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“Ah— aeons, Nat. Am I being patched up or throttled again?”
The lights are flickering above, dim-doomed night in the underground where the main source of noise becomes the beatdowns experienced in the fighting ring only a few blocks away from Dr. Natasha’s clinic. Seele thinks there’s a word for that, something starting with an I - maybe an E - that fits how funny their proximity is. She can’t recall it, nor is she particularly trying with the rough treatment she’s experiencing like Nat’s taking a tender try at becoming busted-knuckled herself.
She chuckles as if Seele’s being especially entertaining, a tricky tongue they both know she doesn’t possess. Red rims the squint of perpetual weariness, glassy like diluted pummels belonging to archaic royalty. They match those monsters' exteriors in crystallization Seele realizes as Natasha carefully picks out another piece of fragmentum right where the stomach folds in on itself during rest.
“Now, Seele… I hardly recall a time when you’ve complained during my care. Don’t tell me you’ve softened,” Natasha muses with a tut, naughty child on her bedspread.
Seele sputters as the dumb do. What the hell is that supposed to mean? She’d take it as teasing if Natasha hadn’t been giving her hardened glances since stumbling into the clinic, no whispered worries more than beaten posture and a firm shove to sit down immediately. Thankfully, on such a rare occasion, no one else is breathing their vows inside.
Just… her and Nat.
“Softened?” Seele scoffs. “Please. I’m— I got crystals festering inside my damn wound, it’s… obviously a tad uncomfortable.”
Natasha hums as the wind whispers but replies no more afterward; she continues to tweeze out more of the hard, sharp-edged substances and they drop like coins in the metal pan beside them. Who knew having one of those freaks of nature managing to land a lucky hit would have it explode upon impact? Normally, she’d never allow that to happen - she’s known for her quick gait, forever moment, half her identity practically. But she was, um, a little distracted during this trip…
Her eyes flutter shut as she sighs. Bronya hardly makes in-person visits to the underground considering her forced inauguration like, a month prior - so it was something special when she specifically ventured down to take report of fragmentum’s slow growth near Rivet Town. And, well, Seele kinda got the impression by the end of it that Bronya might’ve had ulterior motives to be personally surveying the situation when she wanted Seele to be her ‘guide’ of sorts.
She guided her, alright.
Creeping heat like machinery’s churning thrum spreads across to brand her throat, wide-ribbed chest before a sudden intrusion has her eyes snapping wide. Natasha’s gloved finger jams its way to the damn knuckle into Seele’s open wound, curls in a ‘come hither’ motion sending pulsating fits from jumbled nerves unable to escape. Seele can’t stop the yelp that scratches down her throat as the last of a jagged piece is pulled out - splattered remains inside the sticky pan.
Nataha’s thin lips pull into a tight smile. “There. We needn’t waste any time getting them out… unless you’re interested in the various stages of necropsy?”
Her bloody gloves are replaced with a fresh pair, Seele’s gaze drifting up to the ceiling like a forgotten balloon blinking away the majority of her building tears. She refuses to cry in front of Nat, has done so enough to drown them both in the rusted tub they’ve shared baths in, and rather not add another drop to that catastrophic ocean. Her knuckles blanch to ghostly white fisting the stained sheets beneath her as Natasha’s unusually heavy touch finally seems to come to an end.
Disinfection is another layer of agony but one Seele’s grown accustomed to time and time again. Nothing like… whatever Natasha was doing prior. Who twisted her panties today? She’s never taken it out on Seele before - if that’s what was going on, anyhow.
“All better,” Natasha murmurs, wrapping the last of the bandages onto Seele’s bruising stomach, jagged gash. She leans in to press a kiss against the unsullied material and another slosh of heat builds at the familiar gesture. “I can’t stand seeing you so roughed up, especially when I know you’re better than this. What happened out there?”
Seele swallows the memories of Bronya’s shuddering breaths, bent over and legs spread wide with encouragement from Seele’s wandering hands, exploring fingers. Stupid, she’s aware, but it’s not like they ever have time to do anything when banging the nation’s leader usually needs an appointment three weeks in advance.
At least she had her shorts on when that thing stumbled onto their, uh, reunion.
“A lapse in judgment,” is what Seele decides to go with because it’s not technically lying and if she were to try a full-on deception Natasha would sniff it out like those weird bloodhounds on the surface. She must’ve been born with a built-in lie detector or something, since… man, has Seele hardly ever gotten away with anything.
And she’s not getting away with her answer right now, either.
Natasha’s head tilts ever so slightly. “A lapse in judgment? What exactly constitutes such a thing?”
Seele shifts awkwardly. “Being… distracted, I guess.”
“Hm.”
Natasha interrogates no further.
And Seele has the feeling her doctor already knows the answer.
Natasha forces her to spend overnight at the clinic much to Seele’s chagrin.
She sees no point when it’s not like she usually visits Natasha in the mornings to debrief about Wildfire’s current concerns anyway, prefers being burrowed in blanket bundles than stuck with starchy sheets that smell like mildew. But Natasha’s word is law for many, Seele included, and so she sucks it up and tries her best to get comfortable in her temporary bed for the night.
Her injuries ache and throb with the little movement she makes, forced to lay on her back and stare blankly at the shadows that dance and flicker from a lone candle’s movements. Nataha’s taken to turning the lights off for her comfort, fiddling with one thing or another at her desk in a strangely comfortable silence… somewhat.
Seele still can feel the phantom brush of Natasha’s probing inside her, sucking down acidity threatening to rise and choke her. She’s no stranger to pain, usually never minds it, but…
Vibration.
With the fine grace of a flopping fish, Seele shimmies the device out of her pocket and sees a lone notification peeking back at her.
Bronya: Were you able to make it to the clinic? I still don’t understand why you sought to go by yourself.
Typical, Bronya.
Seele: You had more important matters, princess. Besides, I made it in one piece. Patched up and everything.
Bronya: I’m relieved to hear that. You must give Natasha my thanks. I’ve been worried sick since our departure.
Oh, yeah. Having the Supreme Guardian be indebted to you is a pretty big deal, isn’t it? However, for some reason, Seele doesn’t think it’s a good idea to tell Nat this…
Seele: I’ll pass. She’s forcing me to stay overnight like I’m a kid again.
Bronya : You’re precious cargo, Seele. Surely you understand why she wants to keep you around for a little longer?
Ugh. Knowing Bronya she wasn’t even trying to make her blush. Stupid, diplomatic, accidental flirting.
Seele: Whatever.
Seele: If only I got to keep YOU around a little longer…
Bronya: Let’s be sure to choose a safer location next time. Preferably somewhere I don’t need to maintain that degree of composure.
Seele: You mean a place where I wasn’t forced to muffle you
Bronya: Seele.
Seele: Yes
Bronya: Sleep well, my love.
Seele: What
Now she’s left on what the Trailblazer described as “read,’ phenomena where women who no longer wish to speak to you but will make their presence known despite this leave you to dwell on until the next time. Seele’s fine with it, she gets how flustered Bronya can be about this sorta thing. She’s the same girl who had never said the word fuck until Seele got her hands on her.
“Someone’s popular.”
Seele nearly drops her phone upon Natasha’s sudden appearance at the foot of the bed, a light smile on the doctor’s face as she holds a small mug in her hands.
“Bronya was just making sure I made it out alive,” Seele replies, dimming the screen and putting it to her chest. She feels like a teenager trying to hide the fact they snuck a sip of alcohol with the way Natasha’s watching her.
Natasha laughs. “Well, she could’ve escorted you to the clinic if she was that concerned.”
Something about Natasha’s tone annoys her. Condescending, almost. What’s wrong with her today?
“She knows I can handle myself,” Seele retorts, a frown ever so building. “Unlike someone who thinks I need to act helpless under cardboard sheets.”
Maybe it’s a trick of the dim light but something twists in Natasha’s face, like a muscle seizing.
“You’re close to hurting my feelings.”
And it’s then Seele bites back another retort, sticky guilt clogging her lungs. She can’t remember the last she and Natasha got to anything resembling an argument, sharp words.
Seele sighs. “I-- maybe I do need to rest here tonight.”
“I’m only doing this because I care about you, Seele.” Natasha walks over and gently places the mug on the bedside table before pressing a kiss to Seele’s head. “I even made your favorite tea to help you sleep comfortably.”
“Thanks, Nat,” Seele murmurs, now embarrassed as she takes the mug in her hands, feeling the warmth the hot liquid inside brings through the material. She doesn’t use pain medication and refuses to use what others need more than her, so Natasha’s always improvised.
Natasha smiles. “By tomorrow morning you’ll feel good as new. Until then…”
She plucks Seele’s phone away before Seele can say anything.
“I’ll put this to charge while you rest, okay?”
Right. Charge. These stupid things need to have those weird little electrical devices Serval whipped up to keep them working.
Still. Natasha holding her phone is oddly invasive.
“Goodnight, my little butterfly.”
“...Goodnight, Nat.”
Seele glances down at the mug and takes a sip, grimacing.
Far too bitter.
She ends up pouring the rest of it into the soil of a nearby plant once Natasha heads next door to rest, unwilling to ask for more sweetener when the gesture was sweet enough in the first place. But, again, strange. She has never had tea that acidic, and wonders if tea could go bad… but Natasha would never give her anything expired, either.
What an odd night.
Especially as Seele manages to slowly wither herself down enough to fall into bursts of light rest. Disorienting dreams with no rhyme or reason as she seemingly awakes for short periods because she’ll catch glimpses of the dark office nestled between fantastical innovations of the mind - shadow’s movements that disappear before her body seizes enough to react and off to sleep she goes.
She thinks she sees Natasha again during these fleeting moments, a heavy coat over her shoulders that obscures the entirety of underneath. Pale light washes over her tired, hardened features as her fingertip taps across something… something familiar…
Darkness.
Slipping conscious, hardened crystal of a diluted crimson shine. Furrowed brow. Chapped lips.
Seele dreams of her, when the flourish of gray wasn’t slowly enveloping within her raven-clawed locks, nor the ache to shoulders that carry the entire burden of the Underground itself. When Seele was young and craving for more in dutiful faith to any form of higher power wanting soldiers in its ranks.
Some would refer to them as mother and daughter, she remembers. They were attached to the hip once upon a time. Seele even deluded herself into thinking Natasha was her actual mother to keep her poor, childish heart from breaking even further when reality grew too harsh to bear. Sometimes Natasha indulged her, sometimes she didn’t.
‘You’re my special girl,’
Special.
Somewhere, in the far corners of her memory, Seele thinks Natasha once told her she was her favorite. And Seele had wondered what it meant to be someone’s number one, the pinnacle to love.
When she awakes again, still too dark for the mechanical birds to chirp, her eyes are sealed in secrecy and sleepy deprivation. The wound throbs to the pulse rate of her heart and she figures that must’ve been the cause of another unfortunate wake-up call.
But a moment later there’s an odd sensation.
Ticklish. Warm breath in the morning sun above, Bronya’s head nestled to rest and graze against the vulnerable parts of her throat as her exhale flutters above puckering skin. Except it’s not Bronya, can’t be, ‘cause this is not a plush bedroom but the clinic’s rust and chemical compound stench.
“What am I going to do with you, Seele…”
Natasha…?
She can’t open her eyes. Not because she’s physically unable to but because she’s scared of what she’ll see if she does. That tickling sensation is between her thighs, below where the wound whines and whimpers, hot and wanting above her underwear.
(She went to sleep with shorts on).
“I knew she was going to change you.”
A sigh.
Seele’s intestines twist themselves into a gnarled knot upon Natasha's hot press of a kiss, right where she lays flaccid and soft like Natasha’s doing the part in waking it up. It’s… unnerving that despite the rapid fear fraying her nerves into withered wires, the action feels good. Pleasant. Especially as Natasha continues to lay her claim in what seems such casual fashion it makes Seele wonder if this isn’t the first time…
No. Of course not. Natasha would never. This can’t— this must be a dream, a nightmare.
A... very realistic nightmare.
Especially when there’s the lightest graze of ridged teeth dragging across her inner thigh, nibbling and sucking to bloom gaudy yellow, beaten plum. Natasha repeats the same on another spot, and another, then another until Seele can feel the phantom stings of canines dragging their loving caress, spit lavished.
Slowly, her underwear is pulled down.
It’s just a nightmare.
“Hm. Still soft."
She’s asleep right now.
Calloused palm drags across her shaft, gentle hold.
Seele will wake up at any moment. Watch.
The tip is taken into Natasha’s mouth and her doctor moans. Indecent, a far cry from the composed facade of maternity she’s anchored herself to since gaining a semblance of forethought. Vibrations trickle down to Seele’s gut and it takes every ounce of willpower not to do something fucking brash.
Aeons, she’s— Natasha sounds like she’s in bliss.
Suckles on the head as she runs her hand in gentle strokes to slowly work her dick to a semblance of hardness. Worshipping, unfamiliar to street trash as Seele’s known herself to be depending on the person’s vernacular. Maybe even loving, and that’s the worst part of it.
She doesn’t feel particularly violated, or gross, or the terms used for those who get taken advantage of. She feels… she feels loved.
Her gaze blooms to squint at the muddy outline of Natasha hunched over, hair undone to fall as the night sky waves around her. Seele opens her eyes more upon seeing Natasha is lost in the moment, like the mere act is so full of luster she can’t realize the awakening of such a victim.
It’s here she should say something, anything, make her presence known and gain the upper hand in what debauchery takes place. But Seele is frozen as the rest of their world is, unmoving - even when her lungs hitch and flutter feeling the drag of Natasha’s tongue right under the tip.
Fuck.
“My poor baby,” Natasha whispers upon moving back, slowly moving her wrist in a practiced motion. Easy as breathing. “She doesn’t take care of you, does she? Not like me.”
That almost manages to have Seele breaking her vow of silence, an ugly wave washing over her knowing who Natasha is referring to. Bronya didn’t purposely choose to neglect her, nothing of the sort, but it’s as if Natasha is managing to twist every single thing their Supreme Guadian does into the worst possible verdict.
It’s like… she hates her.
Natasha gives a hard squeeze at the realization.
Seele’s teeth grind together as Natasha manhandles her throbbing dick, punishment to that which must be inside Bronya too often for the doctor’s liking yet not enough as an obligation. Contradicting, much like Natasha’s supposed abhorrence for those above the surface and their treatment of the Underworlders….
…and yet.
She comes easily. Since when has anything ever been ‘easy’ for Seele?
Natasha doesn’t swallow. No, that would be too easy. She takes her time gathering every drop with the flat of her tongue as the kitten scrapes for a mother’s milk. The rush of fitful anger taken to a low wash befitting the gentlest of a refined woman.
When she’s finished with her act, she presses a kiss to the tip.
Her eyes flick forward, meeting Seele’s.
Silence is acceptance, and acceptance means every following popped button from Natasha’s shirt.