#i’ve been on balanced i might need to go up to challenging because this is too ez | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oh-babylove · 3 months ago

Text

~7k. copia/f!reader. explicit. established relationship, smut, filth and fluff. copia does date night, and you show him your appreciation-- it's only fair. mdni.

thanks to @copia for showing me how to put images in a grid-- top right image by instagram user susitse.art. @enjoy-my-swearing and @photiniainsummer, this one's for you. <3

when the red comes over you - ao3

rhrn spoilers. blowjobs, masturbation, dirty talk, light degradation, a small piece of light cum kink, a touch of hanky-panky in public, some thigh riding, face-fucking, fluff, tw: references to past sexual assault/dubious consent/sexual trauma

You’re holding the same pole on the subway car as Copia, his gloved hand over yours, swaying with him, forced into his space by the crowd. It gives you an excuse to stand close to him, in the circle of his scent like cold smoke. You're not complaining– well, not much. Keeping your balance is a bit of a challenge– you aren't used to doing this in heels, even these modest Cuban heels. Riding the subway truly is riding, the rhythmic thrum of the rails swaying up your body, through the balls of your feet. Riding the train feels like riding a living thing.

“I like this,” you say, as if coming to a decision.

“Hnn?” Copia replies, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at you.

“Riding the train. I like it.” You lean in to murmur in his ear, not that you have far to go. It’s a matter of tilting your head until you can feel the warmth of his skin against your cheek. “But I’d like riding you even more.” It’s just the kind of cheesy nonsense that you’re both into.

Your body keeps brushing against his– a particularly hard bump has your belly pressed against his erection, and his choked-off gasp scores a direct hit to your brain stem, bypassing your ears, cinching something tight around your diaphragm. His hand tightens on your hip, possessive. Holding you up, keeping your balance.

“You little minx,” he hisses, frustrated--with a ragged edge of delight. “You wait till I get you home.”

“You caint blame that on me, now, that was the train,” you say, but you're close to laughing, yourself. You can hear your accent getting thicker, but damned if you can stop it. Besides, Copia loves it, loves ruffling your feathers enough that he can get you to slide back into that slurring hillfolk drawl. Someday he might even make you less self-conscious about it.

Truth be told, you’ve been practically vibrating since before you left the apartment, restless and swollen between the legs, a low-grade ache that Copia has not been helpful with.

(The apartment. Your apartment. Yours, plural, now, you think. You’d never been a co-religionist of his, and he’d had a toothbrush at your place for a long time. Then a drawer in your dresser. Then he’d brought over his best frying pan, his best chef knife– simply because he couldn’t stand it, gattina, you cook with that? And now there’s as many of his books as yours on the shelves– shelves you put up with your own hands while he did ‘the heavy lookin’ on.’ His name isn’t on the lease, but he paid the rent for the next two months anyway. In full.

When you tried to fight him on it, he’d just shrugged. “Babydoll, I’ve been here more nights than I haven’t for the last four months, this is just… ehh, consider it backdated, yeah?” He’d kissed your forehead. “We can do half each after that. If you haven’t gotten sick of your dirty old man by then.”

It was hard to argue with that.

Copia kept his room at the Ministry, even after his… promotion. His term as Imperator, he’d decided, would be more hands off. You’d talked about it a little. Mostly in bed, sweaty and spent and a little sticky. “Mister Psaltarian is more than capable of running most of it. The administrative things. I’m better with the ghouls, I think, but there’s Kevin, and Ashley, they have it well in hand. I want the new guy to– to be able to be his own man, yeah? I’ll show him the ropes, of course, answer any questions he has, but he doesn’t need me looking over his shoulder all the damn time.”

The new guy. Hell of a way to refer to his long-lost brother. “And you ain’t ready to be around him twenty-four seven just yet.”

“...And that. Yes.” He was quiet for a moment. “You’re too perceptive, gattina. Keep it up and I’ll have to fuck you again, till you don’t think so good.”

“So… you sayin’ you gone fuck my brains out? Say, you ever notice that your man Psaltarian loses his train of thought whenever Kevin comes into the room?”

“That’s it, back in the handcuffs with you. And remember, you brought this on yourself.”)

As ever, he’d insisted on doing your makeup. (It should have been your first clue that you were in for it.) It only makes sense-- he’s better at it than you’ve ever been, and he loves doing it. You love it, too, if you’re honest. He had to take his gloves off for it, to hold your chin firmly and keep you in place. It was terribly intimate, his breath ghosting over your lips, the skin of his hand against your cheek. His quiet, gentle command held something still in the center of you, made it sing like a struck tuning fork– a calm vibration that sank into your bones. The cool brush of the eyeliner on the delicate skin of your eyelids. How meticulous he’d been, how precise. That calm focus he brings to everything that he cares about. How his whole being focused on that point, painting cat eyes sharp enough to kill a man.

Your lipstick had been worse, barely holding your mouth open, the brush sliding over the curve of your cupid’s bow, stretching out your lower lip ever so slightly. You hadn’t even known they’d made brushes for lipstick. Copia has taught you so many things.

Copia knows just what shades of red match your skin tone, knows just how to bring out the color of your eyes. He knows, too, the best cut of a dress to accentuate your figure, to flatter your curves. This one was lovely, shaping your breasts, with a little bit of flare to the skirt. He bought you this dress, these heels. This lingerie. He’s taught you how to fasten a silk stocking to a garter belt, that the underwear goes on over the garters, not underneath.

He’d taken the liberty of fastening your stockings tonight. “So the back seam is straight, gattina. I know it’s tricky to get right on your own, yes? Let me help.” His hands, his clever fingers, so high up on your thighs, his face level with your pussy.

“Oh yeah, sweetness, you're helping something, alright,” you choked out, a little strangled.

He must have seen how wet you were already, if the self-satisfied hum he made behind you was any indication. He bit the crease of your ass, just lightly, making a goofy little rawr noise that made you actually giggle.

Embarrassing, the noises he gets out of you.

“You shaved,” he said, and it was supremely gratifying to hear him a little hoarse, himself.

“Did you wanna do that, too?”

“Hnn. We’d miss our reservation.” He wasn't moving from his place on his knees behind you. “Miss the show.”

“Sound like you're enjoying this show purt’ well,” you said, but you thought it best to step into your underwear, anyway.

Pain shared is pain lessened, isn't it?

…He didn't need to know that you only kept them on for a couple of minutes, just until you used the bathroom one last time on the way out the door.

You almost never know in advance where exactly Copia will take you when it's his turn to plan date night- generally your only clue is what clothing he picks out for you, how he does your makeup, if makeup is required. You've ranged over the city hitting up obscure museums before, taken tours in the underbelly of the public transportation system, gone to aviaries and magic shops and tiny greenhouses.

(You like to think you hold your own. Dive bars and twenty four hour diners, sidewalk art festivals and night markets, one memorable instance of a graffiti lesson– that had been an unexpected delight.

Your man can be blisteringly uncool sometimes– most of the time, even– but there's no snobbery in him. No fear, either, not in the way most people are afraid: of embarrassing themselves, saying the wrong thing, of looking like a jackass. He hadn't been good at it, but he threw himself into the attempt wholeheartedly, listened to the man in the baggy jeans with the paint-stained fingers explain technique and theory and the history of the medium with total attention and enthusiasm.

Never will you reach the bottom of him. His openness and his generosity and his good, good heart.)

Dinner and a show is almost a little pedestrian, for him, but there's comfort in the classics. A bar paneled in blond wood and washed in warm light, specializing in rare vinyls piped in on a very serious sound system as much as the cocktails.

He’d been very good, kept his knee between yours, but otherwise, hadn’t even tried to put a hand up your skirt– a rarity, with him. His eyes told a different story, watching you with obvious, predatory hunger. The second time you caught him ogling your cleavage he leaned into it, dragging his eyes salaciously down your body with enough force that you nearly felt his gloves snagging on your skin.

The cheeky motherfucker actually licked his lips at you.

You barked out your unlovely laugh, and the way he grinned took the sting out of the sharp glances cast your way– the aim was to listen to the obscure bossa nova, not to your fellow patrons. Your face was hot. “Ah, gattina, you cannot blame a man for looking. Not when you are as ravishing as that.” It wasn��t helping the heat in your face.

A glance at the mirror over the bar, old and pitted and a little smoky, the perfect self-aware touch of authenticity. You’d never have recognized the woman looking back, not when you first met Copia, this exquisite creature with perfect makeup. Sharp. Sexy.

You don’t hate it.

“...Y’outdid yourself,” you said, slow. You didn’t look real to yourself, this absolute pinnacle of femininity. Copia’s gaze softened, warmed, less the slavering predator and more– a naked adoration that was hard to look at.

(Of course, neither expression was comparable to the first time he’d put you in an exquisitely tailored three-piece suit. You’d thought the man was going to pass out from how quickly his blood rushed south– but that’s a story for another day.)

He crowded your space, just this side of indecent, his knee halfway between your thighs. Copia fed you little morsels from his own fork of– whatever this was. A vaguely mediterranean inspired amuse-bouche. He took his time with it, making you duck your head while the cool tines slid against your lower lip. You kept his eyes for it, moving slow, relishing the way his mouth hung open.

It’s a little much, in public, truly.

You weren’t even sure what you were eating, something perfectly balanced with rich cream, phyllo dough, an acidic tang. Spanakopita when it’s got a Michelin star or two, you thought. Copia’s little shudder at your groan of appreciation didn’t escape your notice, but you managed to keep the smugness out of your expression with truly heroic effort.

From there, it was a short taxi ride with his gloved hand heavy on your knee, Copia keeping up a stream of polite chatter that you barely heard a word of. He’d gotten box seats in a lovely little jewel box of a theatre, for a revival of a classic two-man existential tragicomedy starring a couple of aging comedic actors known for their roles in a cultural zeitgeist film from around the turn of the last century.

It was a good effort, all told, and the actors weren’t bad– they had a chemistry borne out of twenty years of friendship that’s impossible to replicate. But Copia proved that he’s a true and faithful servant of the Devil somewhere around the start of the second act, when he peeled a glove off with his teeth.

Your chest went tight.

No wonder he wanted box seats, you thought, as he settled his hand back on your knee. Like it belonged there, like he had perfect possession of it, every right to edge just under the hem of your skirt.

(His hands-- you love his hands. He’s self-conscious about the hair on the back of them, the dusting of freckles. Large and well-made and skilled, seeing them is like sharing a secret. A gift. He’s squeamish about textures, too sensitive, the slightest scrape will make him shudder-- and not in a fun way. Sandpaper would be torture. Anything gelatinous is right out. You get used to the constant grime and the vague awareness of filth you get on your hands, living in a city. It’s not so bad, for you, you invest in hand sanitizer and don’t touch your face. It’s the price you pay for living in a place with something like a subway, where things pulse and hum and never truly sleep, to be a microbe in the gut of this beast of a city, to be a tiny cog in the great machine.

You love it here. You didn’t think you would. Hell, you didn’t think you could. “It’s growing on me,” you told Copia one day, cool as you like, as if you weren’t giving anything away. “A little.”

“You have no talent for bullshit, babydoll,” he said, both dry and terribly fond.)

All of your awareness focused on the soft warmth of him enveloping your knee, the rough scrape of his calluses on the inside of your thigh– a new sensation, he’s taken the acoustic guitar back up recently. Not moving, just–holding.

You kept your eyes forward, and your breathing even.

His thumb slid over your kneecap, absentmindedly tracing little circles. Your legs fell open a little wider, just so your thighs weren’t touching. You were terribly, achingly aware of the air on your cunt.

A soft stroke back and forth, a gesture that could have been reflexive, thoughtless– if it wasn’t for the beatific expression on his face, his eyes forward and too-innocent. It would have been more convincing if he hadn’t been inching his slow way upwards, featherlight touches, tracing up and back down, up and back down. Just a millimeter higher each time. An agonizingly slow drag, a glacial pace.

Your grip tightened on the armrest.

Copia leaned forward, his breath in your ear. “Why, gattina,” he purred. “I do not think you are even paying attention to the play.”

“You are,” you managed, “a real sunnavbitch, you know it?”

He only chuckled low, and ran his touch to the top of your thigh. The side of his hand brushed up against your wet cunt and you both gasped.

“You little slut,” he hissed, with obvious pride. “So eager for me already.”

He dragged the very tip of one finger up between your lips, so slick it was almost frictionless, pulling away just before he could touch your clit. You took a ragged breath that was nearly a whine, bereft at the loss of his touch. You felt your cunt clench over nothing, an involuntary contraction.

Copia hummed in mock-sympathy, and took mercy on you, cupping your whole cunt with his broad hand, steady and even pressure that was nowhere near enough, but at least took a little of the edge off.

His middle finger slid naturally between your labia majora, and settled there, his fingertip crooked so he could just barely feel the inside of you.

The bastard stayed that way for the rest of the performance, sometimes giving you a gentle squeeze, sometimes pulling away to slide his fingertip back up to circle your clit. Just often enough to keep your attention focused where he wanted.

Evil, evil man.

Copia retracted his hand before the lights went up, giving you one final squeeze. He kept your eyes as he brought his hand up to his face, inhaled deeply, and surreptitiously licked his palm before fitting his hand back into his glove for the applause.

“Play weren’t that bad,” you said, weakly. “No call to do- alla that.”

“Oh? Didn’t you tell me you had a crush on the– which was it, the one with the dark hair– as a little girl? You want to wait around, go to the stage door, get an autograph?” All innocence, all the accommodating boyfriend.

“I revise my previous opinion. You are the Lebron James of being a sunnavabitch.” Despite your discomfort in heels, you couldn’t drag him to the train home fast enough.

So now, here you are. You shiver a little, in this hot and humid subway car, remembering. You bite your lip and can taste the wax of your lipstick.

Copia sees it, of course he does, how your eyes go just a little glazed. He smirks a terribly self-satisfied smirk. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, this’d cost you at least a dollar. Maybe five nintey-nine.”

“Inflation is just outrageous these days. Highway robbery. I’m shocked.”

“Not yet, you aren’t.”

“You are talking a big game, babydoll. Be careful, I think, ehh-- your mouth is writing checks your ass can’t cash.” His hand heavy on your hip, almost indecent. His boot between your shoes, the sweet curve of his thigh displacing your skirt. He’s so close, so warm and solid. The train is packed, but he’s all you can see, all you can feel. His breath in your ear, pitched low. “Your pussy can’t cash.”

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from grinding on his thigh in the middle of the train. “Sweetness,” you croak out. “We’re in public.”

He leans back, conciliatory. Terribly smug. The world fades back in. You catch a teenager in a hoodie smirking at the two of you, a direct and uncomfortable gaze that feels more taboo in this city than even the way your hips keep shifting, restless. You feel almost drunk, stepping into the warmth of his body and his hard cock between your hip and your belly, a little vindictive, relishing his frustrated little grunt in your ear.

“Two more stops, gattina,” he murmurs, as much for his benefit as yours. You see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “We can make it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you manage.

He drags you roughly by your elbow off the train, in a way that has your fellow passengers actually making a faint murmur of disapproval at the way he growls. He might be leaving a bruise on your arm. Can’t be helped. You’re laughing up the stairs, your heels loud on the concrete and metal, giddy, just this side of hysterical.

He’s clumsy with the keys when you get to your apartment building, following you up the stairs so he can look up your skirt. “Can’t believe– I watched you put those on.”

“You just mad you didn’t get to watch me take ‘em off.”

He’s on your neck like a lamprey when you get to your door, and now it’s your turn to be clumsy while you paw through your purse, his hot wet mouth insistent, just under your ear, his teeth grazing your skin. His hands firm on your breasts, pushing the neckline of your dress down so he can fill his hands with them, gripping almost hard enough to hurt. He’s trapping you against the door, grinding into your ass while you fumble with the lock.

“What’re you– you tryna fuck me in the hallway?” you gasp. He’s reaching up your skirt now, his bare palm at the top of your stocking. When did he take his gloves off?

“I will,” he growls, “if you don’t hurry the fuck up.”

You somehow make it in the door without breaking the key off in the lock, and you give him just enough time to slide the bolt home before you’re shoving him onto the couch. You’re in his lap just as quick, your mouth on his, nearly biting him as he laughs into your mouth. Christ, you didn’t even get out of your heels.

He’s warm under you, solid muscle under a sweet softness around the middle, and you can’t unbutton his shirt fast enough. His tongue in your mouth is making you clumsy, making it hard to keep track of how buttons work, shorting out basic motor functions. When you make it, you groan at his fur under your palms, and then he shoves his thigh between your legs and you whine when you grind your wet cunt against it. You have to break off from his mouth for it, clinging to his shoulders.

Your lipstick is all over Copia’s face. He’s grinning, rapt, delighted, impossibly fond. The man’s face is so pink it looks like he’s been slapped around. “Good, eh?” He pushes his thigh forward again, his hand up your dress and on your ass. “You like that?” He’s pulling you into it, making you drag your cunt over his tight jeans. The seam running down the front of his thigh hits your clit and you gasp. “So fucking desperate you need to hump my leg, filthy little thing.”

You roll against him once or twice more, because he’s right, it feels so good, those long runner’s thighs, the coiled power of him. That hard muscle and rough fabric against you, his body between your knees, so warm and familiar and beloved.

But his smirk is just a little too smug for your taste, so you have to make yourself stop before you fall too deep into a rhythm. Even if you actually hurt with being so turned on for so long. You get his shirt the rest of the way open, have to bend your head to suck a nipple into your mouth– the terrible brand over his heart level with your eyes– and bite. It’s not hard, but it does raise his back off the couch, and distract him from you eeling down between his legs to kneel on the floor.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, looking down at you, knowing (some of) what you have in mind.

Your hand is on his belt buckle, and the sheer Pavlovian reaction you have to the sound of undoing it with one hand forces you to press your cheek to his thigh and focus on your breathing for a moment.

You laugh, shaky. You left an actual wet spot on his jeans.

Copia’s hand is in your hair, fingernails running along your scalp, soothing, grounding you. “Baby?” he asks. “Babydoll, are you alright? We don’t have to–”

“No.” You catch your breath, look back up at him, and his mismatched eyes go from soft and sweet to almost afraid, when he sees your expression. The hunger there– you could eat him alive. “No, I was just– too turned on, for a second.”

“Oh.” He pets at you again, then his smile turns predatory as he sweeps your hair up in one hand and pulls tight. “Then why don’t you get to sucking my cock, puttana?”

Just for that, you lean up and bite at his belly, the sweet furry softness just below his navel. You laugh with a mouthful of his flesh at his yelp, how it turns into a groan as you unzip his jeans and take him in hand.

It isn’t as if you aren’t intimately (haha) familiar with his dick, but it’s always nice to see. You’d called it pretty, the first time you’d slept with him, and it really is an accurate description. (It had been emotional for a great many reasons, but that had touched him in ways he still couldn’t articulate.) Silky soft skin over the hard length of him, his head already shiny with precum. It’s the same color as his lips, under the paint.

“You see what you do to me, gattina?” he murmurs above you. “You wreck me. You’ve ruined me– or at least these pants.”

“It’ll come out in the wash,” you say, and take him into your mouth, slow suction, tasting salt. He fills your mouth, fills your hand, blood-warm and firm in your grip. You watch his eyes when you start to suck him down, loving, as you always do, how in that first moment he looks at you, whimpers at you, like you're breaking his heart.

You hear the dry click of him swallowing as you pull the soft skin of his cock further towards your mouth, your grip twisting, the slow churn of it. How his veins give under your lips, under your hand. It doesn’t take long to get him slick, the thick ridge of the underside of him heavy on your tongue. The musk of him fills your whole senses, thick and animal and a little gross.

His hips shift, and before you have to pull yourself off of him to tell him to talk, he’s doing what you want. “Look at you,” he breathes, reverent. “You’re so good at this, fucking made for this,” a twitch upwards, a movement too small to be called a thrust, “aren’t you? Born for this, your god made you to suck my cock. My perfect– ohh– perfect little cocksucker. Want it so bad, don’t you?”

His hand is heavy on the back of your skull, pushing you down with that even, steady pressure just how he likes. How you both like. “Don’t worry. I’ll give it to you, give you what you want.” He’s not choking you with it, you have plenty of room to work with your hand. Still, as you take him down further, swallowing around the thick length of him, you feel hot tears running down your cheeks, sheer dumb animal reaction. You slip your other hand to cradle his slick balls, rolling them gently, the weight of them a little cooler than the rest of his body. He makes a strangled noise, an “Ohh fuck, baby, babydoll, so good for me, so good to me, fuck, fuck–!”

His stutter and his loss of control are just too much, finally, you feel the air of the apartment cool at the top of your slick thighs, your swollen cunt, and you have to do something about it. You take your hand from his balls and slide it up your skirt, slowly enough to feel your silk stockings under your fingertips, slow enough that Copia catches it.

Just as you register how fucking wet you are, his eyes go wide and his hips shudder, the smooth hot head of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

Your grip tightens on the base of his cock, a warning. You freeze, staring blank and unseeing at his soft belly, before looking up at him imploringly. “Okay,” he says, gentling you like a frightened horse. His big hand moving in your hair. “Okay. But baby,” he's nearly whining as you slowly suckle on the head of him, faint living salt in your mouth, “I know you want it, you’re too fucking good at that to not want it, I. Ohhh.” His hand grips tight in your hair as you swallow around him, thick and hot on your tongue. “Oh, fuck.”

You’re finding your pace on his cock again, a little faster, your hands working in time on his cock, on your clit. Freshly shaved like this, you’re fantastically, impossibly slippery. “Ohh, fuck. Oh, sweet Satan. Oh my dear Lord Below.” Copia absolutely doesn’t know what he’s saying, he so rarely gets outright religious on you. It’s an unspoken courtesy you’ve extended to each other, so to hear him break it sends a smug little charge through you. You whimper a little around his cock, give yourself a little more pressure on your clit. He can’t keep still, not all the way, even though you know he’s trying, making little aborted movements of his hips.

Copia swallows. It’s remarkable how you can see him trying to pull himself together. “Knew you loved this,” he says, his voice creaking. “Can’t be that good at something if you don’t love it. Didn’t know you loved it this much, gattina.” A little more pressure on the back of your skull, his nails scraping your scalp. He isn’t exactly holding you down, but he isn’t letting you pull off, either. “Never had my cock sucked this good, never even had a man suck my cock this good, thought I liked that better, before you came along. Had so many people suck this cock–” and that hurts, a hot bolt of pain and arousal that hits your heart and your clit at the same time. Your pace falters, and it must show, because Copia slows as well.

It’s a sore spot. You know that his own inverted form of celibacy in the Ministry included a certain implied… availability that could be, charitably, unpleasant for him at times. Clergy take no wives, no husbands, but give themselves freely to their congregation. You haven’t pushed him on the things that happened to him, he usually insists it was fine, expected, normal– but you generally have to go for a long walk and break something after you talk about it. You know, too, that he had positive experiences there, genuinely caring relationships. It doesn’t exactly help matters that your own knowledge of partnered sex, before Copia, falls radically short of the mean for someone in your age group.

All of that goes through your head in a flash, and he knows it, he can read you so well, even between one stroke of his cock and the next. “Only– didn’t know you’d have a natural talent at this.” Petting at you, soothing, his thumb moving tender on your cheekbone. “Remember, how I had to teach you how to kiss, those hours in the park.” You make a noise on him, not sure if this is helping. “Loved that, babydoll, loved doing that with you, teaching you, drove me wild.” He’s murmuring low to you, his voice a little rough, a little too exposed. “But I– I was ready for you to bite it off, the first time you went down.”

Awkward thing, laughing with a mouth full of dick. But he keeps going. “I didn’t know, my baby. I didn’t know how it could feel. Didn’t know how good it could be.” He twitches in your mouth, in time with a tiny movement of his hips, so warm and alive in you. “Taught you how to kiss, but babylove, I swear I felt like a virgin when you took me to bed.” His voice is low and wrecked for different reasons than it was before, and oh no, his eyes are wet.

You let go of him, turn your head to wipe your mouth on your shoulder, quick and perfunctory. You can't take your eyes from him. "Sug," you say, unsure how to continue, the twisting in your chest too much for words, beyond anything you could articulate with language. Your knees creak a little as you start to get up, to do what you don't know. Kiss him or touch him or say something, anything, to the way he's looking at you.

Copia pushes you back down, his hand heavy at the back of your neck. His thumb slots right at the base of your skull, right where he likes to keep it when he kisses you. “No, no, you’re too good at this, I wouldn’t interrupt an artist.” Back in some semblance of control. “You’re too good, you make me feel too good, show me. Will you--? Please, baby, will you show me how it can be good--?"

"Well," you say, pumping slow at his cock. "I can try." You press a tiny kiss to the head of him, too sweet for the situation, relishing the way he shivers. You take him in, how his hair is a disaster, sticking up in the back, his shirt open, your makeup smeared all over his face, his body, the parts of his thighs that you can reach. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes a little glazed, his lips swollen from the way you kissed them and the way he's bitten them. He's wrecked, and he's yours.

You love him. With all your heart, all your mind, and, you're afraid, all your soul. It hurts to look at him, you think he might sear your eyes right out of your skull.

You close your eyes against it, at how it stings, and nuzzle into the silky skin of his cock. Copia's belly is soft, warm, furred, delightfully sticky under your touch, as you run your hand up the front of him, up until you're cupping the sweet curve of his pectoral, until you can feel the cruel scar of his branding under the pads of your fingers. You trace over it, mapping the vector of those interlocking sixes. You feel his pulse under your palm, under your lips. You drag your mouth back and forth, just to feel the soft, delicately crenelated skin, the coolness of his flesh here soothing your feverishness.

Copia makes a tiny wounded noise as his hand presses over yours. As if he could press his heart into your hand. He’s better at language than you’ve ever been, but you can see it falter and fail for him. All you know how to do is– action. It feels inadequate, somehow.

Your dear man. He sees you, and raises your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles in a courtly gesture. It should be absurd, with you on your knees for him, with the delicate skin of his cock against your mouth. Somehow, it isn’t, the alchemy of his tenderness conveying exactly what he means. What you mean, with the most vulnerable part of him between your teeth. “D’you want me to take you to bed, babydoll?”

“No,” you say, pulling off of him long enough to murmur it against his slick head. “Later, maybe. If you’re up to it. Right now, I want–” It’s easier to wrap your lips around him again, to tell him that way. You’re more eloquent with your mouth this way than you ever were with language.

“Alright,” he says, almost a gasp, as he returns your hand to you. “Touch yourself for me?” Almost pleading. As if your pleasure were a favor to bestow on him. “I want– wanna see you get off, my baby, wanna see how much you love doing this. So fucking hot–” His voice breaks off into a whine as you pull him further into your mouth.

His big hand on your head, stroking your hair back, so sweetly. “Do you want me to be a little mean? I know you like that.”

You moan around his cock in an unmistakable affirmative, rut a little harder into your hand, plead with your eyes.

Copia’s smile turns sharp, wicked. “My perfect little cocksucker.” The deep affection in his voice belies the words. “Perfect little cumslut.” Your hand is already back between your legs, and you might– might– be moving your hips a little more theatrically than strictly necessary.

He holds the back of your neck, the base of your skull, his grip tight. Just this side of painful. “You know how to tap out. How to get me to stop.” He pushes you down on him as he tilts his hips up to you, not quite cutting off your air. “But you’re not gonna do that, are you?”

Copia licks his lips. He looks feverish, making shallow little thrusts into your mouth. “No, you. Ohh, you like this too much.” He’s so careful, even like this, testing just how hard he can thrust, finding your limit and pushing just past it before backing down. It makes you moan, makes you shiver, makes your hand speed up on your cunt in time with the way he’s pushing into your throat.

“Cruel to me,” he croons, as he uses your mouth. “Keeping that sweet little pussy from me.” He’s panting. “I can hear it, hear how wet you are.” As he says it, you realize you can, too, the wet noise in counterpoint to the sound of you working his cock. “M’gonna make you pay for it. Hope you’re ready, gonna eat you out till m’hard again.” He’s got both hands on your head now, and he’s too far into you for you to use your hand on him.

“You’ll. Hnn. You’ll need me to, to eat you out. Make you cum on my face.” If it weren’t for the sheer adoration in his eyes, this would be brutal, the way he’s pushing into your throat. The speed of your hand on your clit. Moving with him, point and counterpoint. “Fuck, I’m gonna wreck it, gonna split your pretty little cunt open– I’ll last longer, after I cum down your throat.” You whine around his cock, your cunt clenching on nothing, shivering against your hand.

Copia sounds like he’s in pain. It feels like he can’t stop himself, the way his hips are working. “Gattina,” he whines, helplessly. “Can’t– can’t last much longer, you looking at me like that.” You can feel him trembling under your touch. “D’you. You want it?” Movements a little more shallow, holding himself in check. “You want this cum in your mouth?” A rough, jagged thrust. “Little slut–!” he hisses, and he’s not quite too far gone to grin in smug delight at the way you moan in reaction.

“Gonna cum like this?” he croons, taunting. His white eye bores into you, too bright, and he looks crazed. Deranged. It’s almost frightening, the way you can’t look away from it. Your eyes burn, hot tears on your cheeks, and you couldn’t stop rubbing your cunt if you tried. The way he’s watching you, the way he sees just how turned on you are by him using you like this. Like it’s shameful. “From me fucking your slut mouth like a little cocksleeve.” His voice is creaking, nearly out of control. “You want this cum? You want it? Hmm?”

You’re hanging on by a thread, your nerves strung out like piano wire, helpless before him. Your jaw hurts, his hand so tight in your hair. “Then take it.” He’s beckoning you over the edge, chanting, rapt. “Take it, take my cum, take my fucking cum–” he rasps, knowing exactly what will set you off, will snap the bright line of you.

You see his smile as you break, whining around his cock. How he lights up at it, overjoyed, crooked and tender. You hold his eyes the whole time, giving him as much of it as you can, letting him see all of it, the shining abyssal affection that crashes through your body for him, catching your nerve endings like fire through tinfoil.

“Ohh–! Precious,” he says, almost crying, “my precious girl, my baby, my–” his voice breaks on your name, the syllables like a song, like a prayer, like something more than holy, like the shahada, like the shema, like it's the last thing that he knows. You never knew your name until he held it in his mouth like this, at the uttermost end of himself. He’s flooding over your tongue, slick and bitter. Like the first jet from the fountain in school, sun-warmed metal, iron from the earth, living water.

His cock jumps in your mouth, and you’re shaking, trembling through your aftershocks and his as you swallow all of him, pull all of him into you, watching his eyes and his blissed out expression until his voice does– something wrecked. “You–!” he gasps, delighted. “C’mere, come up here, you’re too– too far away–” he’s pulling at you, babbling, delirious, so soft now.

Copia’s pulling you up, into his arms, his lap, too quick for you to wipe his cum and your spit from your mouth. “Dunno if I like it, you that far away, wanna feel your pretty little body when you cum, you–” And then he’s kissing on you, shivering, laughing, little pecks along your jawline till he reaches your mouth. He makes a deep, appreciative groan when he tastes himself on your lips. He pulls back to look at you, almost scandalized in delight.

You have to laugh at him. For once you can’t be bothered to be self-conscious about it. “Oh, I do like that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before he dives back in, like he has to get all of it. You’re still shaky, a fine shiver all down your spine. He’s almost clumsy, licking into your mouth, a real rarity for him. You try not to feel too smug about it.

You can’t stop smiling, when you finally get your mouth back. “Acceptable, then?”

“So good. Every time, I can’t believe–” he’s nuzzling at you, his nose against yours, totally uninhibited in his affection. “So perfect, so sweet, love you so much, thank you, thank you, baby–” Nonsense babble. Incoherently effusive. He scoops your legs across his lap and runs his hands over all of your skin that he can reach. “Perfetta…sei perfetta. Angioletto,” he murmurs, and you shiver. You haven’t heard that one in a while. “Angioletto mio,” he’s saying, into your hair, your skin, and it’s rare that you blow him all the way back to Italian. “Sei tutto ciò che voglio del Paradiso.” You’re a little too fucked-out to parse that all the way, but it still snags in your heart a little.

(He knows, usually, how you still aren’t used to being loved on this much. You know he restrains himself, tries not to overwhelm you. It breaks your heart, sometimes, when you see him hold himself back, even as his consideration makes you warm.)

Now, though, it’s good. It’s perfect. His pants are half off, his dick out, ridiculous. You think you might have snapped a garter, and you definitely put ladders in these stockings. You couldn’t give less of a shit. You loop your arms around his shoulders and bury your face in his neck, letting out a deep, contented sigh.

Copia’s still petting you– appropriate enough. You feel like a cat in a sunbeam, even supremely disheveled like this.

He squeezes you lightly, again, and makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “The, enh– the talking. It wasn’t too much?” Like he’s shy, all of a sudden.

“Noo!” You have to pull back to look up at him. “No, holy shit, sweetness, it was inspired. Even for you! Hot damn, baby. ‘Cocksleeve,’ where did that come from?”

“Ehh– a couple of times, there, I’m, ah. Not even sure I remember what I was saying.” Is he blushing? It’s adorable.

“No, it was great. I’d tell you if it weren’t, honeybunch.” You lean your head back against him, boneless and warm all the way through. “Naw, this was awesome. Ten outta ten, go Team Us.” You hold up your hand for a high-five, and your sweet man, he’ll never leave you hanging– the slap rings loud through your living room.

He tilts his head back onto the couch, looking up at the Devil’s Ivy crawling over your bookshelves. “Although,” he says, slow, considering. “I do seem to recall that I promised you I was gonna make you cum on my face.”

“And split my pussy open,” you remind him. “Or was you writing checks your dick can’t cash?”

“Babydoll, don’t you know by now?” He’s turning back to look at you, his mismatched eyes full of predatory adulation. “The Devil always keeps his promises.”

187 notes · View notes

dirtyvulture · 1 year ago

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Male!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by anon: Um *clears throat* Hello, I’m new in discovering your fics, and you’re the first writer I find who writes for male reader x Natasha Romanoff! I’ve only ever seen writers write for only female reader- BUT I UNDERSTAND REALLY, Natasha displayed major lesbian vibes and etc, and I fully support it really. But uh, as a male myself, and having Natasha as my favorite MCU character, it’s been rare finding fics for male reader, but again I’m not complaining, I fully support writers writing female writers!

Sorry I’m rambling, I just wanted to request, if you’re okay with it, something with male reader x Natasha with Father’s Day as the theme? Perhaps maybe Nat surprises reader that they’re gonna have a baby and all that? Of course there needs to be smut involved, I’ve read all your fics and clearly smut is a must have for the fic! Perhaps some daddy kink to throw in the mix?

And again, if it’s not on the books, I’ll understand!

AN: Enjoy, anon!

Natasha stares down at the little plastic stick in her trembling hands, blinking rapidly to make sure she’s not seeing blurred. There are two lines on the little window, matching the symbol for “Pregnant.”

She had never thought this could be possible, given what she had thought had happened in the Red Room, but maybe that hadn’t been an entirely honest truth--not that she was complaining.

She thinks about how she’s going to tell you, knowing how much you always wanted to be a father, but had accepted that biologically having children with her might have been a huge challenge. Maybe it wasn’t as difficult as either of you thought after all.

Natasha knows she can barely keep the news hidden for long, so she wraps the pregnancy test up carefully and hides it. She goes to make dinner before you come home, deciding to cook your favorite meal instead of her planned one.

The smell of sizzling steak greets you the moment you open the front door, and you’re shocked for a moment because Natasha had texted you that she was going to make spaghetti and meatballs instead. Not that you’re upset, you’re always grateful when she cooks for you. But steak was more of a special occasion kind of meal, and your personal favorite.

“Nat honey? I’m home,” you call out, dropping your work bag at the door and slipping off your shoes.

“In the kitchen!”

You walk through the living room and find your girlfriend standing at the stove, moving an impressively thick cut of meat from cast-iron pan to a plate.

“That looks really good, babe,” you say, greeting her with a kiss before going to help set the rest of the table.

“I made a salad, it’s in the fridge if you can get that out.”

“Sure.” You’re tempted to ask the occasion, but you wait. You grab the big glass bowl of salad and place it on the table. Natasha brings over two plates, one steak almost twice the size of the other, and puts the bigger one down in front of you.

“Thanks for cooking, Nat. I’m starving,” you say, eagerly grabbing your fork and knife and carving into the meat. Natasha clears her throat, offering you the salad bowl and you relent, making sure to take a healthy portion of vegetables to balance out the pure protein on your plate.

The meal is finished in relative silence--you would’ve struck up more conversation with her, but were too busy scarfing down your steak. It’s only when the last piece is gone that you sit back, patting your belly and smiling at her.

“That was amazing, Nat. What was the occasion?” you finally ask.

Natasha bounces in her seat, as if she had been waiting the whole time for you to ask. “You’re not gonna believe it, babe,” she says, getting up and grabbing something from behind the sink. She holds it out to you, wrapped in a napkin.

Slowly, you unravel it, surprised to see that it’s a pregnancy test, but even more surprised when you see that it’s showing a positive result.

“Is this...Is this yours?” you ask, not realizing how stupid the question is until it comes out of your mouth.

“Yes!” Natasha squeals, throwing herself at you and wrapping her arms around your waist tightly.

“Oh my God.” You squeeze her back, trying to comprehend the meaning of the pregnancy test. You can’t believe it. Natasha had told you she couldn’t get pregnant, so you had never bothered to use protection with her, but that wasn’t to say you didn’t want to be or were not ready to become a father. It was one of the few dreams you had carried with you your whole life, and while you had been a little sad about Natasha’s situation, she was still open to adoption and you knew you didn’t need to be biologically related to your child to be a good father.

“I can’t believe it, Nat,” you say, pressing a kiss to her head.

“You’re gonna be a daddy. My daddy.”

The word makes your head spin, and also causes a tightening at the front of your pants. You look down at yourself, slightly embarrassed, and Natasha caresses your growing bulge, causing your hips to jerk forward at the contact.

“Bedroom?” is all you can get out of your mouth before she takes your hand and drags you out of the kitchen. Both of you make quick work of your clothes and you join your girlfriend on the bed, your hands running along her sides with a soft reverence.

“I love you so much, Nat,” you say, kissing her. “You’re gonna be the best mother to our child.”

“Our child,” she repeats, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. You wipe them away and press your forehead to hers, not saying anything for a moment as your hand goes down and rests on her flat belly. Of course, it’s too early for her to show or for you to feel anything, but you still cannot wrap your head around the idea that you and Natasha are finally going to have a child together.

Natasha scratches up and down your back, digging her nails impatiently into your shoulder blades. You rock your hips against hers, your cock hardening faster when it rubs against the insides of her thighs.

“I want you, Daddy,” Natasha pleads, and this new use of the term has all the blood rushing down to your cock so fast you think you might pass out.

“You can have me, Nat,” you insist, leaning back to guide your tip to her entrance. You push into her gently, still wanting to be gentle with her even more than before, and her velvet walls wrap around your member with a familiar warmth. “Fuck,” you mutter, rolling your hips in short strokes, resisting the urge to pound into her without abandon.

“More,” Natasha demands, her hands curving around the back of your thighs and trying to pull you into her. “You don’t have to be careful with me,” she says, but you can’t imagine being rough with her anymore.

But the pulsing and squeezing around your cock overtakes your willpower and Natasha moans loudly as you finally begin slamming into her, driving your cock deep into her with each stroke.

“Yes, just like that, Daddy,” she whines, holding onto her knees to keep them as wide as possible. You watch with drool on your lips as your cock thrusts in and out of her soaking pussy. Your entire body begins to tremble as you feel yourself ready to finish.

“N-Nat, I’m gonna...I’m gonna...” you pant.

“Finish in me,” Natasha says, and the reminder that the thought that you don’t have to pull out because she’s already pregnant causes you to erupt instantly. Hot ropes of cum pulse out of your cock, and the effort, combined with the heavy meal you just had, causes you to almost collapse on top of Natasha. You wrap your arms around her, dropping your head onto her chest as she strokes your hair softly.

“I’m so happy you’re the one I get to start a family with,” is the last thing you hear Natasha say before you fall asleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

529 notes · View notes

fourthwingfan · 9 months ago

Text

Madness - Chapter 10

Hello Dear Readers! Here comes the new chapter, it's 6239 words, so be prepared.

What do you think about a game? It's almost Threshing. If you can guess (correctly or close to that) what kind of dragon and/or what kind of signet Aelin will have, then I'll answer one question in private about the story. Even if it'll be a spoiler. Good luck!

Don’t underestimate the challenge of the Gauntlet, Mira. It’s designed to test your balance, strength, and agility. The times don’t matter for shit, only that you make it to the top. Reach for the ropes when you have to. Coming in last is better than coming in dead.

—Page forty-six, the Book of Brennan

I look up, and up, and up, and I can only blink.

“Well, that’s…” Ethan swallows, his head tilted just as far back as mine as we stare at the menacing obstacle course that’s carved into the front of a ridgeline so steep, it might as well be a cliff. The zigzagging death trap of a trail rises above us, climbing in five distinct switchbacks of 180-degree turns, each increasing in difficulty on the way to the top of the bluff that divides the citadel from the flight field and the Vale.

“Amazing.” Liam grins.

Ethan and I turn, both staring at him like he must have hit his head.

“You think that hellscape looks amazing?” Ethan asks.

„I mean look at that. I heard a lot of stories about this, but it’s so much more complex. It will be a real challenge.” Liam grins, his blue eyes dancing in the morning sun as he rubs his hands together, shifting from one toned leg to the other in glee.

“Challenge? Yeah, sure we can go with that.” I laugh at him. “At the gym in the challenges you don’t have a real opponent, it was way too easy for you.”

“You’re one to talk.” Ethan stares at me. “You’ve never lost either.”

“Well…yeah” I scratch my head.

„Still not sure why they call it the Gauntlet,” another squadmate - whose name I don’t remember - says from my right, blowing into his cupped hands to ward off the morning chill. The sun hasn’t touched this little crevice, but it’s shining above the last quarter of the course.

“To ensure dragons keep coming to Threshing by weeding out the weaklings.” An obnoxious girl says, maybe her name is Vila? At some point I should start memorizing their names. But they are fucking annoying.

I shoot her a glare and then shake it off.

“Knock it the fuck off,” the first-year snaps, earning the entire squad’s attention.

My eyebrows lift. They’re really annoying.

“We have such a lovely and cohesive squad.” I murmur to Liam. “What is his name anyway?”

“Do you really not know their names?” He laughs at me. “We’ve been squadmates for a while.”

“I know your name, Ethan’s and Vila’s too. Oh and there’s Theo and Zanaya.” I list.

“That’s all?” He grins “You know my name because we’re friends. Ethan is my friend and he hangs out with us during classes, so that doesn’t count.” He counts the names on his fingers. “And the only reason you know Vila’s name is because she annoys you. Theo and Zanaya don’t count either. They’re the squadleader and his executive.”

“Fine. I admit it. I don’t know their names. “I give in. “They die like flies. We’re the smallest squad.”

“Then why do you think it’s called the gauntlet?” I hear shouting behind me.

God. They’re still arguing.

„It’s called the Gauntlet because this is the cliff that guards the Vale,” Professor Emetterio says, walking up behind our squad, his shaved head glinting in the growing sunlight. “Plus, actual gauntlets—armored gloves made of metal—are slippery as hell, and the name stuck about twenty years ago.” He cocks a brow at Vila and the man next to her. “Are you two done arguing? Because all six of you have exactly an hour to get to the top before it’s another squad’s chance to practice, and from what I’ve seen of your agility on the mat, you’re going to need every second.”

There’s a grumble of assent in our little group.

“As you know, hand-to-hand challenges are on hold for the next two and a half weeks before Presentation so you can focus here.” Professor Emetterio flips a page on the little notebook he carries. “Liam, you’re going to show them how it’s done, since you’re the best of the squad. Then Aelin, Jake, Ethan, Rio and Vila.” He finishes calling out every name in our squad, and we file into order. “You’re the smallest squad so far. You need to work hard to remain intact. If you’ll lose two or three more cadets then you’ll be dissolved and you’ll be assigned to another squad. Wait here for a second.” He walks past us, waving at someone high up on the cliff. No doubt that someone has a watch.

We wait silently, thinking about what he said. I don’t want to be assigned to another squad. I like it that Liam is my squadmate, and I’m starting to like Ethan too. There’s no guarantee all three of us will be in the same squad.

„Here we go!” Professor Emetterio walks to the head of our line. “You’ll get your time at the top of the course, if you make it, but remember, you’ll still have nine practice sessions before we rank you for Presentation in two and a half weeks, which will determine if the dragons find you worthy at Threshing.”

„Wouldn’t it make more sense to let first-years start practicing this thing right after Parapet?” Ethan asks. “You know, to give us a little more time so we don’t die?”

“No,” Professor Emetterio replies. “The timing is part of the challenge. And some words of wisdom, before you start.”

“There are ropes every six feet that run from the top of the sheer cliffside to the bottom,” he says. “So if you start to fall, reach out and grab a rope. It’ll cost you thirty seconds, but death costs you more.”

Awesome.

“I mean, there’s a perfectly good set of steps over there.” Vila points to the steep staircase carved into the cliff beside the wide switchbacks of the Gauntlet.

“Stairs are for reaching the flight field on the top of the ridgeline after Presentation,” Professor Emetterio says, then lifts his hands toward the course and flicks his wrist, pointing at various obstacles.

The fifteen-foot log at the start of the uphill climb begins to spin. The pillars on the third ascent shake. The giant wheel at the first switchback starts its counterclockwise rotation, and those little posts there? They all twist in opposite directions.

“Every one of the five ascents on this course is designed to mimic the challenges you’ll face in battle.” Professor Emetterio turns to look at us, his face just as stern as it is during our usual combat training. “From the balance you must keep on the back of your dragon, to the strength you’ll need to hold your seat during maneuvers, to”—he gestures upward, toward the last obstacle that looks like a ninety-degree ramp from this angle—“the stamina you’ll need to fight on the ground, then still be able to mount your dragon at a second’s notice.”

The posts knock a chunk of granite loose, and the rock tumbles down the course, smacking every obstacle in its path until it crashes twenty feet in front of us.

“Whoa,” Rio whispers, his brown eyes wide as he stares at the pulverized rock.

„What if we can’t make it up?” Vila asks from my right, securing her long hair in a loose braid, her usual haughtiness not so in-your-face today. “What’s the alternative route?”

“There’s no alternative. If you don’t make it, you can’t get to Presentation, can you? Take your position, Liam,” Professor Emetterio orders, and Liam moves to the beginning of the course. “After he makes it past the final obstacle, so everyone can learn from this cadet completing the course, the rest of you will start every sixty seconds. And…go!”

Liam is off like a shot. He easily runs the fifteen feet across the single log spinning parallel with the cliff face and then the raised pillars, but it takes him two rotations inside the wheel before he jumps through the lone opening, but other than that, I don’t see a single misstep in the first ascent. Not. One.

He turns and rushes toward a series of giant hanging balls that make up the second ascent, jumping and hugging one after another. His feet back on the ground, he turns again and heads up the third ascent, which is divided into two sections. The first part has giant metal rods hanging parallel to the cliff wall, and he easily swings arm over arm, using his body’s weight and momentum to swing the bar forward and reach the next bar hanging half a foot higher than the previous as he climbs the side of the cliff. From the last bar, he jumps onto a series of shaking pillars that make up the second half of this ascent before finally leaping back onto the gravel path.

By the time he reaches the fourth ascent, the spinning logs, Liam’s made it all look like child’s play, and I start to feel a bubble of hope that maybe the course isn’t as difficult as it looks from the ground.

But then he faces a giant chimney formation rising high above him at a twenty-degree angle and pauses.

“You got this!” I yell to encourage him.

As though he heard, he sprints toward the leaning chimney and flings himself upward, grabbing onto the sides by forming an X with his body, then starts hopping up the conduit until he reaches the end and drops down in front of the final obstacle, a massive ramp that reaches up to the top of the cliff’s edge at a nearly vertical climb.

My breath catches in my throat as Liam sprints toward the ramp, using his speed and momentum to carry him two-thirds of the way up the ramp. Just before he starts to fall, he reaches up with one arm and grasps the lip of the ramp and hauls himself over the edge.

Ethan and I cheer for him. He made it. In an almost flawless approach.

“Perfect technique!” Professor Emetterio calls out. “That’s exactly what you should all be doing.”

„Aelin, begin!” Emetterio orders.

Be with me, Zihnal. I haven’t spent nearly enough time at temple for the god of luck to care much about what happens to me right now, but it’s worth a shot.

I bolt up the first part of the ascent, coming to the spinning log within seconds. My stomach feels like it’s being stirred by this balance beam from hell. “It’s just balance. You can balance,” I mumble and start across, jumping off the end to land on the first of four granite columns, each one higher than the last.

There are about three feet between them, but I manage to leap from one pillar to the next without skidding off the ends. And this is the easy part.

I jump into the rotating wheel and run, leaping over the only opening as it flies by once, then watching it come around. Timing. This one is all about timing.

The opportunity comes and I seize it, racing through the opening and turning back onto the gravel path of the second ascent. The buoy balls are just ahead.

I start to hum to calm myself. The music always helps me.

I spring from the edge of the path onto the first ball, grasping it up top. The immediate strain on my shoulders makes me tense but it’s bearable. Not bad.

Throwing my weight, I force the ball to rotate, swinging me toward the next one.

I repeat the motion, grasping from one ball to the next, keeping my eyes on the chains and nothing else.

I still hum as I reach the fifth and final ball. With one last swing, I throw myself sideways, releasing the ball and landing on the shoulder-wide gravel path and I almost hit the wall with my head.

It’s all momentum for the next ascent.

I line my body up with the first metal rod and get ready to sprint forward.

There are three iron rails in front of me, each lined up like a battering ram toward the next. I then launch myself towards the first. At least the texture gives me something to keep hold of as I work my way hand over hand.

The first clang of iron as the rails meet makes my fingers slip, and I gasp.

I throw myself to the next and move across the rail with the same hand-over-hand motion.

My right hand loses purchase and my weight swings me into face-first of the steep mountainside, my cheek slamming into the rock. A high-pitched ringing erupts in my ears and my vision darkens at the edges.

“Aelin!” Liam shouts from the top.

My other hand is still holding the rail. I can do it.

I’ve survived seven weeks in this damned quadrant, and this course isn’t going to beat me today.

I immediately start the hand over hand to get me to the next one, until I finally let go, landing on the first shaking iron pillar. My brain is rattled as the thing shudders violently, and I leap to the next, barely gaining a foothold before jumping to the gravel path at the end of the ascent.

I reach the twisting staircase posts jutting straight from the side of the cliff face.

Each three-foot-wide timber rotates from its base in one of the steepest sections of the course. I quickly calculate. I need to do it with one go. If I stop they will probably roll me off.

I bounce on my feet, dredging up whatever courage I have left. Then I run. My feet are quick, making contact with each post only long enough to push off for the next, and within a few heartbeats, I’m on the other side.

I hear someone cry out and my head snaps toward the voice, just in time to see Jake wobble and slip on the rails. The air freezes.

“Jake!” I hear Vila screaming.

Our eyes meet, shock and terror filling his wide black eyes as he falls. Halfway down the cliff.

Shit.

“Aelin! Come on, you’re almost up here.” Liam shouts at the top.

I look at him and nod. Yes, I can do it.

I face a giant chimney formation rising high above me at a twenty-degree angle and pause.

God, it’s really high. But if Liam could do it, then so do I.

I sprint toward the leaning chimney and flings myself upward, grabbing onto the sides by forming an X with my body.

Okay, now I need to climb.

I start hopping up the conduit slowly, maybe a little too slowly, until I reach the end and drop down in front of the final obstacle, a massive ramp that reaches up to the top of the cliff’s edge at a nearly vertical climb.

Fuck. It seems the most difficult obstacle of all of them.

But I can’t give up now. It’s the last one. I can do it, I just need to be fast.

I sprint toward the ramp, using my speed and momentum to carry me almost all the way up the ramp.

Just before I start to fall, I reach up and I can grab onto the lip of the ramp with one arm.

My god. I did it.

I reach up with my other arm and haul myself over the edge.

As soon as I stand up, Liam is there and sweeps me into his arms.

“You were great Aelin!” He laughs. “You did it!”

I still can’t believe that it’s over. I hug him back and start laughing too.

“Yeah. It seems I did it.”

“How’s your face?” He pulls back and look at the side of my face. “You hit it pretty hard.”

“It’s not that bad actually. I mean, later it’ll hurt probably.”

“Then we will get some ointment later.”

I nod and then we watch the others.

Ethan has made up his way to us. He was the slowest of us who made it to the top, but it doesn’t matter to me. He did it, and we survived.

Rio made it too. He did a great job and since then he bahaves as if he was already chosen by a dragon. And naturally Vila argues with him about this too.

Vila had to use the ropes at the shaking pillars. She almost fell down like Jack.

Shit. We lost Jack.

There are only 5 of us first-years left.

***

The sun burns my eyes as we stand in morning formation.

“Calvin Atwater,” Captain Fitzgibbons reads, his voice solemn like always.

First Squad, Claw Section, Fourth Wing. He sits two rows behind me in Battle Brief. He sat.

There’s nothing special about this morning. Our first trial on the Gauntlet has made the roll longer, but it’s just another list on just another day…except it’s not. It’s not like the first day anymore. I know more than half of the names as they’re called. “Newland Jahvon,” he continues.

Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing.

We have to be in the twenties by now. How can this be all there is? We say their names once and then go on as if they never existed?

„Aurelie Donans.”

Shit. She was Vi’s squadmate. She told me what happened yesterday. Watching one of your friends falls to death? It’s cruel.

I look at Violet and see that she ripped open one of the scabs along her cheek. A trickle of blood follows as the next name is called.

***

“You’re sure about this?” Dain asks Violet the next night - as I approach them - two worried lines between his brows as he clasps Violet’s shoulders.

“If her parents aren’t coming to bury her body, then I should be the one to handle her things. I’m the last person she saw,” She explains, rolling her shoulders to adjust the weight of Aurelie’s pack.

Every Basgiath parent has the same option when their cadet is killed. They can retrieve the body and personal effects for burial or burning or the school will put their body under a stone and burn their effects themselves. Aurelie’s parents have chosen door number two.

“And you don’t want me to go with you?” he asks, palming her neck.

She shakes her head. “I know where the burn pit is.”

“Besides I will be there for her.” I say and stand next to Violet. “Now hands off. We have more important things to do, than listening to you.”

“Cadet Melgren, do I need to remind you that I’m a squadleader? Show some respect.” He growls at me.

“Respect must be earned. And I think it sends a completely different message that you coddle Violet, squadleader.” I raise my eyebrows.

“It’s okay, Dain. We should go.” Violet says then we start to climb the stairs of the academic tower’s turret past the Battle Brief room and up to the stone roof, going by a few other cadets on their way down.

„I never got the chance to ask you if you made it all the way up,” I say.

She shakes her head. “I got caught at the chimney formation and had to use a rope to get back down. I’m too short to span the distance, but I’m not thinking about that tonight. I’ll figure something out before the official timed Gauntlet on Presentation day.”

“I help you. We will figure something out, together. You’re not alone, Vi.” I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.

The burn pit is nothing more than an extra-wide iron barrel, whose only purpose is to incinerate, and the flames burn bright against the night sky as we stumble out onto the roof.

There’s no one else up here as Violet slips the bag from her shoulder.

I stop a little further away from the pit. She wanted to do it alone, and I will respect her wish.

“I’m so sorry,” I hear her whisper, as she flings it up and over the metal edge of the bin.

The flames catch and whoosh as it becomes more fuel for the fire, just another tribute to Malek, the god of death.

Instead of walking back down the stairs, I make my way to the edge of the turret where Violet stares at the sky.

It’s a cloudy night, but I can make out the shadows of three dragons as they approach from the west and even see the ridge where the Gauntlet lays, waiting to claim its next victim.

It won’t be me.

I stand here, patiently waiting for Violet to be ready to go back, letting minutes tick by before the bells sound for curfew. We climb back down the stairs without a word.

We walk through the courtyard, empty but for a couple who can’t decide if they’d rather kiss or walk near the dais.

“I don’t want go back yet.” Vi whispers while avoiding my eyes.

“Then we won’t. Come, if I remember correctly there’s an alcove over there.” I smile at her softly. Understanding the pain, that makes her want to hide.

We’re heading for the alcove where Dain and Vi first sat after Parapet.

It’s almost been two months, and we’re still here. Still waking every morning to the sunrise. Doesn’t that mean something?

I wonder as we sit in silence, watching the stars on the sky.

The door that leads to the tunnel we took to cross the ridgeline to the Gauntlet this morning opens along the courtyard wall, just left of the academic building, and my brow furrows. Who would be returning this late?

Sitting back against the wall, I let the darkness conceal me as Xaden, Garrick, and Bodhi—Xaden’s cousin—pass under a mage light, headed in my direction.

Three dragons. They were out…doing what? There were no training ops that I know of tonight, not that I’m privy to everything third-years do.

“There has to be something more we can do,” Bodhi argues, looking to Xaden, his voice low as they pass by us, their boots crunching on the gravel.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Garrick hisses.

My scalp prickles and Xaden stops mid-step ten feet away, the set of his shoulders rigid.

Shit.

He knows we’re here.

Instead of the usual fear that spikes in his presence, only anger rises in my chest. If he wants to kill me, then fine. I’m over waiting for it to happen. Over walking through the halls in fear.

“What’s wrong?” Garrick asks, immediately looking over his shoulder in the opposite direction, toward the couple who definitely decided making out is more important than getting into the dorms by curfew.

“Go on. I’ll meet you inside,” Xaden says.

„You sure?” Bodhi’s forehead puckers, and his gaze sweeps over the courtyard.

“Go,” Xaden orders, standing completely still until the other two walk into the barracks, turning left toward the stairwell that will take them to the second- and third-year floors. Only when they’re gone does he turn and face the exact spot where we’re sitting.

“I know you know we’re here.” Violet says and moves toward him. “And please don’t prattle on about commanding the dark. I’m not in the mood tonight.”

I try to suppress my laughter as I walk next to Violet, standing between her and Xaden.

“No questions about where I’ve been?” He folds his arms across his chest and studies us in the moonlight. His scar looks even more menacing in this light, but I can’t seem to find the energy to be scared.

“I honestly don’t care.” Vi shrugs and makes her way toward the dorms without another word.

“As much as I enjoy our conversations, I have to go. It’s curfew after all.” I say.

“Are you going to tell someone that we were out?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No. I don’t care what you do.” I cross my arms. “It’s probably the best if I don’t know anyway.” I mutter silently.

He cocks his head to the side. “You really don’t care, do you?”

I just shake my head.

“What are you doing out after curfew, Sunshine?”

“Counting the stars, what else?” I retort. “How about you? Feel like sharing?” I ask mockingly, knowing he’s not about to answer me.

“The same.”

Sarcastic ass.

“Look, are you planning to kill us or not? The anticipation is starting to annoy the fuck out of me.” I ask.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he answers, like I’ve just inquired about his dinner preferences, but his gaze narrows on my cheek. There’s still a bruise from yesterday’s Gauntlet practice.

“Well, could you?” I mutter. “It would definitely help me make my plans for the week.”

“Am I affecting your schedule, Sunshine?” There’s a definite smirk on those lips.

“I just need to know what my chances are that Violet and I are going to make it through alive.” My hands curl into fists.

The ass has the nerve to smile. “That’s the oddest way I’ve ever been hit on—”

“Not my chances with you, you conceited prick!” Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I move past him, but he catches my wrist, his grip light but his hold firm.

His fingertips on my pulse make it skitter.

“Chances at what?” he asks, tugging me just close enough that my shoulder brushes his biceps.

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t understand. He’s a damned wingleader, which means he’s excelled at everything in the quadrant, even somehow managing to get past his own last name.

“Chances at what?” he repeats. “Do not make me ask three times.” His ominous tone is at odds with his gentle grasp, and shit, does he have to smell so good? Like mint and leather and something I can’t quite identify, something that borders between citrus and floral.

“At living through all of this! I have to figure it out how Violet can make it up the damned Gauntlet. And there’s my own problems I have to deal with, and here you are, annoying me.” I half-heartedly tug at my wrist, but he doesn’t let go.

“I see.” He’s so infuriatingly calm, and I can’t even get a grip on one of my emotions.

„No, you don’t. You’re probably celebrating because she’ll fall to her death and you can kill me anytime, we saw that on the mat the previous time.”

“Killing you wouldn’t be any trouble, Sunshine. It’s leaving you alive that seems to cause the majority of my trouble.”

My gaze swings up to clash with his, but his face is unreadable, cloaked in shadow, go figure.

“Sorry to be a hassle.” Sarcasm drips from my voice. “You know the problem with this place?” I tug my arm back again, but he holds fast. “Besides you touching things that don’t belong to you?” My eyes narrow on him.

„I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” My stomach flutters as his thumb brushes my pulse and he releases my wrist.

I answer before I can think better of it. “Hope.”

“Hope?” He tips his head closer to mine, as if he wasn’t sure he heard me right.

“Hope.” I nod. “Someone like you would never get it, but I knew coming here was a death sentence. It didn’t matter that I’ve been trained my entire life to enter the Riders Quadrant, but it isn’t a guarantee that I will survive it; but when General Melgren gives an order, you can’t exactly ignore it.” Gods, why am I running off at the mouth to this man? What’s the worst he’ll do? Kill you?

„Sure you can.” He shrugs. “You just might not like the consequences.”

I roll my eyes, and to my utter embarrassment, instead of pulling away now that I’m free, I lean in just a little, like I can siphon off some of his strength. He certainly has enough to spare.

“I knew what the odds were, and I came anyway, concentrating on that tiny percentage of a chance that both of us would live. And then we make it almost two months and I get…” I shake my head, clenching my jaw. “Hopeful.” The word tastes sour.

“Ah. And then you lose a squadmate, and you are reminded that you can’t help Violet, and you give up. I’m starting to see. He holds my gaze locked with his. “Here’s the thing, Melgren. Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Not hope that we live? Just plan for death?”

“You’re supposed to focus on the things that can kill you so you find ways to not die.” He shakes his head. “I can barely count the number of people in this quadrant who want you dead, either as revenge against your father or because you’re just really good at pissing people off, but you’re still here, defying the odds.” Shadows wrap around me, and I swear I feel a caress along the side of my wounded cheek. “It’s been rather surprising to watch, actually.”

“Happy to be your entertainment. I’m going to bed.” Spinning on my heel, I head toward the entrance to the barracks, but he’s right behind me, close enough that the door would slam in his face if he wasn’t so unnaturally fast at catching it.

“Maybe if you stopped sulking in your self-pity, you’d see that you have everything you need.” he calls after me, his voice echoing down the hallway.

“My self-what?” I turn around, my jaw dropping.

“People die,” he says slowly, his jaw ticking before he drags in a deep breath. “It’s going to happen over and over again. It’s the nature of what happens here. What makes you a rider is what you do after people die. You want to know why you’re still alive? Because you’re the scale I currently judge myself against every night. Every day I let you live, I get to convince myself that there’s still a part of me that’s a decent person. So if you want to quit, then please, spare me the temptation and fucking quit. But if you want to do something, then do it.”

What an annoying prick.

I open my mouth to retort when I hear footsteps.

We turn around and face the man whom I know too well. He’s the aide of General Melgren.

Fuck, he must be back. I can feel my face turning as white as a ghost.

Xaden must see it too because he steps in front of me without a word. He’s trying to protect me?

“Wingleader Riorson I need a word with Cadet Melgren, leave.” The man says to Xaden without a glance at him.

“She’s in my chain of command. I don’t see why I should leave her here.” He crosses his arms. “If you have something to say then do it in front of me.”

“Fine.” The man nods and stares at me. “General Melgren wishes to see you. He returned from the front and like’d to hear your report.”

My god. I didn’t prepare a suitable story for him. I will be in big trouble, if not worse.

“I understand, I’ll be there.” I nod.

Without another word the man turns around and leaves us alone.

“What’s all this about?” Xaden looks at me with an unreadable expression.

“Nothing. You heard him. The General wants to see me. I have to go.” I say and try to walk past him to the doors but he grabs my arm.

“Nothing? I don’t think so.” He leans closer. “You look as pale as a ghost.”

“It was a surprise, nothing else.” I try to lie, in hope that he lets it slide. I don’t want him to find out.

“Why don’t you call him father?” He observes me. “You always call him General. He’s your father isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. It’s just that we’re cadets and it wouldn’t be appropriate.” I yank my arm and he releases me. “Now if you excuse me, I have to go.”

I walk out the door, towards the building where the offices are located. I feel nauseous. Everystep on the stairs is harder. I’m scared.

I stop in front of his door. Breath in and out. Then I knock.

“Enter.”

I open the door and enter his office. The air is chilling because of the open window. I stand in front of his desk and wait until he’s done with writing whatever he’s writing.

“What happened since we talked last time?” He puts down his pen and looks at me with a cold gaze.

“The challanges are over for now, we started practicing on the Gauntlet.” I try to keep it short.

“How many challanges did you lose?”

“I didn’t lose a single one.” I reply in an emotionless tone. I need to lock up my feelings as usual. This is the only way to survive it. Later…later I can think about it.

“That was expected.” He nods with approval as he stands up and walks around the desk. “The Gauntlet?”

“Yesterday was our first session, I made it up on my first try.” I answer.

“And what about that Riorson kid and the other marked-ones?” He raises an eyebrow and stands in front of me.

I gulp.

“There’s nothing that’s worth mentioning.” I try and hope so hard he’d accept it.

He grabs my arm tightly and yanks me toward him.

“I will decide if it is worth it or not.” He squeezes my arm tighter. It will leave a bruise. “Do you understand, Cadet?”

“Yes, General.” I reply quickly.

“Good. Now tell me what you know.” He releases my arm and I try not to show that it hurt.

“They attend classes like anyone else. They don’t stand out.” I say the basic facts that anyone can know. I don’t want to betray Liam and his friends. “Most of the other cadets are avoiding them. Some of them are good at studying while others at fighting. They seem pretty normal to me.”

“Hm. And Riorson?” He asks with a calculating look.

“We don’t have much common classes. At Battle Brief he’s observant and clever. At the gym he’s strong and quick. He spends a lot of time with the leader of the Flame Section, Garrick Tavis.” I say only what’s neccesary to ease his suspicion.

“Do you ever see them in groups larger than three?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

The night at the tree. Images flashes through my mind. But… they didn’t do anything wrong.

“No. Never.” I shake my head.

“I see.” He looks at me with a gaze that makes me chill to the bones. “That’s all you could gather the past weeks? I heard you’re friends with Colonel Mairi’s son.” He spat the word friend as if it’s a disease.

“I’m close with him because of his relationship with Xaden, and he’s a first-year too.” I lie to him. I can’t bring more attention to Liam. He’s truly a good person. “He’s a pretty private person, but slowly opening up. Maybe later I can gather more information. I don’t want to look suspicious.”

“And the daggers? Did you see them with the marked-ones?”

“No, they mostly use the ones they earned at challenges.” I’m curious to why that strange dagger is important to him. “If I know what they are, maybe I could search more efficiently.”

“That’s above your paygrade, Cadet.” He says towering over me. “You’re dismissed.” He leans on his desk.

“Understood.” I say and turn toward the doors.

There’s a sound, a dagger cutting through the air. Instinctively I turn around and lean to the side.

I was almost too late. I feel the dagger grazing my cheek and then the blood.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He knows that I lied to him?

In the blink of an eye he’s there and squeezes my neck.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you’re alive is because of my mercy.” He leans closer and cuts off the air supply when he squeezes harder. “I expect useful information from you. If you have to then use your body. You’re only worth is your usefulness. I don’t need people who are useless.”

There’s a knock on the door behind me. He glares at me a moment longer then releases me and pulls out his dagger from the door and sheetes it.

I start coughing and try to squeeze enough air in my lungs through my bruised throat.

Damn. I almost died.

The General is already sitting at his desk when another knock sounds.

“Go, I have better things to do.”

I open the door and see General Sorrengail.

“General.” I greet her in a rasp voice.

She looks at my cheek where the blood still flows with a raised eyebrow then toward my neck.

Shit, I didn’t think. She’s not stupid. I have to get out of here.

I exit the office and without another word I’m stumbling down the stairs.

I need to go out. I need air. My thoughts are fuzzy. I almost died. The sentence repeats again and again in my head.

But depsite of it, I still can’t bear the thought of betraying the marked-ones. Liam. Xaden. I…like them.

But what if it’ll cost me my life?

#fanfiction #fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #liam mairi #the fourth wing #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #oc #the empyrean #xaden riorson x oc #xaden x oc

66 notes · View notes

unboundndd · 2 years ago

Note

Omg finally someone who is willing to write for kayn 😭😭😭 I have been starved FOR AGES i'm telling you. For the past months or so all I've been thinking abt is how Kayn would develop a relationship with a reader who's from the kinkou (a whole enemies to lovers if you will). Just some general headcanons about the relationship tysm ❤️😭😭 can't wait to see more of your writing!

hELLO hello!! I swear uni has been keeping me from writing, i had no energy but i am a bit more free for now~ i’ve been starving for Kayn content too so let’s get started!!!

//tag: enemies to lovers, kayn has no idea what emotions are

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· If anybody were to ask Kayn what he thinks about you they would be met with silence. It’s normal for him as he isn’t too keen on talking about topics like this and he finds the question a bit obvious: you’re Kinkou, he’s not. You’re trying to bring back the balance that Ionia has lost back alongside Shen, which means you’re actively trying to stop him from reaching his goals and true potential.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· If only this was what he truly thought, in fact his feelings towards you are much more complex. It’s not a mere matter of blindly hating you because of the group you’re affiliated with, it has to do with the fact that you seem to periodically appear where he is and always try to obstacle him. Despite that he has never felt the instinct to kill you, as if his brain doesn’t completely think of you as an useless nuisance.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· The fact is that you challenge him and motivate him to get better, fighting against you doesn't trigger the same deeply engrained reflexes he'd have when killing any other Kinkou alcyote or Noxian soldier. Every encounter with you keeps him alert, reminds him of the high he gets when conquering something that isn't handed to him that easily and despite the two of you being on the opposing sides of such a difficult conflict you can't help but look for one another.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· Accepting that you might have a crush on the man you're supposed to hate is hard, more than any normal crush. Apart from wondering if you're misinterpreting his actions like when he spared you after one of your missions went wrong or the time he patched you up as you hid from Noxian soldiers who were passing by, you also needed to conceal your feelings. If Kayn was simply toying with you he could use the feelings you grew against you, maybe this was just a cold manipulation technique to encourage you to lower your guard or maybe he couldn't feel any love at all.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· That said you still were unable to stop staring at him during another one of your run-ins, you were both alone and your eyes would keep wandering to his lips that were perpetually graced by a confident smirk. You wanted to slap him, kiss him, anything to make him shut up and stop taunting you. It was getting to your head and soon enough you found yourself on the floor, pinned against him and with Rhaast's blade dangerously close to your neck.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· If Rhaast's eye wasn't creepily staring at you, then at kayn and then back to you it would have been better. Maybe even enjoyable as the weight of his entire body was crushing your hips and legs, his expression wasn't revealing anything of his intentions so you had no idea if he was going to let you go or if he was done with playing with you.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· The fact that Kayn suddenly kissed you was so far away from your possible predictions that you thought you were already dead and this was just your brain conjuring up a happy scenario to aid you in passing into the spirit realm. He wasn't exactly doing a great job, teeth clanking against yours and clumsily trying to understand what exactly he needed to do, only when you kissed him back with the same fervor did he start to finally understand what he needed to do.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· "This is what you wanted, didn't you? Get. Out! Out of my head. It's- You're the one who's been distracting me!"

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· You were starting to feel like maybe there was a chance your feelings were reciprocated, Kayn wasn't looking like his usual confident self once he finally had to part from your lips. He was confused and angry at the fact that in the end you managed to beat him by thanks to your wit and your personality.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· Ever since that day you and Kayn have been meeting in secret, ignoring the loyality you were both supposed to have for your respective factions. You never have as much time together as you wish and you spend your days either sparring or lazily laying in each other's arms, it mostly depends on how Kayn is feeling.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· You're quite amused when Kayn admits to you that he's never had any kind of relationship, don't tease him for it though, not if you want him to deprive you of all of the affection you crave for the sake of sweet revenge. He loves to hear you beg for him to just kiss you or when you ask for a hug, the fact that he's the only one who will ever see you like this makes him feel very proud of himself.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· You also find out that Rhaast has been the one guiding Kayn and telling him what people in a relationship do, he basically has a corrupted, cruel but extremely experienced wingman by his side.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· Sometimes you have to sneak in/out from each other's rooms when it's late at night and even though you've both been training hard to be stealthy it's still not perfect. Shen knows, and Zed does too and both have decided not to interfere for the time being. Who knows, perhaps something interesting will come out of your new relationship.

#lol x reader #kayn x reader #kayn lol

183 notes · View notes

beeeskneeess · 10 months ago

Text

pac: what do you need to hear right now 🐚

if you are new to pick a pile readings, just take a deep breath and ground yourself and energy, then pick which pile you feel drawn to.

Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t because this is a collective reading

I use intuition and my tarot deck

DISCLAIMER: this is for entertainment purposes only. Take everything with a grain of salt.

Pile 1

Cards: page of pentacles, the high priestess rx, the 2 of swords rx, 6 of pentacles in rx, 6 of swords in rx, 9 of wands rx, page of wands

Back of the deck: Ace of wands

Random: 1010, plague mask, captains hat, the brothers sun // charles sun, (the netflix show with michelle yeoh[so good]), a guy sleeping,

Songs:

invisible war - sitti

arthur’s theme (best that you can do) - christopher cross

Hallu pile oneee!!

I have no idea if i’ve just been watching too much netflix, but what first came into my mind was bruce sun from brothers sun. It’s a TV show on netflix. He’s always a reminder to stay soft and use your words. A strong message of don’t let the world harden you just because you are hurt. Don’t hurt others just because they hurt you. Stay soft, but stand your ground. Don’t lose yourself because of other things that are outside your control and influence. Clear things that don’t make you, you. The main message really is don’t lose yourself despite the circumstances you are in. Despite all the hurt, the expectations of others, the opinions of others or whatever you’ve been through, don’t lose yourself. Don’t forget who you are and what you’re capable of.

Overall, nurture yourself and your inner fire. Let it burn. Nurture the fire within you. The fire that makes you, you. Not the fire that others have lit for you. What makes you passionate about the things you like doing? What do you like doping? What makes you happy? Start over again if you have to. It’s never too late for second chances. Find that spark again and let it flourish. Don’t compare where you are to where others are. You are exactly where you are meant to be, even if it means starting all over again. You are never too young or too old to start doing that thing you want.

To do this, set strong foundations for yourself. Be committed and continuously put small efforts that lead towards your success. A small step is bigger than no step at all. And even if you can’t see what’s ahead of you, follow your heart, follow your intuition. Listen to yourself and not your ego of what should be and what could be. Listen to what you want. Don’t doubt yourself.Let go of anything that is really holding you back, like what i’ve mentioned. You have to let go of the expectations of others, the hurt, the opinions of others. And though it is valid, everything you’ve been through is valid, you have to let go. You have to move forward and look to the future. And despite the challenges you might encounter, stay committed. Do the best that you can do with what you have. Rest, but never give up. Don’t beat yourself up too much, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Just have fun with it. It’s a very privileged saying however, life is too short to take it too seriously. I guess realistically just have a balance of fun and seriousness. Also, ask for help if you are having a hard time. You don’t have to go through things alone. Just continue to stand your ground. Don’t be swayed by others, let yourself flourish. Stand in your power. Guard your passions. And find small things to fall in love with this passion as you go along your way. And fall deeply in love with it. Romanticize it. Because in the end, you’ll find yourself. As an undying fan of percy jackson books and series, “hold fast. Brave the storm.”

Thanks for being here! I hope this helps you and I wish you all the best <3 💫

Remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t ! 😌

If you enjoyed this reading and found it helpful, why not tip a college student :’)) Thank you in advance 🌊: https://ko-fi.com/ceedeesbees

If you want to book a paid reading with me, just DM me following the instructions in this post. Thank Youuu :>>> 🏄‍♀️

Pile 2

Cards: the empress, queen of swords, 3 of swords, 8 of wands, 9 of pentacles rx

The back of the deck: the wheel

Random: Walking away with a peace sign, trust, saddle, 222, I keep yawning and I feel heavy, daydreaming, sledding,1515

Song: I couldn’t stick with one, nothing really stuck i think it’s because nothing feels right or worthwhile. Maybe what is needed is silence for a bit to come back to yourself.

Helloo pile 2! Whats upp?

I think overall, have you been pushing yourselves too hard :’) Please if you have to rest and get some sleep. You’re probably wondering when you’ll stop being tired (?) but, you’ve never even caught a breath yet to reflect on everything that has happened to far. You haven’t really felt your emotions in a long time. I feel like you got to listen to what you’re feeling especially if it’s fatigue. It’s time to take it a little bit slower. You’ve been going to fast, and maybe feel like you have to go really fast. I feel like I’m just lying on my bed ready to sleep. I think you should too. Even my brain isn’t working too well right now. I feel really tired as well.

Overall, you need to trust a little. There’s a lot of doubt and the feeling of needing to explain yourself, but no need. Just do things because you want to. Especially if you need to take a break. Just sleep for a while. I feel like you’ve done all you could, now its time to leave it up to fate or the universe or any higher power you believe in. Let it go. Trust the process. You don’t have to be in control of every little detail. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out because maybe there’s something better for you out there. Give some time for yourself, don’t be too hyper focused on one single thing. There are other things in your life that matter as well. And you matter as well. Take good care of yourself. Nurture yourself. If you’ve been through disappointments recently because you feel like you haven’t done enough,let me tell you, you have done enough. You have done more than you know. Now it's time to trust that despite all these disappointments, you’re being guided to where you are meant to be.

Funny enough, I don't feel like I have to say a lot for this pile, but I keep thinking I have to write more for this pile. But, I really don’t feel like I have to write anything anymore. I feel like it’s all enough. I think this is what you may be thinking too, like you haven’t done enough. But i’m here to tell you, you did, and you don’t have to be overworking yourself too much just because of comparisons you make of yourself against others. The message is kind of similar to pile one if i’m being honest here, this time it’s don’t let your comparisons stop you from resting or from thinking you aren’t good enough. Because you’ve already given so much. Too much even. Maybe it’s for faster results or what not, but you’re getting burnt out and you need to rest. Take a break. It’s hard to enjoy anything when you’re tired or stressed. Take things slow and one at a time. Just chill and slow down for a sec. Nurture yourself again. Watch comfort shows or films. Listen to music that brings you back. It will get better. You’ll regain your strength once again, just give yourself some time. rest , but never give up.

Thanks for being here! I hope this helps you and I wish you all the best <3 💫

Remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t ! 😌

If you enjoyed this reading and found it helpful, why not tip a college student :’)) Thank you in advance 🌊: https://ko-fi.com/ceedeesbees

If you want to book a paid reading with me, just DM me following the instructions in this post. Thank Youuu :>>> 🏄‍♀️

Pile 3

Cards: 3 of cups rx, 9 of wands, 10 of pentacles rx, queen of pentacles, 6 of pentacles, 4 of swords, temperance, page of pentacles, 9 of cups

Back of the deck: page of swords

Random: banana, a guy holding his head and about to tear out his hair in frustration, dolphins, anchor, exercise, a girl with a hat peeking out the side of a boat breathing in the fresh air, surfing

Song:

So Slow - Freestyle

Hello Pile Threeee!!

Let’s go!! this is my pile for real. You guys are so hyper, yet so chill. HAHA the duality. Anyways, to start reading with the energy, I'm sorry this is very unhinged and TMI HAHA, but my lower abdomen hurts so Idk if you guys are constipated (cos I know I am) or it’s something with your root chakra. The root chakra is blocked when you fear change or just in the constant fight or flight mode. So, I suggest you try clearing this. Though, I'm gonna be honest with you, I'm not very sure what the step by step process is like. But, in my not so expert opinion, I would try doing shadow work. Also grounding exercises for your root chakra. But I think it’s best if you guys also do some research on it.

Overall, The main theme here is to explore. To get curious. Try new things, be open to new things. Aaand, I just wanted to say this cos you guys are my favorite kind of people, I hope you continue to be unapologetically yourself. If you have a question, don’t be shy to ask it. If you want to compliment someone, go ahead and do it, I'm pretty sure it’ll make their day. Anyways, what I'm saying is be a little more open to new things that come your way. Explore it in moments and really take it in, like let it all sink in for a bit. Relish it. Stop and smell the flowers for a while. I’m also really getting it to slow down. And ground yourself. I know you guys are hyper (and i love it ngl), but there still needs to be order. There might be so many things swirling in your mind that you’ve lost track and you already feel so confused on what to say and what to do because it’s all over the place. Take things one thing at a time. ground yourself, get to know your thoughts and feelings and be more open with these things that enter your mind. Take it slow. You don’t have to rush. No one is chasing you. You can just chill for a while. Take it a day at a time. Also, take some time out to feel your feelings and notice your thoughts. Explore them some more one step at a time. Take some time to get to know these. Even though my cards were a bit chatty, a lot of them flew out. I needed to tell it only a little cos I'll get confused if it was too much.

In line with being open to new things, I’m guessing you also need to remove the things you don’t need in your life to let these new things into your life. You need to remove it even though you’re afraid. But if it isn’t making you happy anymore or if it’s an item and you aren’t using it, it’s best to let it go my friend. I hope you guys clear the things you don’t need, so the universe can bring you the things you need, and maybe so that you can explore more and get curious about the world, and step out a little bit.

Thanks for being here! I hope this helps you and I wish you all the best <3 💫

Remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t ! 😌

If you enjoyed this reading and found it helpful, why not tip a college student :’)) Thank you in advance 🌊: https://ko-fi.com/ceedeesbees

If you want to book a paid reading with me, just DM me following the instructions in this post. Thank Youuu :>>> 🏄‍♀️

Pile 4

Cards: 5 of wands, 10 of wands, 5 of swords, the fool, 6 of wands, king of wands, 10 of pentacles in rx, page of swords rx, 8 of swords rx, ace of pentacles

Back of the deck: page of wands

Random: a girl in a maxi skirt standing alone in a deserted place. You probably keep telling yourself to focus.

Hello pile fourr :>>

You guys feel like you’re stuck or stagnant at the moment. Like maybe you have nowhere to go, but you feel like there’s a lot you can do. Maybe before, you were very high achieving. Very ambitious. You did everything and anything you could to achieve something. But your eyes have grown tired. Nothing is giving you the same fulfillment and satisfaction anymore. You feel like you’ve lost all passion for things and are just working on a routine over and over again, and you’re bored. You tried the things that made you fulfilled before, but no bueno. It’s not the same anymore. And there’s no need to feel guilty that you feel like you aren’t doing as much as you would have liked as to. There’s no need to feel guilty if you aren’t chasing the same passions as you once did.

There’s definitely a lot of things that the cards wanted to say if I'm being honest with you. But, It’s too much hehe i’m gonna get confused for real. But the main thing right now is to start fresh. Try new things. Start from scratch. Start from 0 again, and commit to it even if it becomes hard. Only change or switch it up when you can see it isn’t working out or is just bringing you down even more. Just keep trying new things. This pile is similar to pile 3, but more stuck, not knowing what to do. Cos for pile 3, they’re literally gogogogo, and scattered (in a good and bad way) So, keep trying new things and find the one that sticks because out of the many things you can do here, you can’t run out. Don’t stay still, keep moving. If you’re in a desert and can’t see where else to go, of course you have to keep on walking until you find the right place to stay. And you probably won’t get it on the first try,even if I know you really want to speed things up and hurry it up and keep moving forward, you got to try to stick with one first. You got to explore your passions and new things related to it, even if it may seem hard and what not. I know you’re doing what you can right now, and it’s very admirable, and I hope you just keep exploring, and don’t let failures or the need to rush get in the way or keep you stuck in place because you’re the only one doing that to yourself. You won’t be able to get yourself unstuck unless you take action, and pull yourself to try something, and keep on trying even if it doesn’t work, and rest once in a while when you’re tired. And you’re already focused enough btw. If you keep thinking to yourself, “focus”. You are, you just need to explore a bit outside of that “focus”.

I also wanted to say you are not worthless or anything if you feel like the things that give you passion once don’t stick as well. Maybe you just need a break. Try something else, explore new things that make you happy. You don’t have to revolve around one thing all the time. And If you’re worried that you’re losing that passion you loved so much, you're not, you just need some time for the fire to rekindle again. And sometimes that comes in the form of exploring new things.

Thanks for being here! I hope this helps you and I wish you all the best <3 💫

Remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t ! 😌

If you enjoyed this reading and found it helpful, why not tip a college student :’)) Thank you in advance 🌊: https://ko-fi.com/ceedeesbees

If you want to book a paid reading with me, just DM me following the instructions in this post. Thank Youuu :>>> 🏄‍♀️

#pac readings #general readings #tarot #tarot pac #intuitive readings #intuitive pac #tarot readings #tarotblr #exchange readings #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot pick a pile #tarot pick a card

39 notes · View notes

eff4freddie · 6 months ago

Text

'Do you believe in aliens?'

For the @dieterbravobrainrotclub May challenge Words 1.2k (whoops)

Dieter Bravo x AFAB reader

Everyone pisses and moans about them, but you don’t actually mind the industry parties that much. You like to think its your sparkling personality, your natural charisma, that gets you through them. But you know it’s because you’re not in one of the glamour jobs, not an actress, not a director, not even a writer. You just work behind the scenes, balance books and follow the producers around setting up meetings. You’re so far behind the scenes you’re basically in the car park. No one at one of these shindigs is going to harass you for a leg up anywhere.

This one is up in the Hills, the Exec Producer’s place that he secretly rents but tells everyone he owns for the sake of appearances. You and possibly his mistress are the only ones who know, and you only know because he runs his rent arrears through the company as a tax write-off. You think, for a moment holding a plate of free quiches that you’re considering slipping into your bag, that this little piece of knowledge might make you the most powerful person in here. Then you realise the place is getting to you, and you head out to the balcony.

Out here there’s a view of LA almost all the way down to the ocean, at the very least the edge of the Valley. Off to the left is Griffith Observatory and you realise, in your seven and a half years since moving here from buttfuck nowhere, you’ve never actually been. You haven’t done any of the touristy stuff. You’ve just been working.

‘They have so many telescopes in that place,’ a voice says from behind you, and you turn abruptly, nearly spilling your free champagne.

‘Yeah?’ you say, simply. The man behind you is silhouetted against the bright lights of the party behind him. You can just make you his shape: wild, curly hair that, with the light behind him, is framing his face like a halo. What looks like a fluffy cardigan even though it’s nearly 90 degrees at 9:30 PM. He has a cigarette sticking out the side of his mouth, and he’s holding two champagne glasses, and for a crazy second you think he’s brought you one, before you see him swig from both in quick succession.

‘Trying to get sober,’ he says, and even though you can’t see his face you can hear the smirk in it. ‘LA sober,’ he finishes.

You turn back to the view, feel him come up beside you and rest his hands on the railing. When you glance over you can see his triangle tattoo and you realise this is Dieter Bravo. You really want that second champagne.

‘I’ve never been,’ you say, because you want to keep the conversation going, and now that he’s next to you his cologne is drifting over to you, spicey and bright, covering the smell of cigarettes. Your tongue has suddenly become too big for the cavern of your mouth. You swallow, thickly.

‘Me neither,’ he says, drinking again. ‘If you want to see real alien shit, you need to head out to the desert.’

You laugh because you think he’s joking, but you realise he’s gone quiet. You turn to him, see the scant look of hurt in his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ you say, immediately.

‘Do you believe in aliens?’ he asks, like he already knows the answer.

‘I don’t…not believe? I don’t know. I don’t want to not believe simply for the sake of not believing.’

Well. That was quite a sentence.

He turns to you, his whole body now facing you, as you stare out at the city, suddenly worried what will happen if you turn to him, too. He gazes at your profile, and you can feel his eyes on you as he observes.

‘You don’t belong here,’ he says, and your stomach sinks. You were hoping it was less obvious. You feel an unhappy little bubble of shame settle in your throat.

‘Umm…well, I know Pete,’ you start, and he waves a hand at you to stop you. He drops it onto the crook of your elbow and now you turn to him. His hands are warm, despite having just been holding two drinks.

‘I mean, not at the party, just…you’re not an industry type.’

‘What’s an industry type?’

‘Well for one, they would have fuckin’ told me they believed in aliens whether they did or not.’

You consider this. Over his shoulder you can see the big jobs hob-knobbing, what appears to you now not to be an industry event but just an enormous circle-jerk. You don’t want to go in there anymore. Your belly feels sour.

‘I think that might be right,’ you say, quietly.

Dieter nods at this, as if it was a matter of serious debate that has now been settled. He turns back to the valley in front of you, lifts a hand to the observatory, and grins.

‘That’s where we’re going on our first date,’ he says. You realise this man is chaos, that he is a child who has been too used to getting all the toys he wants, throwing them out of the crib on a whim and having them placed gently back for him.

‘To see the aliens?’ you ask. He’s kicking at the railing now, and you think you’re boring him, that he’s getting distracted, looking for his next hit of dopamine. You watch him for a moment, holding the moment still and precious between you. When he looks at you it becomes clearer, the situation suddenly snapping into sharp focus. He’s nervous.

‘Have to take you out to the desert for that,’ he’s saying, but you can feel the false bravado behind it, can see the little kid who’s worried the flow of toys might stop one day, who can’t rely on them being there, throws them out just to make sure they’ll still be put back.

‘I don’t tend to let strange men drag me out to remote places until the third date,’ you say, matter-of-factly.

He breaks out into a grin. You can see the mischief in his eyes, the cheek, and you can see now how he so easily gets everything he wants. He’s about to say something, something flirty if not outright obscene, when an enormous white light suddenly shines on you both. You turn to the sky, grabbing at his arm in fright, as he shields his eyes.

‘Is it them?’ you ask, panicked for a second that the aliens have heard you, have picked you up on their space-agey radars as being a non-believing believer, and have arrived just at the right moment to prove a fucking point. The wind is whipping up around you, the sound of an engine roaring, and you’re trying hard to suck in a breath against it.

‘If it is we’re going together!’ Dieter yells into the noise, as he grabs your face to turn it towards him. You nod, frantically, staring up into his eyes. Yes, OK. If it’s an intergalactic probing you’re in for you can think of no person better equipped to handle it than Dieter Bravo.

The patio door swings open, and a voice calls to Dieter over the roar.

‘Fucks sake Diets, it’s the paps, get inside!’

You turn back to look, holding your hands over your eyes to try and block out the light. It is indeed a helicopter, and you think you can make out a photographer leaning out of the window to get the shot. Without even thinking you raise your right arm, pull all the way back and fling your champagne flute. It travels about fifty feet in a perfectly non-threatening arc, before disappearing into the scrub beneath you. Dieter barks out a laugh, pulls you back inside.

In the morning there’ll be a blurry shot of the two of you, Dieter’s hands on your face as if he’s about to pull you in for a kiss. The caption is something about his mystery new love. The world will never know in that moment you were locked together, preparing for your abduction. They’d never believe it. Neither would you.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

26 notes · View notes

yumikk101 · 15 days ago

Text

Blueprints of the Heart Part 4

Featuring: Kaveh×Reader/rivals to lovers/fluff

The atmosphere between you shifted; the air, once heavy with tension, now felt lighter, charged with something unspoken yet thrilling. Kaveh let out a long sigh, raking a hand through his golden hair, clearly relieved to have finally voiced the storm of emotions he had kept hidden for so long. You could feel his guard lowering, just a fraction, in a way you’d rarely seen before

A small laugh bubbled up from your chest. “I never thought I’d see the day when the Kaveh would actually admit he’s envious of me,” you teased, trying to break the lingering tension with some humor. “I was starting to think you were infallible”

He gave you a wry smile, the corner of his mouth lifting in that endearingly cocky way that always got under your skin. “Oh, don’t let it go to your head. I’m still leagues ahead of you when it comes to architectural theory,” he shot back with a playful glint in his eyes

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer until the tips of your shoes nearly touched his. “Yeah? Last I checked, the genius of the Academia had trouble even balancing his budget. Who was it that you asked for help drafting plans last week, hmm?”

Kaveh let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back as if your words were a mortal wound. “Okay, okay, you win this round,” he conceded, though the warmth in his gaze never wavered. “But don’t get used to it. I’m only letting you have this victory because I’m feeling generous tonight”

You both laughed, and the sound echoed gently in the quiet night, mingling with the soft rustle of leaves. The stars above seemed to shine just a bit brighter, as if nature itself were leaning in to listen to the two of you banter. For a moment, it felt as though time had stopped, the world narrowing to just the two of you

But then, Kaveh’s laughter faded, his expression softening into something far more tender. His gaze lingered on your face as though he were memorizing every detail. “You know,” he said quietly, “I might joke about being leagues ahead, but the truth is... I’ve always admired you”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. “Admired me? That’s rich, coming from someone who never misses a chance to criticize my work"

Kaveh’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, a rare vulnerability breaking through his usual confident demeanor. “You’re right, I have been hard on you,” he admitted, voice softer now. “But only because... well, maybe I was trying to convince myself that I was better, that I didn’t have to worry about someone like you catching up”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in, but before you could respond, he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered just a moment too long, his touch feather-light but sending sparks down your spine

“I’ve been an idiot,” he continued, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. “All this time, I was so wrapped up in trying to outdo you, trying to prove I was better... when really, all I ever wanted was to be close to you”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Kaveh, I—”

“Let me finish,” he interjected softly, taking a step closer. His gaze was so intense that it felt like he was seeing straight into your soul. “You drive me crazy, you know that? You challenge me in ways no one else ever has. Every time I think I’ve figured you out, you surprise me again. And it’s... maddening. But also... exhilarating”

You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. The vulnerability in his eyes, the raw honesty you’d never seen before, made your chest tighten. Kaveh had always been your rival, the one you were supposed to surpass, but now... now it felt like he was offering you something infinitely more precious

“You’re so stubborn,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Always trying to prove yourself... when you don’t need to. Not to me”

A soft smile curved his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that boyish way that made your heart flutter. “I guess... what I’m trying to say is...” He took a deep breath, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m done pretending that this is just rivalry. I’m done hiding how I feel”

Your eyes widened, but before you could react, Kaveh leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. The world seemed to pause, the air thick with anticipation

“I’m in love with you,” he confessed, his voice barely audible, like he was afraid saying it any louder might break the moment. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I was too stubborn to admit it—to myself, let alone to you”

You felt your heart swell at his words, warmth spreading through your chest like a sunrise after a long, cold night. “You... idiot,” you whispered, your voice shaking with a mix of disbelief and joy. “You think you’re the only one who’s been hiding feelings?”

His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he looked as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Wait... you mean...?”

“Yes, you dense genius,” you laughed, tears of relief pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’ve loved you, too. Through all the banter, the arguments... every time you challenged me, every time you drove me up the wall. I think... I’ve loved you for longer than I even realized”

A grin broke out on Kaveh’s face, one so radiant it felt like the stars themselves had dimmed in comparison. Without another word, he closed the gap between you, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was as tender as it was passionate

For a moment, everything else faded away—the pressures of your careers, the debts, the rivalry that had once defined you both. All that existed was the warmth of Kaveh’s lips on yours, the feel of his heartbeat pounding against your chest as if it had been waiting for this moment all along

When you finally pulled back, breathless and dazed, Kaveh rested his forehead against yours, a soft, contented smile curving his lips. “So... rivals to lovers, huh?” he teased, his voice a playful whisper

You couldn’t help but laugh, brushing your nose against his. “Yeah, well... I guess we’re both a little stubborn like that”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes shining with a mix of mischief and adoration. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go. Not now, not ever”

#fictional #fictional characters #genshin #genshin characters #genshin fandom #fictional men #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #kaveh fluff #kaveh genshin impact #kaveh genshin #genshin impact kaveh #genshin kaveh #kaveh

10 notes · View notes

ovaryacted · 3 months ago

Text

A little announcement cause I have to be real with y’all.

I’m not going to lie, I’ve been on the precipice of getting overwhelmed not just with writing but with my life as a whole. I’m falling behind at work with assignments that keep piling up and the past two weeks have just been a mess that derailed me. So I’ve been doing damage control trying to restart and get reorganized before it gets out of hand.

There are only 24 hours in the day, most of that time is spent working at my job and I work a busy and time consuming legal job where I can’t fuck around and scroll. I usually do that on my lunch break and disappear for the rest of the day, and now I’m picking up somebody else’s slack cause they quit, so their workload is going to be transferred to me, which is a lot as it is.

When I get home, it’s more stuff I have to deal with. I don’t always have time for myself. I live with my family who lack boundaries and who constantly need me so I’m always doing something for them (eldest daughter curse). I cover bills and expenses here and I’m usually forced to interact with extended family on the weekends so I don’t always get to enjoy them or use those two days productively to write. My household is noisy, my upstairs toxic ass neighbors aren’t helping, and overall rent is so godamn high in my city I can’t move out on my own unless I live with roommates or fuck somebody’s rich daddy for a $50k down payment on an apartment (and I just might).

Somehow, with everything I just said, I still need to find the time to make meals for myself, exercise, be social, invest in my hobbies (writing being the main one), and prep to work on applications for law school which is a year long process starting with taking the law school entrance exam that I have to ace. And of course, dodging seasonal depression is the biggest thing, cause when it’s bad, it’s bad.

All of that being said, I just don’t have enough time to write as quickly or eloquently as I want. I’m the most productive at 12 am - 3 am, but staying up late to write all the time when I need to be up in 5 hrs for work isn’t healthy. I’m not the fastest writer or reader, and I take writing seriously and passionately despite it being a hobby because I want it to be good, because I want people to enjoy it, and because I want to make myself proud since this is something I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve never half-assed my work, and I don’t want to start now nor am I making excuses, but things are getting hectic for me. I mean, I’m falling behind on WIPs, I’m falling behind on interactions, I’m falling behind on reading fics I want to read and finishing projects I’ve been planning for a while. I legit cried yesterday cause I was getting frustrated with a WIP I’m working on. If that’s not sign enough I gotta chill and not think this is all a race, then the next time it hits me I’ll crash out. It’s just a lot.

So, if you see me not being as active in the next couple of weeks or this month, don’t get worried, I’m probably still writing but I just gotta focus and tackle some shit first before bouncing back. For my mutuals who have me on here or discord, you can send me posts you want me to see since I have my notifications off (I promise I’m not ignoring you). I’ll be actively working on the pieces I have for challenges from August & September, and I’m forcing myself to finish them this month if I can.

I don’t want to get burnt out like I did last year, because I enjoy writing and I love doing this, but I just need to find that balance again cause I lost it. I’ll be in and out on here. 🫶

#ཐི♡ཋྀ nic’s nonsense #psa for those that follow me #and to those that are waiting for something from me #I seriously apologize #I’m working on them now #but I hope y’all understand where I’m coming from #cause writing really is hard and I forget #and if you want my discord I’m always open to give it #i hate capitalism

19 notes · View notes

hazelkjt · 26 days ago

Text

The Monster Hunter Wilds Beta was a nice distraction from the shit going on in my life. It was a REALLY fun 3 days, minimal performance issues so I’m happy I don’t need to update my PC. So, here are my thoughts as a decade long fan of the series on what I experienced in Wilds.

The Good-

No clutch claw. Ten out of ten change Capcom, thank you.

Removal of gender restrictions on armor WITHOUT homogenizing the armor designs. Just a win all around here, offers such a greater range of self-expression through what your hunter wears. This will be the second time I’m playing a female hunter just because I won’t have to deal with the armor designs I don’t particularly enjoy. (Only other time was because "why not?" during my revisit to Rise a few months ago)

All the monster designs have knocked it out of the park. Chatacabra is a lovable punching bag, Doshaguma’s a nice step up to have a middle tier Fanged Beast, Balahara is a great challenge with easy to read attacks but tricky timing. And then Rey Dau just taking the cake and instantly in my top 20 favorite monsters.

Weapons all feel relatively balanced, so far? At least of the handful I tried out. I’m a pretty casual MH player, never cared for optimal builds or speedruns so as long as the weapons feel fun to play then I’m all good. Still personally feel LS might be a bit overtuned with all the options and non-committal choices it has but I digress. Switch Axe is making a comeback as my preemptive Wilds main weapon with Bow being my backup.

The map is enormous but doesn’t feel lifeless. There’s always something happening just enough to make it feel like an actual environment and not just a video game level. A massive step up from the areas in Rise that all felt kind of boring with how it was just big, flat areas with connecting alleys that you could run on top of. This feels like actual topography that all flows seamlessly into one another.

Did I mention no clutch claw?

The Bad-

Even though I didn’t have any, the performance issues others are reporting are inexcusable. Other people that I know for a FACT own a high end computer can’t get more than 20FPS on medium settings, it’s ridiculous. This game is not optimized in the slightest for PC right now and for a simultaneous release that’s unacceptable. And while I have joked about wanting to see the low-poly models for myself the fact that people are seeing those for their entire time in the Beta is, again, inexcusable.

Monsters run way too often but this might just be a Beta issue with lower health values so I’ll let it off a bit easy.

I agree with the lack of impact on the really big hits but I am also letting this one off easy because it could have to do with the lack of attack power we have in the Beta. We’re literally in the basic starting gear with the basic beginner’s weapon, there’s room for the hit stop and impact to ramp up dynamically the higher our damage numbers go.

I know this isn’t something they can fix by launch (or if they’d even consider fixing at all) but having only six voices in character creation feels extremely limiting. I understand your hunter is fully voiced throughout the entire game now so getting the usual twenty-ish voices would’ve bloated the budget significantly, but the poorly implemented pitch shifter does nothing to make up for their absence. Even just going one or two notches up or down and you can start to hear the artificial “static” of the pitch filter and it’s distracting.

So many control scheme options and you CAN’T turn off the Radial Menu? Fucking why??? I’ve never enjoyed having control of the camera taken away from me while scrolling through my item bar in previous games and now I can’t even fix that. I’ve begrudgingly been forcing myself to learn how to use it, but removing an option that was in the previous two games for no reason is a baffling decision.

Still looking forward to the game’s launch in a few months and hoping that maybe a few of these issues will be resolved by then.

#just rambling about shit #monster hunter #monster hunter wilds

7 notes · View notes

gem-femmes · 3 months ago

Text

How to Subtly Push Back in a Negative Job Interview

My inspiration for this career guide is a hostile job interview a few years back. I fumbled it because I was unprepared.

At the time, I was taking a break from the family business (I've since returned full-time), going out in the world and doing my own thing.

I met this business owner at a gala. I had already been aware of the company's reputation as one of the best in their field. We hit it off immediately. It turned out they were looking for a freelancer with my exact skillset for an ongoing project.

I went in for an interview a few days later. I tailored my presentation to their company and needs, as I usually do.

I made an effort to prepare. Overall, I expected smooth sailing as I had already made a good impression at the event. I was armed with tons of relevant experience, skills, and portfolio.

Long story short, the owner was absent that day. I was interviewed by other senior staff who, much to my surprise, went for the jugular: a stress interview.

The problem was that we were discussing a freelance project, not a permanent position with the company.

In that context, the stress interview technique was misguided at best. It showed me that they didn't understand the freelance relationship and had unrealistic expectations. Working with this client would likely be a nightmare.

Freelancers have other options, and we are looking for clear, professional, and mutually respectful interactions.

That was definitely not the case.

I was just trying to get a feel for the project, but the interviewers seemed determined to neg me.

I was angry at myself for fumbling that interview.

Not because they didn't choose me for the project. The interview was a huge red flag 🚩, so I was no longer interested in working with them anyway.

No, I disappointed myself by being powerless, not knowing how to push back in a professional way.

I was clueless as to how to defend myself without burning bridges. The latter is relevant because I might eventually have to deal with that company again in our family business.

I vowed to myself that the next time this happens (because it will), I will be prepared. So I brainstormed some sentences to flip the script when it's all stick and no carrot.

💬 1. Ask Direct Questions

"I’m sensing there are some concerns here. Could you share what specific qualities or experiences you’re looking for that you feel I might not meet?"

Translation: Let’s see if you can back up your negativity with something concrete.

💬 2. Highlight Their Approach

"I’ve noticed this interview has focused a lot on challenges and potential negatives. Is there a particular reason for that?"

Translation: Why so serious? Let’s balance this conversation out a bit.

💬 3. Turn the Question Around

If they hit you with something overly harsh, try, "That’s an interesting perspective. How does your team typically handle situations like this?"

Translation: Let’s talk about how you guys deal with these issues. I’m curious.

💬 4. Reframe the Situation

"It sounds like this project has a lot of potential challenges. What support does the team offer to ensure success?"

Translation: If you’re so worried, how about telling me how you plan to help?

💬 5. Emphasize Your Professional Standards

"I always strive to maintain a high standard of communication and professionalism in my work. What’s the typical communication style within your team?"

Translation: Let’s make sure we’re on the same page when it comes to professionalism.

💬 6. Use Silence Strategically

After a particularly harsh question, pause before responding. Let the silence do the talking.

Translation: Silence can be louder than words—let them sit with their negativity for a moment.

💬 7. Seek Clarification on Their Concerns

"It seems like there are some strong concerns about this role. Could you clarify what the biggest risks you see in bringing someone on for this project are?"

Translation: Spell out your concerns. Let’s see if they’re really justified.

💬 8. Politely Challenge Assumptions

"I’m curious about the assumptions behind that question. Could you elaborate on what led you to ask that?"

Translation: What’s the real reason you’re grilling me here?

💬 9. Redirect to Your Strengths

"I appreciate the focus on potential challenges. However, I’d love to highlight how my previous experience with [specific example] directly aligns with this role."

Translation: Let’s get back to what I bring to the table.

💬 10. Exit Gracefully

"It seems like there may be a disconnect in expectations. I believe it’s important for both parties to feel positive about a collaboration. Perhaps it’s best if we reconsider if this is the right fit."

Translation: I have options. If you don’t see my value, I’m out.

Use these techniques wisely, and you’ll not only navigate tough interviews with grace, but you might even leave the interviewer rethinking their approach.

After all, your career is all about knowing your worth and choosing who you want to work with. ✨

#career advice #adulting #social skills #business #communication #self confidence #thirtysomething #personal growth #self development #networking #successful

7 notes · View notes

acmoorereadsandwrites · 24 days ago

Text

An Interview with Julie Leong, Author of The Teller of Small Fortunes

One of the most anticipated cozy fantasy debuts of 2024, Julie Leong is a Malaysian Chinese-American author with a great love of citrus, round animals, and flavorful food.

You can read here or on my substack

Julie, where’s the yuzu? You wrote this whole book and there’s no mention of yuzu?

Julie: I’m sorry! I need to save all my yuzu content for my eventual future book about a citrus witch; I’m sure you understand.

Teller opens up with casual racism and xenophobia directed at Tao for being Shinn, but one of the definitions I’ve seen of cozy fantasy floating around is that the worldbuilding is free of discrimination and the conflict is focused on something else. For authors who want to explore similar topics in cozy fantasy, what do you think is the right balance?

Julie: I think the definition of ‘cozy fantasy’ is a dynamic and inherently subjective thing, because ‘cozy’ is about how a story makes you feel, and different people will necessarily feel different ways in response to certain stories. Personally, I don’t think ‘cozy’ means the total absence of sadness or conflict. If anything, I prefer my cozy stories to have just a dash of darkness so as to highlight the warmth and joy all the better – like a sprinkle of salt in hot chocolate, if you will.

There definitely is a balance to be struck, though. I do believe that cozy requires a happy ending (or mostly happy, at least), and that if a story delves too far into violence and heavy themes, it can be challenging to pull the reader back into the cozy mindset. I’d encourage authors writing cozy fantasy to try to be mindful of how they feel as they’re writing the story, and to take special note of any scenes that evoke tense or painful emotions – are they followed by scenes that soothe away those hurts? Is there catharsis by the end? Are readers ultimately comforted, or troubled by your story?

Ghibli has been a big reference point for cozy and a lot of their films carry a thread of grief or melancholy, an undertone that Teller shares. Do you think cozy and melancholy/grief are not only compatible, but those feelings are a necessary ingredient in a cozy SFF?

Julie: I don’t think melancholy/grief are necessary in cozy SFF, but as I mentioned above, I do think they can provide a powerful counterbalance that highlights the warmth and catharsis often offered by cozy stories. They can help make the joy feel more earned, as well, and give the story an emotional heft that may be otherwise lacking.

Kiss, marry, throw off the wagon: Mash, Kina, and Silt

Julie: Oof, that’s hard. Kiss Silt, marry Kina, and throw Mash off the wagon just because I know he can keep up on foot anyway.

We have fortune cookies and tea for fortune telling and Kina is a baker. If you were a fortune teller, what food-based style would you use and how does it involve citrus?

Julie: Hahaha. Citrus-based divination! Tangerine tarot? Peel open an orange, count the number of segments and seeds, look for patterns in the pith; burn the rinds and inhale the citrus-scented smoke… there are so many ways I could go with it.

A lot of people unfamiliar with cozy are trying to define it, but I think it’s pretty defined by the community that has helped propel it from selfpub to traditional publishing. What do you think is the future of cozy and do you think the term is a bit more fluid than some might believe?

Julie: I do think the definition of cozy is fluid and still-evolving, as I mentioned above. I can’t say for certain where the future of the subgenre lies, but I can say what I hope we’ll see more of! Personally, I’d love to see more diverse voices in cozy, more cozy stories that don’t necessarily center a romance, more cozy stories that don’t involve small businesses, and more bittersweet cozy that plays with heavier themes without necessarily getting very dark.

A major theme in Teller is the importance of small changes and small moments, both good and bad, and how they add up. What other themes are you hoping readers will get from this?

Julie: I think it’s up to readers to take what they like from a story, but when I was writing Teller, other themes that were central in my mind were the different ways in which one can ‘belong’, the struggle between free will and fate, and the eternal conflict between self-interest and the common wellbeing.

You had a bit of a unicorn experience as Teller was the first book you wrote and you're launching with multiple crate deals. What has been the most exciting and the most humbling experience for you?

Julie: It’s been such a fairytale, honestly. I never in a million years expected all of the things that have happened to me and this book, and I’m so, so grateful – a lot of the credit goes to my fantastic publishing teams at Ace and Hodderscape, who have done so much to get this book out there.

One of the most recently exciting developments was my attending New York Comic Con at the invitation of my publisher. I have never (nor will I ever again) felt like such a rock star as I did signing 100+ copies of The Teller of Small Fortunes for enthusiastic readers at the Penguin Random House floor booth, and it was an amazing experience to co-present at a writing panel alongside brilliant authors like CM Waggoner, Sarah Hawley, and Rob Hart.

The most humbling experience? I’ve had a lot, but the moment when I first visited the Penguin Random House office in New York, and strolled through a hallway lined with incredible, renowned, bestselling books whose authors I’ve loved for years and years – that was definitely a surreal moment of “Oh wait, there’s been a terrible mistake. I don’t think I belong here.”

Do you think you’re going to stay in cozy fantasy or do you want to branch out into cozy sci-fi like Becky Chambers or try your hand at an epic fantasy one day? Or, perhaps, venture outside of the speculative genres and try your hand at a mystery or contemporary?

Julie: I don’t know yet, to be honest! As of right now, I still have more ideas for cozy fantasies that I’d love to write – but I also don’t want to limit myself. There’s something thrilling and liberating about the idea that I might one day wake up and decide to write something totally new and unfamiliar.

Tao is very AroAce-coded, which is slowly becoming more common in fantasy. Was that a conscious choice on your part or did that organically reveal itself as you wrote the book or something in between?

Julie: It was more of the latter. I knew from the start that I did not want to write a romance-centric book, in part because I wanted to tell a story that highlighted the importance of non-romantic relationships like friendship and family. But it wasn’t until midway through the first draft, when Tao and Kina were having a conversation about romantic attention, that I realized that it felt very natural that Tao – as I had written her – was aro/ace-spec.

Tao briefly considers the story of the Monkey Prince and how it mirrors her own journey. Is this a call back to Journey to the West and Sun Wukong?

Julie: Yes! Journey to the West is such a classic tale from Chinese mythology, and also one of the first bedtime stories that I heard from my dad growing up. It felt right for Tao to know it, too.

Sorry, but I have to get a bit sappy. As an immigrant and the child of an immigrant, I found a lot of my own journey reflected in Tao even if there are some differences, including the part where she’s constantly othered despite having lived in Eshtera for a long time. It feels like there’s not that many fantasies that truly get into the nitty-gritty of what it means to be an immigrant. Were you filling in a gap that you saw or is there a treasure trove of immigrant fantasy I don’t know about?

Julie: I’m so glad that that part of Tao’s story resonated with you. I, similarly, have never read much fantasy that features immigrant experiences specifically, and I knew from the very start of writing Teller that I wanted to tell an immigrant story. I wanted to see myself reflected in a character who felt caught between cultures, and was wrestling with herself about where she belonged, and how she defined her own identity. Some of Tao’s experiences I took directly from my own childhood, and I’ve already heard from many readers how they shared those experiences and felt them deeply: the loss of language, for example.

Until recently, cozy was pretty much relegated to selfpub and then exploded on the traditional publishing scene with Legends and Lattes. When you queried Teller, the trend was just starting to pick up in traditional publishing. Do you think authors looking to be traditionally published should pay attention to what is trending in selfpub?

Julie: Absolutely! I think any aspiring authors should pay attention to what’s happening in their genres, period.

Completely agree. You need to know your genre to write and sell in it.

There's all kinds of advice out there in regards to the writing process, but I've found that the best thing to do is experiment with a lot of authors' processes until you find a combination that works for you. What's your drafting process like?

Julie: It’s… chaos. I basically turn into a hermit and disappear into my writing cave for as many weeks as it takes to churn out a workable draft. I draft scenes out of order, I cobble together an outline only if and when I start feeling like I need one, I edit as I go sometimes and leave entire scenes as bracketed placeholders other times… basically, I give myself the liberty to write when and how I want to, and I don’t subscribe to any particular process or system. I’m not sure I’d recommend it to others, but it’s what’s worked for me so far!

We talk a lot in writers spaces about how you have to read modern authors to be part of the conversation going on in our genres. What books is your book in conversation with?

Julie: Love this question! Definitely Travis Baldree’s Legends & Lattes, which sparked the recent wave of cozy fantasy, but also with heavy influence from Becky Chambers’ Monk & Robot series, and the Singing Hills novellas from Nghi Vo.

Author as Brand gets thrown around a lot in some circles and not everyone likes it but it's impossible to stop the train at this point. What do you want your Brand to be?

Julie: Kindness. Humor. Warmth.

Some authors focus on food, others on clothes. What's your favorite way to worldbuild?

Julie: I'm a vibes-first writer! My worldbuilding happens sort of like piecing together a puzzle, where various sections and chunks of it come together first before I fill in the rest of it. Some of those starting pieces might be big (political and economic systems) or small (cats and bees are inherently magical beings).

I only do as much worldbuilding as I strictly need for a given book, in part because I like there to be some vagueness/unexplained things, but also to leave room for more worldbuilding in subsequent books, so I don't accidentally write myself into any corners.

What's next on the horizon for you?

Julie: I’m currently revising my second book, The Keeper of Magical Things, which will be coming out in fall 2025 if all goes as planned. It’s a sapphic cozy fantasy set in the same world as Teller but with a new cast of characters. I’m pitching it as The Spellshop meets Warehouse 13 with Stardew Valley vibes.

Are there any debuts you wanna give a shout-out to?

Julie: So many wonderful fellow debuts! I’m sure I’m missing some people (and apologies to them), but off of the top of my head:

Genoveva Dimova (Foul Days, Monstrous Nights)

Eliza Chan (Fathomfolk)

SA MacLean (The Phoenix Keeper)

Maiga Doocy (Sorcery and Small Magics)

Amy Avery (The Longest Autumn)

Riley August (The Last Gifts of the Universe)

Samantha Mills (The Wings Upon Her Back)

Lucy Jane Wood (Rewitched)

Frances White (Voyage of the Damned)

John Wiswell (Someone You Can Build a Nest In)

Jules Arbeaux (Lord of the Empty Isles)

I recommend all of those titles as well, especially Phoenix Keeper, Foul Days, The Wings Upon Her Back, and Fathomfolk.

Thank you so much, Julie!

Where to buy:

Waterstones

Amazon

Kobo

Barnes and Noble

Mysterious Galaxy

Penguin Random House

#julie leong #the teller of small fortunes #cozy fantasy #immigrant fantasy #malaysian chinese-american author

5 notes · View notes