say the good ole days of the web, at least I say that. Stephanie Stimac wrote an awesome article on Smashing Magazine titled, “Standardizing Select And Beyond: The Past, Present And Future Of Native HTML Form Controls”.

The following are 5 best practices to follow when building an accessible form for the web.

Make sure that you are using a form element. Forms are accessible by default and should be used over div’s at all times.

Be sure to use the for and id attributes on label’s and input’s so that they are linked. This way, if you click/tap the label, focus will shift to the input and you can start typing.

If a field is required in order for the form to be complete, use the required attribute and the aria-required attribute. These will restrict the form from being submitted. The aria-required attribute explicitly tells the assistive tech that the field is required.

Use the, :focus, :focus-within and :focus-visible CSS pseudo classes to manage and customize how a user receives focus.

form:focus-within background-color: #cfffcf; input:focus-within border: 10px solid #000000; input:focus-visible, select:focus-visible, textarea:focus-visible outline: 2px solid crimson; border-radius: 3px;

A button is used to invoke an action, like submitting a form. Use it! Don’t create buttons using div’s. A div by definition is a divider. It has no inherent accessibility properties.

Demo

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Navigating a Web Form with VoiceOver

If you want to check out the code, navigate to the VoiceOver Demo GitHub repo. If you want to try out the demo above with your screen reader of choice, check out Navigating a Web Form with VoiceOver.

Screen Reader Software

Below is a list of various types of screen reader software you can use on your given operating system. If a Mac is not your machine of choice, there are options out there for Windows and Linux, as well as for Android devices.

NVDA

NVDA is a screen reader from NV Access. It is currently only supported on PC’s running Microsoft Windows 7 SP1 and later. For more access, check out the NVDA version 2024.1 download page on the NV Access website!

JAWS

“We need a better screen reader”

– Anonymous

If you understood the reference above, you are in good company. According to the JAWS website, this is what it is in a nutshell:

“JAWS, Job Access With Speech, is the world’s most popular screen reader, developed for computer users whose vision loss prevents them from seeing screen content or navigating with a mouse. JAWS provides speech and Braille output for the most popular computer applications on your PC. You will be able to navigate the Internet, write a document, read an email and create presentations from your office, remote desktop, or from home.”

JAWS website

Check out JAWS for yourself and if that solution fits your needs, definitely give it a shot!

Narrator

Narrator is a built-in screen reader solution that ships with WIndows 11. If you choose to use this as your screen reader of choice, the link below is for support documentation on its usage.

Complete guide to Narrator

Orca

Orca is a screen reader that can be used on different Linux distributions running GNOME.

“Orca is a free, open source, flexible, and extensible screen reader that provides access to the graphical desktop via speech and refreshable braille.

Orca works with applications and toolkits that support the Assistive Technology Service Provider Interface (AT-SPI), which is the primary assistive technology infrastructure for Linux and Solaris. Applications and toolkits supporting the AT-SPI include the GNOME Gtk+ toolkit, the Java platform’s Swing toolkit, LibreOffice, Gecko, and WebKitGtk. AT-SPI support for the KDE Qt toolkit is being pursued.”

Orca Website

TalkBack

Google TalkBack is the screen reader that is used on Android devices. For more information on turning it on and using it, check out this article on the Android Accessibility Support Site.

Browser Support

If you are looking for actual browser support for HTML elements and ARIA (Accessible Rich Internet Application) attributes, I suggest caniuse.com for HTML and Accessibility Support for ARIA to get the latest 4-1-1 on browser support. Remember, if the browser doesn’t support the tech, chances are the screen reader won’t either.

DigitalA11Y can help summarize browser and screen reader info with their article, Screen Readers and Browsers! Which is the Best Combination for Accessibility Testing?

Links

https://support.apple.com/guide/voiceover/with-the-voiceover-rotor-mchlp2719/mac

https://www.w3.org/TR/wai-aria/

https://www.w3.org/WAI/standards-guidelines/aria/

https://support.google.com/accessibility/android/answer/6283677?hl=en

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