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halcyonfawn · 5 months

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the meaning behind "face the raven" theme in "wild blue yonder" and more

a continuation of this post. i need to talk about this otherwise i'll explode.

some people have also said that this theme is playing in "last christmas" and "hell bent" (thank you for pointing that out, i'm going to die) which makes it all even worse (better). therefore, this post is, more or less, destined to turn into capaldi's era brainrot. but not all of it, i promise.

you've been warned.

first of all, allow me to refresh your memory. let's look into the context of the scenes where we heard this music theme before.

"last christmas"

according to series 8 official soundtrack, this theme is a part of "every christmas is last christmas" and is heard quite clearly two times. they're both important scenes for the doctor and clara.

too late.

a moment full of regrets and nostalgia. the doctor thinking he's lost clara again, wishing he would have come back sooner. clara reminicing her life without the doctor in it.

"so no one matched up to danny, eh?" "there was one other man, but that would never have worked out." "why not?" "he was impossible."

it is (heavily) implied that "one other man" is the doctor. does the doctor himself realise that she's talking about him? open for interpretation. but what this small exchange truly does is showing a game of saying something without actually saying it.

"can you really see no difference in me?" "clara oswald, you will never look any different to me."

yet another way of dancing around words. there's something special and touching about this last line. it is sort of a confession of unconditional love. but the word itself - love - is never spoken out loud.

then again, twelfth might be face blind.

second chances.

now, this scene is a complete opposite of the one mentioned above. it's full of hope, anticipation, happiness. a beginning of a new arc. he is given a second chance and he takes it. the doctor asks clara to run away with him once again. and she says "yes" without hesitation, takes his hand, kisses him on the cheek.

conclusion? these two scenes are focused entirely on the doctor and clara's relationship. it is there to show their strong connection, how much they mean to one another. utter devastation at the thought of their time ending and the absolute joy of reuniting after being separated. a chance at a happy ending. which also makes the music that plays on the background their theme.

"face the raven"

"every christmas is last christmas" is now turned into "face the raven" and is asocciated with clara's death. it also makes the previous name even more heartwrenching since last christmas was literally clara and doctor's last hurrah. we can hear this piece of music appear in two scenes as well.

clara's monologue about facing the raven.

"if danny pink can do it so can i. die right. die like i mean it, face the raven. maybe this is what i wanted. maybe this is it. maybe this is why i kept running. maybe this is why i kept taking all those stupid risks, kept pushing it."

she's accepting her fate and aknowleges her recklesness all the way throught the season 9. it was meant to be. there wasn't enough space for two doctors in the tardis.

"i let you get reckless" "why? why shouldn't i be reckless? you're reckless all the bloody time! why can't i be like you?" "clara, there's nothing special about me. i'm nothing but less breakable than you. i should've taken care of you."

this scene is also about how a human life can be so very short compared to the time lord's and how easily it can end. it's fragile. and it's the doctor's curse: bearing the pain of losing his loved ones.

clara meeting her fate.

as she approaches the raven, ever so brave, the doctor watches her. he hears clara scream, then witness her collapsing onto the ground. it is extremely painful, but this is, i repeat, the doctor's curse: watching his companions leave. there's no use in running away from that pain, it haunts him every step of the way.

"hell bent"

next time, "face the raven" theme can be heard during the memory wipe sequence. there is no name given for the background music in this particular moment, but it's quite obvious it represents loss and... letting go?

the doctor is about to make clara forget their time together (does that ring a bell, anyone?).

it is worth pointing out that the music becomes the loudest at the exact moment the doctor says:

"look how far i went for fear of losing you. this has to stop. one of us has to go."

it is the culmination of their relationship. companions that push each other to extremes. together they might destroy the whole universe in order to keep each other safe. there's no other way but to separate. they've formed such a strong connection than one is ought to forget the other.

even though at first the doctor is determined to wipe clara's memories, he then admits she is right: it is unfair to take away all that wonderful time they had from her. so he gives her a choice. or, more like, an offer to play a russian roulette. it's either you or me. i'm not going to press that button. we will do this together.

to summarise: all of these moments featured a strong connection between clara and the doctor. it also tells us a story about how hard it is to lose someone you care about deeply, especially for the doctor.

how is it all connected to the doctor and donna?

memory wipe

the doctor has to make donna and clara forget about him in order to keep them safe. expect that he doesn't give donna a choice, wiping her memory almost instantly, without saying a proper goodbye to her. obviously, he didn't have enough time to think of a better way to solve the problem since donna wouldn't have lasted long. however, it is still a decision he regrets making.

from "the star beast":

"i'm so glad you're back, donna. it killed me, it killed me, it killed me."

if we take a look at clara's situation, it's a bit different. i've already mentioned it above: at first, the doctor wants to do the same thing to clara that he did to donna. make her forget. expect, this time he is confronted for doing so (even threatened, at some point).

"these have been the best years of my life and they're mine."

i think this line triggers something in the doctor. because this is when he realises that this is not the right thing to do. not exactly. he'd already done it once and he regretted it. so this time, he offers a slightly different solution. someone still has to forget, but they'll press that button together. it's a mutual choice.

now, i know it's not entirely related to the dialogue in "wild blue yonder", but i think it's worth mentioning that donna and clara's stories are somewhat similar. i'm sure it's been said before, but it's still important.

donna's story was incomplete because she wasn't given a choice. now, that she remembers, 14th doctor makes sure their time together is worth-while. a second chance just like in "last christams".

too alike

another similarity between these two stories is that clara and donna are not entirely humans. not anymore.

donna's half timelord. even though her head is still not big enough to fit all the doctor's memories, she still has a part of the doctor in her.

clara's frozen in time, that makes her practically immortal. she risks her life, she reverses the polarity of the neuroblock, she gets her own tardis, she's even reffered to as "clara who" at the end of "hell bent". she has become the doctor in a sense.

but there can only be one doctor. so where's the story heading to at this point, i wonder? but we'll come back to this question later.

"but what really happened?"

before i say anything, it is obvious that the doctor's silence before and after he says "a lot" is him reminicing all that'd happened to him during the 11th, 12th and 13th reincarnations. all of the loss and pain he went through.

but why "face the raven" theme of all things? it could be a general theme of grief/nostalgia/painful memories, nothing else implied.

but please let me be delusional for a bit longer!

just as that scene in "hell bent" brought the doctor back to the moment he made donna forget him, could it be that bringing back his best friend's memories in a whole universe that "he absolutely loves", also reminded him of another important person in his life with similar story? just like "hell bent" mirrored "the journey's end", "wild blue younder" gave us a reference to "hell bent".

this is where we get back to the question about the current story direction.

foreshadowing?

donna's story is not over. and there are a lot of possibilities how it can end.

say, there is a connection to clara's story here, i wonder if that's where the plot's heading. in one of the trailers, the doctor does say "i'm not sure if i can save you this time" to donna. and it worries me. then again, maybe they're just tricking us into thinking something bad will happen (oh the drama).

i'd say it's unlikely donna's going to die because that would be absolutely devastating after just bringing her back. at the very least, the ending wouldn't be completely "happily ever after". perhaps, sacrifices will be made in order to prevent something truly horrible from happening.

why did this face come back?

in "the girl who died" twelfth doctor finally realises why he got his face. it is a call-back to "the fires of pompei" (don't even get me started on its being the episode with 10th and donna).

the message the doctor was giving to himself turned out to be:

"i'm the doctor and i save people!"

but what is 14th trying to tell himself?

i think it's about donna and more.

he's fixing his mistake of erasing her memories and depriving her of the right to remember amazing things that'd happened to her.

it's a reminder to actually tell people how much they mean to him. as we can see, 14th's more open with his feelings and constantly shows signs of affection towards his loved ones, even breaking the "never say i love you" rule.

it's about being honest and open with people because they deserve to hear it from him and he deserves to hear it back. because "things happen and then it's too late".

again, take 12th doctor, for instance. he constantly represses his feelings. but in my humble opinion, the reason why he's changed by season 10 was clara. she pulled him out of the dark place. and even though her death almost threw him back to that state again, he is still a better man by season 10.

but there were things left unsaid. love and care were always there but it was never said out loud. kind of the same thing happened with 13th.

i strongly believe that donna is that person for 14th. they're best friends who love each other deeply. and after the doctor lost her and got a second chance to fix everything, he does, he's being affectione. he's finally open with his feelings.

conslusion: why did you make us read all fo this?

to answer the question in the title: it's all tied with how memories are important and priceless, fixing past mistakes, moving on and learning to treasure every moment with people you care about like it's your last.

it can also be a foreshadowing for something terrible, but i choose to hope for the better.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

aaaand that is the end of my doctor who rant. thank you for getting this far, if you did!

my feelings about all of this can be described with this one meme:

#doctor who #doctor who meta #dw #dw spoilers #wild blue yonder #twelfth doctor #fourteenth doctor #tenth doctor #donna noble #clara oswald #face the raven #last christmas #hell bent #twelveclara #whouffaldi #i'm sincerely sorry if you've stumbled across some stupid grammatical or other mistakes while reading #i wrote a part of this at 3am #[unhinged analysis]

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lolishdes · 10 months

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❝He Loves me not❞ || Diluc x Reader

✧A/N: NOW THIS IS A HEAVY ONE BABES, I wanted to try something different since I mostly write lovey dovey or smutty stuff. This time I wanted to try making something more on the angsty side. Read the warnings first before proceeding !

Oh! Also, this is part of a Diluc Series I'm cooking up 👀, they are all one shots tho, none of them connect to one another. So expect more Diluc stuff from me !

✧Warning/s: Toxic Marriage, Cheating, Argument gone physical, Smut

✧Synopsis: In a modern AU wherein Diluc and you have an arranged marriage and though at first you don't have high hopes of this union, you still gave it a chance… oh how regretful you are for such a choice.

✧Word Count: 2.9k words

Minors kindly don't interact!

He was never yours to begin with. From the moment you saw the way he looked at her…you knew you had already lost.

It was your engagement party and you have invited all of your loved ones to celebrate. Both Diluc and you are currently busy attending and chatting with the guests. Everyone kept complimenting you on how much you're practically glowing that night, that it must be good karma considering how good your life has been going so far. And you couldn't agree more, everything seems so right…so perfect.

Despite how transactional your engagement with Diluc was, this man has somehow crept into your heart. He was quite intimidating at first yet somehow you knew there was a hint of softness in him. His face would hold indifference yet his touch was warm and gentle. And for that you do not regret saying yes to meeting him.

You excuse yourself from the group of guests and want to see your soon to be husband. You couldn't seem to find him from the sea of people..strange considering that his red hair always makes him stand out. By the corner you see Rosaria and Kaeya enjoying some drinks and snacks while they converse with one another. You approach them to ask Kaeya where his brother could be.

“Hey Kae, have you seen Diluc anywhere? I can't seem to find him?” Kaeya quirks his eyebrow and puts the wine glass down his lips. “I believe he went that way, by the garden. I saw him going there with Jean.” Jean? Who in Celestia was Jean? Probably one of his relatives you thought. You thanked Kaeya and exited the banquet hall.

The garden was a little wide but it was easy enough to find your way. You ended up a little deeper into the garden and started hearing faint voices, one of which you could recognize. You don't know why, but your gut feeling told you to keep your mouth shut and approach them quietly. As you approached nearer you peaked at the two people that were hiding behind some grass walls.

Your heart sank at the sight.

Diluc had one of his arms wrapped around the woman's waist and his other hand found itself on her cheek, tenderly caressing her. His eyes…it's as if he was worshiping the very ground she walked in. And the woman…Jean, looked back at him with the same affections as she smiled at him warmly.

You retreat back to hiding behind the grass walls, yet not leaving just yet. “You're here.” Diluc spoke gently, a hint of joy in his tone. Jean gave a gentle laugh. “Yes I am, in the flesh. and I intend to stay here a little longer.” Although you cannot see what they are doing, you are most definitely sure they just share a kiss after that. Your whole body starts to shake and your eyes are getting blurry from the tears that are threatening to fall down. In that moment you can't seem to speak nor move, you felt powerless, alone and…vulnerable.

You felt betrayed and yet did nothing about it…months later you were then wed.

…He didn't even call your name during the wedding night. You know damn well that as he was thrusting himself inside you and kissing you passionately on the lips it wasn't you on his mind…it was her. Those sweet pet names he was giving you? That's all for her. And still you pretended as if you knew nothing of his crimes. As you both reached your climax tears were falling down your eyes. But these weren't because of pure bliss, but it was due to your husband calling out another woman's name silently under his breath while still burried inside you.

“Oh Jean..”

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Fixing yourself in front of your vanity, you applied some gloss on your lips before giving it a pop to really apply the product evenly. You were almost completely dressed up for the party and were satisfied with how you looked in front of the mirror. You gave a satisfied nod to yourself before grabbing the clutch on your bed and heading to the door.

You grabbed your pair of black heels that were inside the shoe cabinet and bent a bit to wear them ,behind you you could hear footsteps. “And where do you think you're going at this time and hour?” You didn't have to turn around to know who spoke.

“Just going to a birthday celebration, remember my friend Yelan? It's her 29th birthday.” “And where is this party located exactly?” You finished buckling the straps on your heels and stood up properly. “Just at her home, we wanted some space for ourselves and she's going to bring out her best alcohol.” You answered every question he had, but your tone sounded as if you didn't have any time for him. That irritated the red head a bit.

You turn around to face your husband, he was still in his work clothes, The sleeves of his button up were folded up and a few buttons were undone, and his red hair was down. His arms were crossed and he had his default resting bitch face. “Will be home by 10pm, don't worry I won't be drinking too much.” really though, It was unnecessary to tell him all this. In the end he doesn't care where you go, who you go with, or even what time you'll arrive home. It's always been that way.

He stopped loving you the day she entered back into his life.

“I’ll be heading off now, don't overwork.”

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Driving slowly before coming to a full stop as you arrived at Yelans house. Her house was gorgeous, very modern and yet simplistic, just the way she likes it. You parked your car just outside her house and went for the entrance to ring her doorbell. Yelan shouted “Coming!” from a distance before rushing to open the door for you. “Ah here you are, just in time.” She gave you a quick hug before welcoming her to her home.

Thing is, no one was inside the house other than you and Yelan. She just wanted a simple birthday with her best friend, throwing some grand birthday wasn't really her thing to begin with. And you're more than happy to entertain her. “Gods glad you came! And here I thought I would celebrate this precious day all alone.” She jokingly said as we walked to her mini bar.

You hopped on to a seat as Yelan went behind the counter to make some drinks. “We both know I would definitely be coming today. It's your birthday after all! Besides, there's not much to do in that house anyways. As much as possible I’d like to get out when given the opportunity.” You rested your cheek on your palm.

Yelan gives a worried look before sighing. “Is he still hooked on…her?” She pushes a drink towards me. I scoffed and took a sip. “Yeah, he is.” Yelan rolled her eyes at that before leaving the counter and sitting beside you. “He left a few weeks ago, saying it was for business purposes…But after his trip I cleaned his bag for his laundry and found some dirty panties in one of the pockets. And obviously this isn't some souvenir he got in some stall.” You took a swing of your drink and finished the whole glass. Yelan sees this and a concerned look is on her face. You wiped any excess alcohol on the corner of your lips and continued.

“The bastard is getting sloppy.” A grim look was on your face as you're telling Yelan all this. Yelan looks at you, dead serious in the eyes. “Y/N, we both know you deserve better than this.” You look at your best friend with somber eyes. "I know, but I just—" "Ah ah stop talking for a moment." Yelan interrupts.

"I know you love him...but don't you think perhaps it's time to face the fact that Diluc doesn't love you? Because if he did, the moment he saw that woman at your engagement party he would be running straight at you, showing to everyone and to her especially that he was already spoken for."

You grip on the glass tighter. Perhaps it's not love that's keeping you in this marriage. Sure you used to love him...but all that love went down the drain the night of your honeymoon. Maybe it's guilt, guilt at the very fact that you allowed for things to get this bad. That when you had the opportunity to stop this torture sooner— you just didn't.

And now that you're married to him, you thought that you might as well finish what you've started...even though it hurts.

“...Thanks Yelan, you're really helping me through this." You gave her a quick hug. "Well anyways enough about my fucked up life, lets talk about you, yeah?” Yelan wiggled her index finger in front of you. “Oh no no no don't you dare change the subject. I'm all ears right now.”

“What? No! It's your birthday for celestia's sake, I'm not spending your precious day complaining about my marriage!” Yelan places her hand on top of yours. “My dear, I love nothing more than shit talking, so…” She grabs her drink and raises it in front of me.

“Drink up.”

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Time seems to be flying fast as you hadn't realized it was already late at night. Not only that but you drank way past your limit, it would be dangerous to be out and about on the road, so Yelan insisted you'd stay for the night. Not having much of a choice you flopped on the bed and immediately dozed off to sleep. By the time you woke up it was already 8 in the morning, you groaned as you stretched and sat up from the bed, rays of sunlight finding their way past the curtains.

You feel the hangover settle in, fortunately it's not that unbearable. You walked down the stairs and to the kitchen there you found breakfast was already made for you and a sticky note just near it.

‘Gonna go out for a run! Here's some breakfast and a pain reliever, if it's really unbearable don't hesitate to stay a little longer ;D’

- Yelan

You chuckled reading this before eating the breakfast infront of you. After doing so you freshened up a bit in the bathroom and cleaned up the room you just stayed in. You don't want to be inconsiderate and leave any traces of mess, especially since you're just a guest. After doing everything necessary you locked the door behind you and went to your car. You just remembered you promised Diluc that you'd be home by 10…Ah whatever, he doesn't give a damn anyways. You're even sure that by now he's still rested nicely in his bed.

While on the road you reflect back to what Yelan said...she's right. That night could have been different, instead of heading back home earlier to cry myself to sleep, I could've celebrated my engagement party to the fullest. Nothing but smiles and joy, with Diluc beside me...proud to be called husband and wife soon...

But that's all a fairy tail. Such delusions are far from the truth and as you reach closer to home you know exactly what you have to do.

Driving back home there wasn't any traffic on sight. Though, considering that it's a Sunday morning, most people are still in their beds resting.

After parking your car inside the garage you made your way inside your home. You threw your clutch on the couch and made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. But waiting there was your husband as he was eyeing you dangerously. “What happened to being at home at 10?” He takes a sip of his coffee and looks straight at you.

You're in disbelief at his attitude, why should he even give a damn about where you've been. You divert your eyes to one of the cabinets to get a glass. “Yeah about that, I got a little too carried away with the drinks. I couldn't drive properly so I stayed there at Yelans for the night.” You poured yourself a glass of water while still avoiding eye contact. Diluc doesn't seem to like this. “Can you please look at me while talking?”

You let out a frustrated inhale and just finished your glass of water to just leave, this morning you seem to have little to no patience for Diluc. You start to walk off but Diluc gets up from his chair and follows behind you. “Hey what's going on? Talk to me!” You continue to walk up the stairs ignoring your husband. He grabs your arm and stops you before you could enter the bedroom. “What the hell is your problem? Why aren't you answering me–!” “YOU ARE THE DAMN PROBLEM ‘LUC!”

You finally blew up. After months, even years of holding it in, you finally blew up on his face. You rip your arm off from his grip. “Don't you dare pretend you don't know. Because I know we both fucking know what’s wrong.” Only the sound of heavy breathing can be heard, both of you stood there silently as you spoke in almost a whisper.

“I can't do this anymore, Luc. It fucking hurts and I can’t stand seeing your selfish lying face–!” “Then why?” Diluc interjects, he looks at you coldly. “Then why did you stay? Why didn't you say anything? If it hurts so fucking much then why did you let all of this happen–!” “Dont you fucking DARE make me the villain here, Ragnvindr!”

You point a finger towards Diluc, there was no more holding back at this point. “I have foolishly led myself to believe that I might even have a sliver of chance in your heart, but it's clear now that you're only thinking about that whore of a woman!”

“DON’T YOU DARE CALL HER THAT” “WELL AM I FUCKING WRONG? THAT'S WHAT SHE IS IN OUR MARRIAGE, RIGHT? JUST SOME DIRTY SECRET YOU HIDE.” Diluc’s hand suddenly wraps around your throat, pinning you to the wall. His grip is merciless while his eyes only bore rage. He wants to be fucking angry well two can play that game.

“Ohh what's wrong? I thought we were talking this out. Did I hit a nerve?~” You were mocking him, an almost maniac smile was on your face as you're laughing at him. His attempts to shield his woman were ridiculous, he's going so low to the point of physically hurting you. Both of your eyes never left one another, as if challenging the other to look away, but neither of you faltered.

Your grin at him, enjoying the very fact that this time the roles were reversed, this time he was the one who was agitated.

"I'm done playing pretend, so why don't you do the same." Despite how hard it was to speak, you still had some bite in you.

A vein could practically pop from Dilucs head from how angry he is, he looks at you with pure hatred– as if you are the most vile thing he has ever seen. He inches closer at you, doing his best to intimidate you more. Both of you could practically feel each other's breath– it’s hot and heavy. There were no words being exchanged yet Diluc’s eyes somehow found themselves down to your lips, they were red and plump.

You were about to agitate him a little more when suddenly his lips crashed onto yours harshly. Without thinking you accepted the kiss, his hand was still on your throat but you wouldn't have his hand in any other place. His free hand wandered down to your ass and gave it a firm squeeze, pulling you closer to him.

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Clothes were scattered all over the floor, hands were wandering and groping everywhere. There were no signs of stopping or slowing down. At one point you found yourself on top of Diluc, straddling him and taking control instead. “Nice view, is this what she saw 2 weeks ago, hm?” You mock him, his hands are then on your hips as he forces you to push yourself deeper into him. “Shut your mouth and just keep moving.” You only go faster and deeper, Diluc groans beneath you.

While riding him you're playing with yourself to help you reach your climax faster. Diluc watches the view before him, and as much as he wants to deny it but you look fucking hot right now. All angry yet horny at the same time.

You comb some hair out of your face and look down at Diluc, you can see that he's close, but so were you. As you quicken your pace you grab a hold of his face and force him to look at you “When you fucking cum I want you to scream my name, for once in your damn life call out the name of the woman that made you feel good.”

Diluc scoffs at this, “In your fucking dreams.” You hum in disappointment and slow down your pace. “If you don't, then I'm leaving you here with your cock still hard.” The red head groaned at this and grips on his hips a little tighter. “Fuck– fine fine!” You smile down at him. “That's better~” Quickening your pace, both of you continue to moan and pant out in pleasure, removing every single edge and hatred from 2 hours ago.

“Oh god I’m close!” Your thrusts are getting sloppier by the second, desperate for that release. On the other hand Diluc is panting beneath you as he looks at how you're taking him in so well. “Y/N I’m close too– Shit!” You grip onto his bare shoulders as you're about to cum. “Oh god I’m coming !” Shutting your eyes as you release, Diluc gives a strong thrust upwards as he releases his load inside of you.

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It was already 3 in the morning as you got up from the bed. Diluc was still fast asleep, but this was the perfect moment to start packing up your necessary things and head out to the door. You’ll file for a divorce later, but for now…

You look down at the red head as he is sleeping peacefully. You remove the ring off your finger, the ring that felt so heavy and ingrained into your skin. You can finally lift that weight.

You head to the bathroom and get ready to leave.

Alternative Ending

©All content belongs to lolishdes 2022. Please refrain from reposting (reblogs are appreciated !).

#diluc smut #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact #diluc genshin impact #genshin smut #IM LOSING SO MUCH SLEEP DEAR LORD #its worth it thought cause fuck yeah i wanna make you all happy #also please have mercy its my first time writing angst its not my forte people

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daimyosprincess · 29 days

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THIS TENDER LOVE

—PAIRING: Boba Fett x F!Reader

—SUMMARY: When you’re a little nervous about your first time, Boba helps you get in the right headspace.

—WORD COUNT: 2.2k

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, daimyo!Boba, virgin reader, implied age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is an adult), reader described as having hair, reader discovers a bit of her inner brat, some heartfelt feelings for good measure, lots of pet names per usual, Daddy kink strikes again (but only at the end)

Please let me know if I missed anything!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: I don't usually write first times but bestie @baufraus inspired me to write about a certain princess getting shy and Boba's response. Daimyo Boba is so patient and daddy I can't imagine a better person to show you the ropes 😌

Divider by @saradika

Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist

You’d wanted this. You’d wanted this for so fucking long. Dreamed and wished for it.

So why can’t you just open the door and go out there?

Blinking against the clean light of the ‘fresher, you frown in the mirror. It’s not like you’re some blushing virgin who just discovered the place between her legs; you’d read and even watched plenty of things that had given you a chance to start learning what made you shake and moan. And although you’ve never done most of those things you fantasized about—much less had your first real kiss—you aren’t clueless about sex. You’re just a virgin, and Boba is just a man.

A man who dotes on you, protects you, and makes you laugh. The man you’ve fallen in love with. He’s been your whole life for the past seven months, ever since your uncle included you in his tribute to the new daimyo.

Your reflection sours at the memory of your despot relation. After you’d come of age, he got rid of you the second the chance presented itself, content to leave you at the mercy of the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunter. But Boba had been nothing like the stories the servants had whispered when they heard the news, nor had he been anything like your tyrant uncle.

No, he had been kind to you. Rough around the edges, but kind. You’d even begged him not to send you back to your planet when he informed your pilot that he didn’t keep slaves or girls in his palace. Even back then, sacred and naive, you’d felt you were in the presence of a true ruler, a man who gave his word and kept it. He swore he would never hurt you, never pressure you, or let any harm befall you and you believed him.

You still do.

So why are your feet frozen in place and the thought of going to him suddenly impossible? You’re a modest person by nature but this shock of shyness is more than you’re accustomed to, especially since you’d taken to sitting in Boba’s lap on the throne and wading in the garden pools in light dresses while he smiled at your joy.

“Princess?”

Would you be enough? Would he find your inexperience a burden?

He said he wouldn’t, that he was honored to be the one you trusted with your tender love. But that was before you couldn’t imagine showing your face or looking him in the eye.

“Sweetheart? Everything okay?” his deep voice calls from behind the ‘fresher door. A hint of worry tinges his tone. “It’s not too late to change your mind, little one. I won’t be upset. This is all about you and your comfort.”

You don’t want to change your mind. You want to experience every sweet, sinful thing he has to offer. You want to learn and taste your combined pleasures.

So why can’t you move?

Tears threaten to well in your eyes. “Boba?” your voice cracks. Tears do form now, hovering in your lashes in hot frustration.

His voice is just on the other side of the door now, thick with concern. “You want me to come in?”

“Yes,” you sniffle, dropping your face into your hands in stinging embarrassment when you hear the door slide open. Just this morning you’d been giggling and teasing, whispering in his ear on the throne how you couldn’t wait to become his—now you’re a tearful mess. Even if he doesn’t say as much, it’s surely pathetic to him. Why would a king waste his time with a sheltered princess when there are beautiful men and women whose hands and mouths already know the paths to pleasure?

His unarmored chest presses against your back and you instantly ease back into the circle of his arms, your safe and sacred space. Boba gently turns you inwards so your head can bury into his neck. You curl your fingers into the soft weave of his undershirt.

When you try to speak he shushes you with a small sound and a kiss to the top of your head. He rubs the small of your back until the tension drops from your shoulders and you slump your weight onto his.

“That’s it,” he murmurs into your hair. “Relax, babygirl.” A few heartbeats pass before his hand tilts your chin up from his shoulder. “How about we just curl up tonight? Watch one of your holos?”

A thread of urgent fire lights down your spine. “No!” Boba’s brows shoot up and you wince at your echo bouncing off the walls. “I mean, no. I want to… tonight, with you. I just…” Heat blooms in your cheeks, your previous shyness taking over once more.

You try to return your face to your hands but Boba catches your wrists in a loose hold at your sides. His warm eyes flicker with first a thought, then a decision.

Bona leans slowly into your space, drawing out the small movement to allow you to pull away. When you remain in place, sweet and curious, he presses his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. The feel of him surrounding you, his warm smell, the feel of his strength just below his skin acts like a drug, overwhelming your senses and unfurling your desire like the first soft blooms of spring. He tends to you, encouraging your blossoming by leading your arms over his shoulders and dragging his tongue along the smooth seam of your lips.

His breathing deepens as you slide your palms over his wide shoulders, up his neck to pull him further into you. The heavy sound drips down your body in a sweet trail to your dampening core, the pant of his breath tickling your eyelashes and hairline. You had imagined what a kiss, a real kiss, would be like a thousand times. How your lover’s mouth might feel moving on yours, how your hands might roam and grab, the crushed feel of fabric and limbs seeking skin.

Yet kissing Boba is nothing like that.

Just as dreams are mere imitations of true sensation, kissing Boba Fett is nothing like you imagined—it’s so much more. Swirls of color that materialize into touch, sounds that brush against hot skin, and the humbling reminder that you are all too human and so is he. It’s mortal and frightening and perfect. You want to open up your chest and let him in, let him taste every part of you so you can exist within someone else.

Isn’t that what people crave? What they die for?

“Princess…”

The scraped restraint in the daimyo’s voice flickers in your belly. You wanted this, dreamed and wished for it. If you pull away now, you’ll lose it to the stifling swell of bashfulness dammed behind your kiss. You chase his retreating lips until he stalls you with a large hand on your jaw. “Easy, little one,” he soothes with a brush of his thumb over your cheek. “There’s no need to rush.”

“But I-”

“Want it?” He flashes you a white-toothed grin that has butterflies flittering through your insides. You can’t hide your face like this, so you scrunch up your toes and dig your nails into his shirt. He chuckles and kisses the tip of your nose. “Don’t even think about hiding those pretty eyes,” he gives a quick squeeze to your jaw, “keep them on me.”

Oh, the irony of having a staring problem and suddenly being unable to look at the handsome man in your arms.

Dragging your eyes up his face, you take in every dip and crease of his bronze features, remembering how the bow of his lips and how the texture of his scars felt against your soft skin. The same skin that now feels too hot and tight. When you eventually light on his eyes, they crinkle up in another bright smile. It almost makes you squint. “They were on you,” you mumble into his silence.

“What was that?” The firm way Boba’s other hand snakes around your waist has you swallowing back the sass you were about to give him.

Where is that coming from?

“I-I said they were on you.”

Something dark shifts in his gaze. Something that makes you clench on your emptiness. He considers you for a couple more seconds, his head cocking to one side like the many times you’d seen him on the throne with his subjects. Deciding.

When you start to squirm under his gaze, his lips quirk into a pleased expression. “You never cease to surprise me, little one.” Seeing your confused look, he continues. “You’ve got some brat in you... I like it. You stopped being so self-conscious when you ran that smart mouth.”

You suppose you had. Although you aren’t usually one to push back or act out—it was quickly punished in your uncle’s house—it did feel good to let the scrap of sass slip. Made you feel a tiny bit more powerful, more evenly matched with Boba’s strength and confidence. You test your next words on your tongue before you fire them.

“Then show me how much you like it?” you try.

Boba’s smile turns sharp, more hungry. “One kriffing kiss and she’s already getting greedy.”

You gasp when you feel the grind of his hardening bulge on your hip. He shifts you against him so he’s pressed against your center, rocking his hips to give you some friction. This time your eyes flutter shut in pleasure, the warm stretch of soaked fabric between your thighs catching on your clit with delicious effect.

“Not so shy now, are you, babygirl?” Boba hums low in your ear, gently sinking his teeth into your pulse point. “Just needed a little help from, Daddy, huh?”

A white-hot streak of embarrassment scores through your chest, charring your fledgling sense of bravery. Your pulse throbs in your pussy. Now you have a very different reason to be shy: you’d never told him those secret desires you came to in your bed but he knew them all the same.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he moans into your love-bitten flesh when you involuntarily buck against him. “Knew you liked me but are you really that desperate for an old man?”

“D-don’t be mean-”

You cry out when his hand presses between your bodies to cup your sex.

“Mmm I think you like it when I’m mean.” He grinds his palm against your clit and your knees buckle at the dizzying sparks of pleasure. “I also think your little cunt is dripping wet because you want to call me Daddy.”

The choked sound you make doesn’t hide the way your body reacts to his words. You shove your face into his shirt. “I never said that,” you grumble into the fabric. But you dreamed about it, worked yourself up and touched yourself to the thought of it.

“No?”

Boba retracts his hand and you almost cry from the loss. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking and smug at your desperation, his teasing dominance playing on every one of your desires. Everything that burns you up only seems to fuel him more.

“No, please-”

“Aw, baby, you want it bad, don’t you?” His hand comes back up to your face and you can smell your arousal on his fingers. He tips back your chin, his thumb pressing against your trembling lips. His eyes sweep over you, taking in the way you’re as downy and vulnerable as fawn before a wolf, and they soften.

Boba strokes your bottom lip gently, a small smile turning up his mouth. The crackle of electricity in the air dulls to a pleasant thrum. “You really are beautiful,” he breathes, his voice awed. Sensing your growing need, he presses his thumb into your mouth, his cock twitching against your stomach when you suck it happily.

“It really isn’t too late if you want to wait,” he reminds you. He chuckles when you shake your head rapidly back and forth, this calloused thumb sliding across your tongue. Smiling, he removes his hand and rests his lips on your forehead. “It’s an honor, you know. To be the one you trust with this.”

As if it could have ever been someone else. Even before you came to Tatooine, it was never going to be anyone but Boba. You’d never had the desire to share your intimacy with another person until him.

“It was always you,” you whisper. It’s not a secret, but it is something precious.

Boba buries his face into your hair, pressing you so tight to him you could melt into one. “I… I love you.”

Those three words hold a tender softness you know does not come easy to his surface. It fills you with a sweet kind of strength.

Loosening your hold on his neck, you draw back far enough to take in his beautiful face. “I love you, Boba. I want this. Want you.” He radiates pure joy at your confirmation, as bright and golden as the twin suns above. Leaning in, you hover your lips just over his ear. “Now, Daddy please-”

You don’t even have time to squeal before he tosses you over his shoulder for the bedroom.

#zwei writes #boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fanfic #boba fett smut #boba fett fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #this tender love fic

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lewmagoo · 1 year

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someone to watch over me | bob floyd

description: in which a secret service agent is willing to go to great lengths to protect that which is most precious to him

warnings: 18+ only, mention of guns, assassination attempt, forbidden love, american political system (this is a warning in and of itself ok), brief mention of vomiting, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, slight possessiveness

characters: au bob floyd x afab!reader, dagger squad but make them secret service agents

dt: @bradshawsbitch because she listened to me scream about this idea incessantly <3

You’re safe.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, threatening to break through your ribs and leap forth out of your chest. Your breathing was rushed, coming in quick bursts, panicked intakes as you tried to suck life-preserving oxygen into your lungs.

You’re safe.

You were safe. You knew you were. However, the events that had just happened moments prior still had you shaken, vibrating with terror. Tears had gathered in your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks, blurring your vision.

You’re safe.

“I’m safe. No one can hurt me. I’m safe.” You kept repeating this chant, trying to convince yourself that it was true. But it was doing little to soothe the fear that was still surging through your veins, like a drug that had induced a bad trip.

There was only one thing that could calm you down. One person. But that person was on the other side of those secured doors, dealing with the situation that had risen. The situation that had put you in danger.

You remembered so vividly the way you’d cried out his name. “Bobby!” And he was there in an instant, springing into action, throwing himself between you and the person who’d tried to get close to you.

You were pushed back, sent into Bradley Bradshaw’s waiting arms as Reuben, Jake, and Bob intercepted the perpetrator. You knew you wouldn’t be able to see your Bobby, but that didn’t stop you from trying to search for him within the chaos.

“Keep your eyes ahead,” Bradley spoke in your ear. His arm was secured around your waist, his body protectively shielding your own. You were vaguely aware of Natasha and Mickey ahead of you, making sure the way was clear as you were ushered to the waiting car.

You were practically thrown into the large black Escalade, and Bradley was right behind you, sliding into the seat beside you. You were buzzing with fright, hands trembling as you clutched at the edges of the leather seat.

Your mind, however, was not on your own safety. It was on Bobby’s. Although you knew what a situation like this entailed, it was still a shock to your system to watch him spring into action. His sole job was to protect you, even if that meant laying down his own life to do so.

But you didn’t want him to sacrifice his life for yours. You wanted him alive and in your arms. You wanted to hold him to your chest and run your fingers through his hair like you had done so many times before, pretending that his job wasn’t to keep you alive. Ignoring the cold, hard reality that there were evil people out there who would not hesitate to kill you if they had the chance.

Bob, and the rest of your security team, was there to see to it that no one had that chance. And up until now, you had experienced nothing more than threats. No one had ever physically tried to come after you.

You had discussed what such an event would entail. You knew who would be at the front, handling the threat, and who would escort you out of harm’s way. Selfishly, you’d wanted Bob to be the one who wrapped his arm around you and pulled you away, only because you knew that was where he would be safest. The others could deal with taking the threat down, just as long as Bobby was by your side.

But it hadn’t worked out that way.

Now here you were, unsure of his fate. You wouldn’t know until later on if he was okay or not. But he was all you could think about. You knew how foolish it was to ask about him, to give anyone an inclination that you were tangled up in a secret relationship with him.

You asked about him anyway. “Is Bobby okay?”

Bradley, who had just instructed Javy to step on it and take you back to the hotel where you were staying, gave you a long glance. You could see the way his jaw tensed. Bradley was no fool. He knew you and Bob had something going on. But he had never spoken of it to anyone. All it would take was one word, and Bob would lose his job. Bradley, however, was unwilling to be the one who helped send his friend’s career down the drain, no matter how foolish harboring such a secret was.

“He’s got it handled. Don’t worry about him,” he murmured.

But you couldn’t help it. You wouldn’t stop worrying until he was back in your arms. Until then, you had no choice but to go along with what was taking place. So you remained beside Bradley, huddling in on yourself, arms folded over your chest.

Your mind replayed the situation as if someone kept hitting the rewind button. One moment, everything had been just fine. You had been attending an event, a gala to raise funds for a children’s charity.

The event was one you attended every year, as the cause was near and dear to your heart. It was one of the few things you felt like you could call your own. Your father was the leader of the free world. Everyone associated you with him. No one seemed to refer to you by your name. You were often called the President’s daughter. It made you feel like you had no identity outside of your father’s presence in the White House.

Coming to events like these gave you a sense of purpose, and you loved meeting the families of children who had been positively impacted by this particular charity.

And that was just what you were doing the night your life was threatened. You had warned your security team ahead of time that you wished to stop and speak to some of the families who stood along the rope line outside.

Because you would be out in the open, your detail had been upped. Normally, you had Bob, Jake, Bradley, and Natasha around you at any given time. But tonight, the head of White House security, Pete Mitchell, had assigned a few others.

But even with all those extra eyes, someone still managed to slip past the cracks.

You were none the wiser to the fact that everything was about to be turned upside down. You had stopped to kneel down at a little girl’s level, because she tugged at your heartstrings and you simply couldn’t resist.

Just behind that little girl’s family, a man was approaching. He didn’t appear out of the ordinary. In fact, he was holding a small baby, swaddled in blankets, in his arms.

You’d stepped a little too far away for Bob’s liking. He was watching you like a hawk, as he always did. You’d slipped further down the rope line, prompting he and Jake to move closer toward you.

The man holding the baby pushed through the crowd, and he opened his mouth to call your name, motioning to his child. You smiled warmly at him, prepared to greet him and ask for his name.

But in the blink of an eye, faster than you could even register, he let that baby drop from his arms. You gasped in shock, but Bob had already clocked the situation before the man let the baby drop. Hidden beneath that bundle of blankets was…

“Gun!”

“Bobby!” You shrieked in terror, but he was on it, one hand drawing his own gun from its holster on his hip, while the other yanked you back harshly, right into Bradley, who whisked you away without a second thought.

Now here you were, reeling in the backseat of a bulletproof car, wondering how someone could be so unhinged that they would draw a gun in the midst of children. The depravity sent nausea rushing through you, and suddenly, you were certain you were going to be sick.

And you were. With a gasp, you lurched forward, unable to stop it as your body reacted. Beside you, Bradley was not surprised. He simply reached forward, pushing the fabric of your dress aside so you wouldn’t get anything on it.

“I’m sorry!” You wailed as you straightened back up, wiping your mouth, just as tears began to slide down your cheeks.

“It’s okay, it happens,” he soothed, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of his suit jacket, and handing it to you to wipe your mouth.

Oh, how you wished it was Bobby beside you. He knew how to take care of you. He was familiar and gentle and attentive. Not that Bradley wasn’t those things, but that familiarity wasn’t there. He was simply part of your security detail, nothing more. Even so, you knew you were safe with him. Knew he’d sooner lay down his life than let anything happen to you.

And in that moment, he did his best to comfort you, reassuring you when you fretted about the mess you’d made on the floor of the expensive car. “Trust me, it’s fine. I’ll get it taken care of,” he promised. “Right now let’s focus on getting you to safety.”

As the car pulled up outside of the back entrance of the hotel, Bradley was quick to usher you out. He kept you close, just as Natasha and Mickey flanked him as soon as they’d climbed out from their car that had followed behind yours.

Within seconds, you were back in the safety of the hotel, ushered into the back service elevator that took you straight up to your floor. Bradley was quick to pull the key card out of his pocket, and you didn’t let out a breath until you were within the confines of your room.

But that breath soon quickened, and you began pacing about like a cornered horse. You were vaguely aware of Natasha calling your name. But it didn’t register until she was standing before you, the gentle brown of her eyes meeting yours.

“Hey,” she softly spoke, “you need a minute?”

“Y-yeah,” you croaked.

“Okay.” Carefully, she guided you to the bathroom. “Take as long as you need. Bradley’s out here. Mick and I will be in the hall. Nobody comes in or out without our say-so.”

All you could manage was a nod before you turned and barricaded yourself in the bathroom. As soon as the door was shut behind you, you clamped your hand over your mouth and sank down to the floor, stifling a sob.

Moments like these made you wish you lived a normal life. Oh, how you longed for the mundane. Longed to feel safe, instead of having an enormous target on your back.

You hadn’t asked for any of this. While you’d never voiced it to your father, you hated that he had taken this position. Why couldn’t he have taken a simple blue-collar job at a steel mill or a construction company? Instead, he’d gone for the highest office in the world.

Sometimes, you felt like you got lost in the shuffle. You were expected to just go along with it. Keep up appearances. Behave the way a president’s daughter should. But you hated every moment of it. Your life would never be normal. Even after your father completed his term and moved on to other things. You would always need security. You would never be safe.

You tried to take it in stride. You had to get used to the fact that this was just how life was. But that didn’t mean you loved it.

The only solace in the midst of it all was your sweet Robert. You hadn’t meant to fall in love with him, but who could ever decide when and who they were going to fall in love with? It had simply happened. You’d felt the connection with him from the instant you met.

And although you both tried to ignore your feelings for propriety’s sake, one thing had led to another and now you were so deeply in love that you didn’t know what to do with yourselves.

But the knowledge that harm could have come to Bob while he was protecting you only brought on more tears. This was why it was foolish to get involved with him. You both knew it was. Knew how much it would hurt if the other was harmed. Knew how much it could cloud his judgment and prove to be a distraction while he tried to carry out one of the most high-profile jobs in America.

For Bob, his need to protect you had only increased tenfold since he’d realized just how intensely he cared for you. Sometimes, the lengths he was willing to go to scared him.

He wasn’t a violent man by any means. In fact, he was rather passive. But he was very analytical and especially good at assessing threats. He was a chameleon, blending in as an innocent, unassuming guy. However, when push came to shove, he was a force to be reckoned with. Calm, methodical, but dangerous. Deadly, if he had to be.

But to you, he was kind and sweet. In the beginning, he’d almost been shy. But you’d quickly learned that he was only reserved around certain people. Around you, he opened up and bared his soul to you, allowing you to reach into his chest, prying his very ribs apart and exposing his heart to you.

Now that his heart was knitted with yours, he had something to lose. Everything to lose. And he’d be damned if he let you be taken from him. When he saw the man in the crowd coming toward you, everything happened in slow motion.

His eyes had shot to Jake and Reuben, the trio wordlessly communicating as Bob threw you behind him. Protect her at any cost. That was all that went through his head.

He had succeeded in that mission. You were now safe and sound, hidden away in the bathroom of your hotel room while he dealt with the aftermath. There was no question that your father would be demanding to know how anyone had managed to get that close to you. Bob could almost hear his outraged voice over the phone, “how in God’s name did you let him get that close?!”

How had they let him get so close? The surrounding block had been cordoned off. How on earth had a man with a weapon managed to slip through the cracks? It was certain that an investigation would be enacted. The target had been neutralized, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have others working with him.

Bob was mentally preparing himself to be put through the wringer. The whole team was going to be. But to him, it was all worth it, as long as he made it back to you.

He was in for a long night, but after it was all said and done, he would slip into your room, curl into bed beside you, and hold you in his arms, knowing that it was all because of him and his team that you were unharmed.

In the meantime, you were alone, trying to process what had happened. You felt so pathetic, huddled on the cold bathroom floor, crying your eyes out. But it was a reasonable reaction after all you’d just endured.

You weren’t sure how long you spent on that uncomfortable floor, but it was long enough to cause numbness to creep down your legs from sitting in one spot for too long.

It was then that you hauled yourself up from the floor and decided to take a shower. Washing the events of the evening down the drain seemed like the best course of action. So that was exactly what you did.

Twenty minutes and one fogged-up bathroom later, you were wrapping a plush towel around your body to dry off, before you slipped into one of the hotel robes, welcoming its warmth.

Foolishly, you considered the idea that Bob would be waiting for you in your room, and for a split second, your heart quickened in your chest, hope warming your veins.

But when you opened the door, all you were met with was an empty room. You let out a weary sigh and padded across the plush carpet, grabbing your phone off the charger, which seemed that Bradley had been kind enough to plug in for you.

However, when the screen lit up, you realized that it had been inundated with notification after notification. Missed calls from your parents and other family members. Texts from friends. Social media notifications.

Immediately, you found yourself overwhelmed. Your chest tightened, sending a jolt of anxiety through you.

Knowing they would worry the most out of everyone, you sent a quick text to your parents. “I’m okay.” And then turned off the phone. You couldn’t handle it. You knew if you kept your notifications on you’d spiral into a panic attack.

How you longed for Bobby to be with you, comforting you like only he knew how. But you wouldn’t soon get your way, so you resigned yourself to trudging over to the bed, collapsing onto the plush of the mattress.

You had no more tears left to cry, so you simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Trying to think of something, anything other than what was taking place.

Eventually, you climbed beneath the covers, huddled into their warmth, but sleep would not come. You tried watching television, but as you scrolled through the channel, new coverage of what had happened was plastered everywhere.

With a growl of frustration, you turned off the TV and threw the remote, which bounced off the bed and landed on the floor. You couldn’t be bothered to pick it up.

Hours passed, slowly dragging by as you tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable, unable to rest. You didn’t want to be alone anymore. It was scary, because your mind kept wandering.

Even though the rational part of you knew Bob was fine, and was just tied up in the situation at hand, your brain took you to the worst-case scenario. Maybe he had gotten hurt. Maybe the man who’d pulled a gun on you had managed to fire a shot and severely wound him, or worse?

The thought of your precious Bobby fighting for his life in a hospital bed sent a fresh wave of nausea through you, and in an instant, you were leaping out of bed.

You had to know where he was. Had to know that he was okay. Had to ask someone, had to…

Suddenly, the sound of the door unlocking caught your attention, and you froze in the middle of the room. Seconds later, that door came open, and in walked Bob. Disheveled, exhausted, but all in one piece.

He let the door slam shut behind him, and you both stood there for a beat, staring at one another, taking in the sight of the other. His hair was mussed, tousled from it’s usually impeccably neat style. His tie was undone, and the top of his shirt was unbuttoned.

He dropped the duffel he’d been carrying on his shoulder, and suddenly, he sprang forward. But it didn’t matter, because you were already moving at the same time.

“Bobby!” You sobbed out, falling into his arms, burying your face against his chest.

He caught you with ease, arms wrapping securely around you as he held your trembling form. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and if you hadn’t been so overwhelmed with your own emotion you might’ve realized how badly he was shaking.

“I’m here now,” he whispered against the top of your head, the waver in his voice betraying him, “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

“Don’t let go!” You wept.

“I won’t. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” He longed to say more, but he could not find the words to describe how relieved he was, how scared he’d been. Words fell short, so he remained silent.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, embracing one another. But it was quite some time. When you finally parted, you found that your tears had soaked through the fabric of his dress shirt.

His hands, so big and familiar, came up to hold your face. His thumbs wiped your tears away. The way he looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe you were real, in his arms, made your chest constrict.

He could have lost you, if he hadn’t acted as quickly as he did. The thought of such a thing happening almost brought him to his knees.

“I…you…when I saw him go for that gun, I…” but he couldn’t get the words out.

“I know,” you whispered, voice thick.

Gingerly, he lowered his hand, pressing it against your chest, just over where your heart was. He could feel it thrumming within you, pumping your lifeblood through your body. The blood that kept you alive. The blood that had not been spilled that night, because he’d succeeded in his purpose of protecting you.

“You’re okay. You’re alive,” he breathed, but it was more to reassure himself than you.

Your eyes locked with his, big and blue and watery from the tears he’d shed. “We’re both alive.”

He nodded, but he still looked as if he was grappling with it. He had not been given the luxury of processing any of it. He’d been inundated with procedures and questions and demands. Not once had he been able to stop and fully think about what had happened.

Now that you were in his arms, it was hitting him all at once. It was almost too much to bear, but then, you were speaking.

“Bobby.”

He looked at you immediately, and it was as if everything else had melted away, leaving only your face in his sight. His hand was still pressed against your sternum, thumb absently running along your warm skin. Alive and unharmed.

“I’m safe. You kept me safe,” you told him. Your hand was now resting over his own against your chest. You let him feel each breath.

“I kept you safe,” he echoed.

You crowded his space, your body now pressed to his. You were struck, suddenly, with an intense longing that took the very breath from your lungs. Your hands were on his chest now, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

A silent understanding passed between you both in that moment. No words were spoken. You knew what the other was thinking. In mere seconds, you were crashing together, as if he was a wave and you were the shore upon which he’d landed.

Your lips met, and you kissed each other desperately, as if you couldn’t get close enough, as if you parted, you would die. You held onto him tightly, and his arms secured you in place against him.

You kissed fervently, frantically. And as you parted only briefly, you both realized that there were tears. His, yours, rolling down each of your cheeks, like rain falling from the sky.

“Bobby,” you whimpered again.

“I know,” he gasped against your mouth.

He was already leading you to the bed, and you were tugging at his clothes, driven by need. A need that burned so hotly, so intensely, you were certain it would consume you whole and turn you into ash in his hands.

He laid you out like you were precious porcelain, and you watched as he leaned back to shrug out of his suit jacket, followed by his tie. In a split second, he glanced down at his shirt, and he knew he didn’t have the patience to undo each button. So, in one swift motion, he yanked the fabric apart, sending the buttons flying. He couldn’t be bothered to care, because nothing else mattered but you.

Haphazardly, he tossed his clothing aside, and soon, he was entirely bare. It was as if he couldn’t reach you fast enough. He was swift to climb onto the bed, and those large hands tugged at the sash of your robe, allowing the front to fall open.

You sat upright, allowing it to slip from your upper body completely before you surged forth into your lover’s arms. Your mouths were on each other in another searing kiss, naked bodies moving in sync.

Hands traveled, touching warm skin. A way to convince the other, “you’re safe. You’re alive.”

You let him lay you down again, spreading your body open for him. Parting your legs, exposing the most intimate parts of yourself to him. But that seemed to pale in comparison to the way you’d just bared your hearts to one another.

I was so scared. He tried to speak it into the air, but the words died in his throat. He could not force them past his lips. But he had been scared. The most terrified he’d ever felt in his entire life. Until now, he hadn’t realized the lengths he was willing to go to to keep you safe.

He’d always said one thing or the other, but until he was staring into the face of danger, he didn’t know. Not truly. The thought of losing you went down like a bitter poison, causing him to retch and seize. It was unimaginable. Unthinkable. Unfathomable.

“I love you.” He spoke the words out loud, his hands holding you, palms pressed against your ribs. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved before.”

Your eyes welled with tears and you kissed him again. “I love you too.” Those words felt so meager. You were not eloquent enough to express what he truly meant to you. You loved him so much it hurt, an unbearable ache rumbling through your chest like a stampede of wild horses.

He pulled you closer still, mouth against yours, whispering soft admissions of his adoration for you. You were straddling him at that point, and you could feel him, just beginning to harden.

In a haze of desperate need, you reached down, coaxing him to full hardness, gasping about how you needed him inside you. You needed to be connected in the most intimate of ways. You felt as if you were going to suffocate if you didn’t get him inside you in the next few minutes.

Bob soothed you with a languid kiss, tongue delving into your mouth as he gently held the back of your head in his hand. “I know. I’ve got you, little love,” he soothed.

You keened lowly in your throat, staring at him with wide, watery eyes. You had never felt desire this intensely before. Even after all the times you’d made love. This was different. This was two lovers, terrified of what could have been, rejoicing that it had not happened, and seeking solace in the other’s arms in a way that was so sacred and intimate it could hardly be spoken of out loud.

If you tried to put it into words it would only serve to make you weep.

So you didn’t try. You simply allowed yourself to be enveloped in the safety and warmth of your lover. He held you so close, chest to chest, hip to hip. By now you were crying out for him, pleading with him, desperate for him.

“I’ve got you,” he repeated. And he did. You knew he did.

Skilled fingers worked between your thighs, coaxing those delicate folds apart, making sure that they were ready to take him fully. Once he was absolutely certain that he would not hurt you, he aligned himself with you.

He slipped inside you in one fluid motion, mouth swallowing the broken wail that ripped itself from your throat at the feeling of being so full, so close, so consumed. You shook in his arms, unable to fathom that it could feel like this.

“Bobby!” You sobbed.

He let out a broken cry and let his head fall onto your shoulder. He held you for a few moments as you both adjusted to the feeling of being connected. At some point, those large hand had made their way to your hips, and ever so slowly, he began to ease you up and down, back and forth.

You gasped sharply, hands shooting out to grip his shoulders, head coming forward to rest against his forehead. You locked eyes with him, mouth falling open to let out soft gasps and whimpers.

“That’s it. I’m here. I’m here, sweet one. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never letting you out of my sight,” he professed.

Again, a sob escaped you. “Don’t ever leave! Never, ever!”

“I won’t!”

Your hands slid further back, until your arms were wrapped entirely around those shoulders. So close. Every inch of your bodies touching, heartbeats intermingling. You didn’t want to close your eyes, for fear of missing something. Fear of not being able to commit this moment to memory.

You never wanted to forget the deep, staggering blue of his eyes, which turned so dark sometimes they were almost black. But in brilliant, bright light, they were bluer than the deep sea. Bluer still than the heavens above your heads.

You never wanted to forget the feeling of him inside you. So deep, filling you so wholly that it stole the breath from your very lungs. Like he was created to be connected to you in such a way.

The feeling was almost more than you could bear, and yet, it was almost not enough all at once. You needed him closer, needed him so deep inside you that it hurt. But at the same time you needed him to be gentle, to handle you so softly, a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the world outside.

Along with your need came a breathless chant of his name that you did not realize you were uttering. With each push and pull of his hips, you wailed out, “Bobby! Bobby! Bobby!”

“I’m here,” he repeated, “I’m here. Right here, baby. Not gonna leave you.”

You held him tighter still, burying your face in the crook of his neck, sobbing openly with each nudge of him inside you. You felt so safe in his arms. So warm. So protected. Like nothing could ever hurt you.

As he held you, adored you, made love to you, he knew that he’d stop at nothing to see to it that no harm ever came to you. He also knew how much you trusted him. How much you depended on him. He would be damned if he ever let you down. Damned if he ever failed.

He could feel your lips trailing feverishly against his skin, and he was reminded of how much you loved him. How much you cherished him. It made his chest ache, his heart threatening to burst forth.

He didn’t realize he was crying again until he felt wetness land against the hand he held against your shoulder. In a moment of need he pulled you back and sought out your lips, kissing you even as tears trailed down his cheeks.

“You’re my baby,” he whispered against your mouth. “My baby. Always gonna love you. Always gonna protect you. Mine.”

You pressed your forehead against his again, whimpering softly as you shifted your hips and felt him nudge against that wonderfully sensitive spot within you.

“‘m yours,” you assured him. How good it felt to say that. To give yourself to him, to place your heart in his hands and watch him handle it with such tenderness.

You wanted to say more, but you couldn’t. The breath was stolen from your lungs, punched away by each sip of his hips into yours, each stretch as your body tried to accommodate him. So big. So deep. Too much. Not enough. Just right. Don’t stop.

Push, pull, forward, backward. A steady rhythm you’d built between your bodies. He lifted his pelvis to meet yours each time you sank down. Your thighs were beginning to burn from the exertion, but you didn’t care.

All you cared about was the closeness. The connection. The end goal of this wasn’t to chase a release or experience insurmountable pleasure. It was simple to just be together. Joined as one. Pretending for just a few moments that everything was okay.

“Bobby. Oh! Bobby, I lo-love you,” you cried.

But he knew. And he kissed you. Swallowing up that confession, consuming it. He couldn’t speak if he tried, couldn’t utter a reply. So he held you. Hands kept you close, moving your body with his own.

Yeah. Just like that. Take it. So good for me. So sweet. Precious little baby, and you’re all mine.

You were clawing at him, trembling fiercely in his arms as your body grew warm, both from pleasure and from his proximity. With each push of his hips into you, his pubic bone pressed and ground against your sensitive little bundle, and you knew you would not be long for this world at the rate he was going.

Faster and deeper he went, until you were both rutting into each other in desperation, open mouths against the other, gasping, moaning, whimpering.

It built, and built, and built. Like water coming to a boil. Like magma readying itself to erupt from a volcano. The intensity was sudden and overwhelming, and you found yourself crying out.

You knew being loud wasn’t the best move. You weren’t entirely alone. Outside that hotel door was one of the members of your security detail. But you couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Nothing else mattered but the man in your arms, buried inside you, clinging to you, loving you.

“You,” he breathed against your parted lips. “You are my world.”

“And you’re mine.” You were crying again. Molten tears sliding down hot cheeks. But he kissed those tears away. Kissed it better, just like he always did.

You were losing yourself now. He could tell. Could feel it in the way your body tightened around his, pulled taut like a violin string, ready to snap from its hold. You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut tight, reeling from the overwhelming heat of it all.

Bobby pulled you down harder against him, filling you deeper still and pulling a broken sob from your raw throat. It was almost too much, and you found yourself grasping at him, nails leaving trails of pink and red in their wake. Your marks against his skin would only serve as a reminder of what had transpired this night between you both.

“B-Bobby, I’m-I’m close,” you whined.

“Let go when you need, little love,” he coaxed, barely holding it together himself.

More tears fell, faster than you could stop them. The closer you got, the faster you began to lose yourself. Crying, sniffling, whimpering. So close, so close, so close. And then, suddenly, firm hands gripped your hips, holding you still as he took complete control.

Driving into you over and over and over again, pulling cries of need and pleasure from your very lungs. All you could do was hold on tight, taking all he had to give as you wailed out his name repeatedly. Almost there. Teetering on the edge.

Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.

He was moments away from losing himself. So he begged you, pleaded with you, coaxed it out of you. “Come for me, my baby.”

And you did.

With a shriek, you surged forward in his arms, holding tightly to him. “Bobby!” And then you were coming. It hit you like a bolt of lightning, searing, blinding, electrifying. You shuddered and convulsed in the arms of the man you loved, sobbing openly, repeating his name like a sacred prayer.

Your pleasure pulled his own from him, and he let out a strangled moan of your name as he offered a few more sharp pulses of his hips against yours before the evidence of his ecstasy flooded the very deepest part of you.

You closed your eyes and relished in the feeling of his pearlescent release flooding you, claiming you as his own and no one else’s. Still shivering from the aftershocks, you both slowly came down, holding onto one another, unable to speak or think.

Gradually, the fog began to clear. Your mind grew less hazy. Your eyes less glossy. Your limbs, however, felt heavy as ever, as if they were filled with sand. But you made no move to break the connection your bodies still had to one another. An anchor in the midst of a storm.

The feeling of Bobby’s hands sliding soothingly along your spine brought you back. As your eyes refocused, you took in the sight of his handsome face. Flushed cheeks. Glimmering eyes. Kiss-bitten lips.

“Are you alright?” were the first words out of his mouth as he finally found the wherewithal to speak.

You nodded, slipping our arms around his neck, snuggling into him. “I’m okay.”

He nodded, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Good, ‘cause that was intense. I didn’t expect that to happen, but…it did.”

“I’m glad it did. I needed to be close to you. To forget about what happened for a little while.”

A hum rumbled in his chest. “I needed that, too.”

Silence followed. Comfortable, stretching out for a few minutes until he finally slipped out of you, soothing your whimper at the emptiness you felt. “You’re okay, little love.”

But as he carefully moved you to lay in the bed, his face soon grew serious, eyes turning stormy gray. “I’m sorry,” he confessed. “I’m sorry any of this happened. He shouldn’t have been able to get that close to you. I should’ve seen it sooner. Should’ve done something before…I should’ve…”

“Bobby.”

His eyes flickered to yours.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“He could’ve hurt you. He could’ve taken you from me.”

“But he didn’t. You hear me? You protected me, just like you promised me you would. That’s all that matters.”

“What if, one day, I can’t protect you? What if I fail you? Fail your father?”

“Don’t, If you think like that, you’ll just drive yourself mad. What I need from you is to focus on the here and now. Not the ‘what if’. Okay? I need you with me now. I need…I need just a few hours in your arms before we have to face the rest of the world. I need my Bobby.”

He took a shuddering breath. Then another. And then, he looked at you. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’m with you until they call me away.”

And so, for the next few hours, he threw himself into taking care of you. Cleaning you up, wrapping you back into your robe, soothing you with gentle hands and loving words. It wasn’t long before you were succumbing to your exhaustion, and you fell asleep in Bob’s arms, safe and sound, if only for a few short hours.

The last thing you remembered hearing him murmur was a soft, “I love you” against your scalp as you drifted off.

However, the next morning, you woke to an empty bed, and a note on the bedside table that read, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you woke up. Bradley and Jake are right outside the door. You’re safe. I’ll come back to you as soon as I can. Love, Bobby.”

You wished you’d had just a few moments more with him. But time was your enemy. It always would be. Always moving. Dragging you from place to place. Even after your very life had been threatened, you were expected to move forward, because time stopped for no one.

Not even for a president’s daughter and her protector.

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#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd smut #robert floyd fanfiction #robert bob floyd x reader

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anystalker707 · 8 months

Text

.worship.

Pairings: Gerard Way x [gender neutral/afab] Reader Frank Iero x [gender neutral/afab] Reader Word count: ~ 700 [G.W.] - 600 [F.I.] Genre: Drabble / Smut / Fluff Summary: His adoration for your body is unquestionable. Kind of content: Chubby Reader / Praising / Dom-Sub undertones / Sub Reader / Body worship not proofreader

requested by anon ["heya, first time asking for smthn like this but do you do any fanfictions for plus size / chubby readers? If you do could you do a sub female plus size reader with Gerard way or Frank iero? Smthn slow and loving? (Smut)"]

MASTERLIST

Gerard would often get lost in thoughts while staring at your thighs, even before you even got together. You would often catch him looking at your thighs—even more when they were flat against some surface—, with that dumb face, and he always did that shitty poor job whenever someone confronted him about it. After you two got together, he simply pretended that never happened.

Gerard would always buy you the best clothes that made your curves stand out. He would always have that dumb look on his face while observing you trying on the clothes he bought you. Pampering you would quickly become a habit. Seeing you in those pretty clothes, even more, the lingerie and thigh highs… He needed to see you in those, to touch you and tell you how pretty you were. Sometimes, it just resumed itself to admiring, really, sitting on his lap while his hands ran along your curves, and he pressed kisses to your neck while whispering sweet words.

Gerard sometimes couldn’t handle how hot you looked and would take you away for a fuck. He needed to have you under him—or on top of him, even. All that mattered was being able to have a good view of your body. Something about the way the skin sank under his fingertips every time he held onto your thighs, hips, or waist was just so heavenly. Or breasts— Fuck, the way he would hold them while you rode him. He loved the squish, the way it felt, the way it looked.

Gerard also loved sinking his teeth into your skin, sucking and biting marks into it because just observing wasn’t enough. He needed even more of you. He would not hesitate to nibble your thighs and hips whenever he had the chance, seeming all proud of his job when he took a look at it later.

Gerard would gladly die smothered by your thighs. Having his head between your thighs was absolutely one of the things he loved the most, having the soft and plump skin he loved so much around his head while he pleased you.

Gerard’s hands slipped between your thighs, while one of his arms wrapped around your torso for support; meanwhile, one of your hands wrapped around his shoulders and the other around his wrist.

“God, you’re so hot like this, baby…” His breath was hot against your skin, forehead pressed to your temple while he kept speaking those sweet nothings. The words alone were enough to make arousal stir in the bottom of your stomach, even more with how his hand moved between your legs.

A couple of fingers teased your clit, rubbing slow circles into it. Gerard loved the way your breath would get caught in your throat, making broken whimpers escape your lips while you hopelessly tried to move your hips against his hand. Useless, by the way. He just wouldn’t change the pace of his fingers. He wanted to enjoy every second the most, savoring the moment completely, even if all he had at the moment was a neglected cock stuck inside uncomfortable tight pants. The most he would have, from time to time, was the way your thighs would rub against it whenever you squirmed.

Those thighs, fuck. They looked so pretty flat against Gerard’s like that. He really couldn’t help himself.

Occasionally, Gerard’s fingers would actually slip into your pussy—he would collect some of the wetness to help his fingers glide against your puffy clit even easier, making the motions so delicious.

“Gerard,” you choked out his name, trying to plead for him to finally let you cum.

“Shh,” Gerard soothed. He could sense your thighs pressing together a little too much, your hips too unquiet, so he gave you a pause once again. He could keep going like that, wanting to see how far you could go until you either became a complete mess or came with the slightest touch.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Frank maybe—just maybe—loved your chubbiness a little too much. He wouldn’t admit it, constantly stuttering excuses and looking away while his face burned red, but you knew too well that he enjoyed the way your bottoms sometimes sank into your skin and made the skin muffin a little.

Frank, whose hands always found their way to your thighs whenever you sat on his lap or had your legs over his. He would hold and squeeze your thighs, sometimes absentmindedly, as if they were his to use as he pleased whenever he wanted to.

Frank would always hold onto your hips while you kissed, letting his fingers sink into it. Sometimes, he would even rub circles into your hips. It all started when he would occasionally pull you closer by your hips, then he started squeezing them out of curiosity before it grew into a habit.

Frank loved just resting his head on your tummy while you lay in bed or on the couch. He would just rest his head there and, sometimes, slip your shirt up a little bit, so he could give your tummy tiny kisses.

Frank would always bite his lip and groan softly whenever you started taking off your clothes, sometimes muttering about how hot you were. His hands would immediately roam over your body at any given opportunity. His hands would grope everywhere he could, going down your ass to hold there while you made out or while you rode him.

“Frank,” you whispered. Those little kisses on the exposed slice of the skin of your torso were starting to lose their innocence. You took a little too long to notice—you were immersed in the book you had in hand, lying on the couch while Frank lay his head on your torso like he usually did. “Frank,” you said again, with a firmer tone.

A groan came in response from Frank. He said nothing, of course. If anything, he only got bolder. His kisses went until the waistband of your shorts, where he had to take a pause while his fingers wrapped around it and slowly started pulling it down.

A shaky breath escaped your lips.

“Mm, Frank, I’m—”

“Your book can wait,” he said simply as he just took your shorts off.

Who even were you to argue? A sigh escaped your lips as you put the book away and spread your legs open to give Frank more access.

Frank’s lips kept peppering kisses all over your tummy and hips, worshiping them way more than he would admit he enjoyed. He nibbled a little down your hip, making you gasp and instinctively buck your hips forward. Damn.

“What are you so hot for…” Frank grumbled among other things, making your face heat up while you tried to sit still for him. His hands held onto your thighs, letting his fingers sink into them while his lips made their way down until the feeling of him mouthing your pussy through your underwear made you squirm again. “Easy,” Frank said with a gentle squeeze on your thighs. It took you a little effort, but you did your best to sit still as his mouth pressed to you through your underwear, only starting the teasing.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

#my chemical romance #frank iero #gerard way #x reader #x female reader #transmasc reader #frank iero x reader #gerard way x reader #fan fic #fan fiction #mcr x reader #oneshot #imagine

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rollinouttahere-writes · 5 months

Note

Now that it’s confirmed that Kid is yandere for Lucky I now think it is HILARIOUS to assume that Kid went after Shanks for the simple reason that he too also likes Lucky and Kid wants to weed out the competition and he thought “The bigger the better! She’ll totally like me if she sees how strong I am and how well I can protect her!! No one will wanna go near her!!!” Completely underestimating how delusional/down bad ALL of them are for her.

But if anyone ask Kid why he’s going after Shanks he’ll tell em “It’s for the glory!!! I want the title!!!” And Killers in the background like, “Ya Kid… Whatever you say Kid! Everyone TOTALLY believes that one Kid!” while making faces at Heat and Wire.

Killer every time Kid opens his mouth and starts on some elaborate lie/rant as to why he’s going after Shanks:

Lucky lets it happen cause the problem will eventually take care of itself if it goes down gladiator ring style.

Killer and the rest of the crew have to endure listening to him make up excuses for every interaction between them and the Straw Hats. It's not for Lucky, he definitely just wants to eliminate them that's it! Same for Shanks!

That aside, I'm going to use this as an opportunity to talk more about Lucky and Kid's relationship because I want to.

Fun fact, their connection was established in chapter one of Lucky Break, but I'm not sure anyone noticed it. In the prologue, it's explicitly stated that Lucky was holding her backpack when she fell into the One Piece world. In chapter one, there is no mention of it. This wasn't a fuck up on my part, this was intentional.

When she is trying not to drown, she lets go of the backpack and it floats away. Eventually, someone on the Punk Victoria finds it and decides to grab it because there might be something interesting in it, and there was.

In the backpack are the following: a cellphone, a flashlight, a wallet, a snack bar, and some face masks and gloves.

Kid can't figure out what the cellphone and flashlight are supposed to be, and is very frustrated by this. Examining the wallet reveals some weird money and cards he doesn't recognize, but the most important thing in it is the ID. He first lays eyes on the picture, and he burns the face into his memory. If anyone can explain what the weird shit is that he found, it's going to be this woman.

He always has her ID on him on the off chance they run into each other, everything else is kept safe on the ship. Because he has Lucky's ID, he is one of the very few people outside of the Straw Hats that knows her real name.

Kid is the only yandere that was obsessed before he met her. He was so hung up on finding her that by the time they did meet, he fell hard and fast.

The first time he sees Lucky in person, it takes a minute because the scar throws him off, but when he takes out the ID to compare and says her name and she reacts to it? It's all over. He needs her on his ship now, and he won't take no for an answer. He's waited too long to get an explanation on what those weird things are he found. Lucky is definitely frightened by his rough demeanor, but she's hopeful that she'll be let go after explaining what the things he found were.

I'm sure none of y'all need me to tell you that's not what happens. Kid may have some answers, however confusing, but the obsession isn't gone. He still wants to keep her.

On the scale I mentioned previously when discussing Kaku, Kid is all the way over on the 'OH GOD NO' side. He's unfriendly, unnecessarily cruel, and is one of the few yanderes that would be willing to hurt Lucky if it meant keeping her. It's not his first option by any means, but it isn't off the table either and he lets her know that. Yet he's somehow surprised when she's afraid of him.

He can be nice in his own ways, but he's bad at it. If he sees Lucky shivering, he'll throw his coat at her while yelling at her to 'stop shivering it looks pathetic'.

While he would say that he doesn't care if she likes him or not so long as he has her, he's lying. If she genuinely never grew fond of him it would bother him deeply.

#lucky break #eustass kid #rebeccawinters

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anteroom-of-death · 2 months

Text

Teacher's Pet part 13

Synopsis: After exams, the two meet up. Is it a simple meeting? Or does it develop the game further...

A/n: smut, domestics and more, and oohh look the Doctor falls even darker down. And look at me, 3 fics in a week. We're so back baby. Thanks to you all. Now I go deal with my migraine!

As he stargazed on his walk home, the Doctor had a lot to assess. As far as little tests went, this was a success. Missy’s presence and nature was a good metric for physical responses to real danger. His little fawn passed with flying colors!

Her mind surged with chemicals in a way that was palpable. Her body flooded itself with just enough hormones to shrink itself to deferment. Her heart raced like a small prey animal being hunted for sport. It was a good sign.

He felt insane. What had he come to? Was this his plan to groom a companion he held in his past, before Rose? Or was this a new game for him to play?

He felt high. Was this how Missy always felt in her amoral schemes? No wonder she always pulling these acts…

It felt wonderful, in a sick way.

How much could he push this all and stay the Doctor?

He felt like he needed to go join her for that night cap she mentioned. Not that he could particularly get drunk of whatever liquor he would consume, but off her mere presence!

Anything physical would just be an added benefit…

He did go into her mind, she was planning on telling him about her profession. She just didn’t know the correct way. Or that he already knew. Her mind was a fascinating place to rest in.

He was going to hold her to his promise of not letting any boogie-men come for her, or chance at changing this body. Or take her off planet. He respected her for not wanting to risk her young-ish life.

He felt it on an egotistical level.

He reflected on those past companion he did take to bed. There had to be a common thread between them! What pushed a person from ‘traveling companion-familial bond’ to ‘romance and sensuality’? What traits was he drawn to? It had to be some link across regeneration.

He further anthologized and went to pathological levels.

He couldn’t find a true common thread.

This all drove him insane.

He looked to the stars. He could name all of them, and when he saved them and their planets. He could see everything so clearly.

Except this pattern.

Part of him wondered if past incarnations of Missy were correct…he had been spending too much time amongst the human race. He was acting and living and rewarding himself like one.

A God Walking With Apes.

He deserve to be punished as much as rewarded. He knew that much.

But alas, he was taking his reward. And his rest. Sweetly.

The Doctor was owed that much.

He went back to his office and busied himself with the starts of exams. He infinitely preferred the paper exam. Kept students more honest. Kept them more creative.

Oh, sweet irony.

Soon the days of exams came. And he promised (y/n) after a drink. At hers. They’d not seen much of each other with all the fuss and confusion of the time.

It was all arranged.

The wolf to devour the fawn. Again.

And he would.

He met her at the front door of her flat, with a bundle of flowers. And a note scrawled, ‘You survived.’ She took them and inhaled. Her smile widened. There was something hiding in it. Something that he’d like to uncover very much.

Despite the dedication he’d put into knowing her mind, the specialties of her neurology left him often scrambling for control. Maybe the human race in some swathes of the population developed a small evolutionary protection against higher beings with advanced psychic abilities, but of course viewed it as disability.

She welcomed him to her flat. It was a bit cramped, and recently looked like it had be purged and deep cleansed. She was obviously trying to make the best impression.

She took his coat and laid it on her chair as she ushered him to her small corner of kitchen.

As she went to the cupboard to get some glasses, she pointed to her fridge.

“I have wine, tea, vodka, arak, rum. A bit of Jameson left. I’m not an alcoholic, I swear.” She stopped listing.

“I’ll take the Jameson.” He figured the whiskey would be a good choice. Matched his current body.

“Yeah, cool.” She got a wine glass out and an Ikea tumbler from her cupboards. After she poured the wine and got out the Jameson.

“Neat or on the rocks?” She called over.

“Neat.”

“Cool, cool.” She replied, echoing the previous reply…

She also got a vase and poured in some water and jammed the flowers in. It was placed on the table.

“Thanks!” She smiled.

She took a large sip of her nearly-full glass.

“Okay, so, first things first. I’m sorry…yeah. I am…uh…a sex worker. I work in the local brothel. I get tested every three weeks. I’m clean. Yeah, no needs to worry for you. If you can or can’t get diseases. I don’t know.” She confessed and looked down, rubbing the stem of her glass with her thumb and index finger.

“Next, I think…I’m actually in love with you?” She said. “I’m not going to quit the job yet. I need money, and…things are getting so pricey these days…it’s easy-ish money. It allows me flexibility for school. Yeah.” She nodded her head some more. Unable to make eye-contact.

“Lastly, I’m fine with the everything.” She flapped a hand out and pointed broadly. “Yeah, I never thought life…would go this way…aliens are real. I’m with one romantically. And I can work on the incredulity bit. I’m very flexible…yeah…” She nodded her head.

Now this was interesting! A declaration of love and her baring her soul.

He already knew, but opted out of telling her. It would clash with his byline.

Honesty created more secrets…

He cradled her hand in his. “It’s all well and good. We all have our lives. I travel in space and time, tinkering. You, escorting.”

She flushed deeply, he could feel her pulse racing through his hand.

Her face went through an array of emotions before settling on confusion and hope.

Very good.

“I was so worried, what with the stigma, especially after Missy and you talked about your species.” Her other hand curled onto her chest over her heart. “Google isn’t exactly awash with…you know…advice. And I don’t have particularly a group of girlfriends to ask anymore….mnnn.” She smacked her lips together and bit a small piece of dry, scabbed over skin off. It let out the smallest price of blood.

“I’ve put you in an impossible situation.”

She pursed her lips together and sucked in a bit of air. “Yes, you have.” She ended it with a small laugh.

“Just don’t get me killed like the others…” She pleaded in a serious tone.

“Yes, I’ll try.”

She smiled.

“Any plans for the summer?” She did a one shouldered-shrug.

“Probably London for UNIT. Get Nardole to guard the mad lady. I was thinking of taking my TARDIS. But she has a mind of her own. She might drag me off planet…if you want, when you want. I’ll call a car. I’ll hold myself to that promise for you.” He levied.

“Yeah, I’d like that. I miss Petronella.” She blinked.

“Don’t…not go off planet for me. I’ll be good here. Just work and all. Preparing for next term…” She smiled and offered the metaphorical olive branch. “You are from there.” She pointed skyward. “It’d be cruel of me to tie you down.”

“I’m semi-retired.” He reassured her. Then he shifted the frame. “And you? What about you? You deserve a bit of a trip. Where could you go off. The kids love Ibiza! I could use some of that useless money I’ve been-“ He was cut off.

“No, don’t. That makes things between us…tricky. Trickier than now.” She took her free hand and placed it on top of the hand that kept her other hand clasped. “You’re my boyfriend. Question mark. Not my sugar daddy. I’d get a sugar daddy if I wanted one.”

“I have no doubt.”

“Yeah.” The singular word came out of her mouth with an air of authority and behest. Her brows shot up, upper lip on a curve.

“Are you going to the big end-of-terms party that the student union is hosting?” The Doctor probed. “I’ve been asked to play guitar!”

“No, I got to work. I didn’t take that shift week before last. I’m…behind on my finances. I’ve taken up a longer shift next week.” She untangled their hands and pointed at a cork board across the way over her desk. “Bills don’t stop because my boyfriend takes me to London.” She scratched her brow with her ring finger.

“That dress and those shoes were…out of budget.” She rested her chin on her now propped-up palms.

She was always in motion even when she wasn’t.

He felt that on a deeper level.

How alike they has been in regards to that! Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was the universe giving him a gift as his reward for countless times saved.

He felt himself believe.

“I do want to hear you play guitar.” She postured and let out a little hitched huff of air.

“Want me to whip up something? Do you want to go out? I can order takeaway too. I should have planned this drink better.” She took a large sip of her wine. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to…entertaining people at home.”

Her eyes got very large, “I think outside of the landlady once, this is the first time anyone’s been here besides me since I moved in…wow.” She fluttered her lashes in a quick, palpable realization.

“I have an air fryer!” She bragged. “Horrible noises, but it makes good food.” She enticed.

“I once made a silent pen for Ibn Rushd. He hated the noise of all writing tools he had. Your air fryer should be a piece of cake!” He got up and started towards it.

“Wait until dinners done.” She said opening up some frozen bags and dumping them in.

She also got out a cast-iron skillet, and began making something in there, delicate chopping and spicing.

“Hey, could you like…heat up the pitas, they’re in the bread box. I usually just toss them in the oven for 5 minutes both sides.”

The Doctor did one better. He used a heating system he pulled from his jacket.

“I can help serve.” He offered.

“Plates are…there.” She pointed as she pulled out the air fryer drawer and tossed it in the pan.

He set the perfect table, all arranged around the flowers he gave her.

He had repeatedly told many before her that he didn’t do domestic. Alas, he was here playing house, assisting in the dinner. Setting the table…

She unceremoniously dumped out.

“I’m no chef. But it’ll taste good. And sustain life.”

“All that matters!” He grinned up at her.

It was a great meal, the Doctor mused. Very good measure of spices and ingredients.

Clean up was her (also unceremoniously…) dumping them in the sink.

“So, dear Professor Doctor. How else will we celebrate.” She sat down in a comfy, squashed chair and tapped beside her on the small chair that faced her. He followed.

“Well, ideas!” He swirled his hands around.

“Ideas.” He mused.

A very human idea came.

He sprung up and kissed her on her neck. He grasped her waist and started to drag her against the side of the chair.

“A good idea?” He pulled back.

“Doctor’s orders.” She quipped as her heart accelerated and she looked at him, her (insert your eye color here, dear reader.) shining with eagerness.

She started trying to rip off his clothes. Kissing his nose and trying to motion both of them to the bed at the other side of the flat.

The mess of limbs found themselves there as they removed clothes and shifted over to the bed.

The tactile nature of this was how he learned that this was the first time she’d had anyone in this particular bed. This was special. It was her sacred space. Her safe place to sleep.

This felt delicious and perverted. He was furthering this all. However, this choice was all her idea. No interference on his part.

She’d chosen him…

She laid herself down for him. She was propped on her elbows and leaned her torso such. Her mind was racing.

He jumped onto the bed. She jumped up.

“Wait.” She went to a bag and got a bottle of lube out. She jumped back on the bed. She squeezed some out onto his shaft and massaged it down to base. She place a small bit in the palm of her hand and slicked it in her folds. She slid back under him and banged the bottle onto her bedside table. Amongst the clutter and the giant water bottle.

“I’m ready, fuck me.” She begged. “Fuck me, please.”

He entered her. His tip surged and reached her cervix. Kissing her forehead as he did the first big thrust, he grasped at her wrists and palms.

She slid herself further down, allowing him to get a better angle. Letting him go deeper. Further. Harder. She moved her arms to a place he could grasp them better.

“Such a good pet.” He grunted. “You’re so good to me, my fawn.” He praised. She wrapped her legs around his ass and thighs as response.

“Th-th-thank you.” She let out.

He hid his smile in a kiss in her hair. He snuck his face down and grazed her jaw with his teeth as he continued to give her firm, hard, quick thrusts. Their stomachs brushing against each other, he gave her breast a grab and teased her nipple with tongue and teeth.

She let out a moan and curled her lips over her tongue and her eyes reactively shut tightly. After a few moments her eyes fluttered open, lashes brushed against lids.

She used her now-free hands and grabbed his face and the waves of his hair. She brought her face up and kissed his face and bit his neck. Suckling gently before making her way back up. She placed one final kiss and let herself go limp and him to take over.

And that he did!

He arched his back down as her eyes rolled back into her skull. The pace picked up and her arms found themselves naturally above her head.

He took the opportunity to bind them in his hands and wrapped his pinkies around her bed frame to keep them both steady.

He felt his cock being worked by the muscles of her walls. Her stomach arched up and over as she worked him with her delicate, well-toned pelvic muscles.

“I’m asking your permission.” The Doctor found himself saying, not entirely of his own volition. “May I fuck you harder? Show you what this old body can do…as an alien?”

She nodded her head and swallowed. She looked a tad unsure and confused. “Sure. Yeah?” He was trying so hard to not enter her mind. Just let her be for once. Enjoy the moment unbridled. But this opportunity was too good not to take…

He saw the verbal cue pool out of her mouth and he entered her mind, flooding it with an overproduction of those precious chemicals: dopamine, oxytocin, adrenalin, endorphins. The entire lot of them…

He kicked his body into high gear. Playing her body with his cock and lips. Brushing, kissing, biting, claiming. He kept her wrists in the manacles that was his hands.

Fucking her so deeply and making her now somewhat-dependent on him.

How could she not become dependent on him now? She was radiating these precious hormones and chemicals that pudding-brained apes needed.

His little fawn, safe by his side. Now his for all eternity. Even if she would never by any volunteer-ship leave Earth. Or risk her life.

Good!

Perfect. More than perfect. This one will never die by his blooded hands.

He could continue moments like these until her heart stopped.

More than good! Perfect!

She was quickly cumming underneath him, her legs still wrapped around him. Her breathing was becoming very shallow and her moans had turned to grunts and groans. Like the animal she was, in rut. Maddened by hormones and thrashing to get him deeper in.

And how could he not be obliged?

He let her have it and when he finally came she started crying.

He felt a stab of regret. Did he go too far?

The Doctor let go of her hands and she immediately grasped in for a hug as he pulled his now-flacid cock out of her cunt.

“No need to cry…” He smiled, kissing her hair. “You did so good for me.” He repeated that line a few times until she became more lucid and he retreated from her mind.

“What was that?” She asked in earnest.

He lied, “I kicked my body into high gear. Like a rabbit wand. Only better.” He would never come clean about his mind games. Not now, especially now…

“I’ve been going easy on you. You’re so…breakable.” He ruffled her hair. “The whole lot of you.” He clarified. “I could go harder, but I won’t. I know the limits.”

He did. And yet he was crossing them even more.

He once asked Clara if he was a good man. He felt like he was at one point, even an excellent man. But now, not so much.

But did it matter?

His little fawn was soaked in sweat and radiant in her hormonal flush. Glowing from her fresh fuck.

Or did they make love? He wondered.

Was it love? Obsession? Or both?

Maybe it was both, on both accounts. From both ways.

He laid his naked body next to hers and she instinctively folded herself into his arms. She grabbed his arms in return and started tracing little patterns on the Doctor’s arms.

She let out a small hiccup.

“Obviously, we can’t do that all the time. But it was great. Yeah?” She concluded.

“Anything you want…” He murmured into the crook of her neck. He planted a small breathy kiss on it.

She drifted off to sleep, still grasping him in their cuddle.

Perfect is as perfect does.

And the Doctor felt he did perfect.

#personal #doctor who #12th doctor #12th doctor x reader #12th doctor x you #you x 12th doctor #reader x 12th doctor #self insert #self indulgent #fall from grace #but make it good #me need a lobo #doctor who fanfiction #peter capaldi

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 2 months

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Meghan wouldn't have had a big red carpet event (Metgala) just 10-odd days before her wedding. She also wouldn't have had a big designer on her side in 2018, since she hadn't developed those relationships yet.

Chances are that it was for Metgala 2019. I've always believed this because she was also teasing her own Vogue UK issue in the first half of 2019. (She event fuest edited the Sept 2019 Vogue UK edition).

Her partnership with cogue UK was kept super secret, but she first teased it in Dec 2018 or Jan 2019. The palace then shut it down in Feb after weeks of speculations. She was also teasing a childrens book about the Dog in Jan/Feb 2018. (This project never happened, but it may have been negotiated at some point).

I think Meghan wanted to go to the Metgala as Ed's +1 in the lead up to the Sept edition. But she had to keep it from the palace. Then she wouldn't confirm her attendance to Anna since her own due date was May. She may have thought she would have the baby in April and then jet off to the Metgala as a big reveal. But also did not confirm either way with Ed and Anna. This may have irked Anna.

Meghan and the Vogue UK team were also not exactly getting along so well. She wanted to controleverythinh, and be there for meetings when it was expected that she is guest editor only in name. She also wanted a cover but Ed talked her down as he did not like that idea. It was later spun as Meghan being humble. Meghan wanted a cover as Catherine got the cover a few years back.

Meg was allegedly a nightmare to work with. And Ed actually did not like her. Vovue also did like that this Meghan went behind the palaces back to do the project.

Meghan also may have wanted to go with Claire as a givenchy nuse (lol) since Clair was supposed to be retiring/leaving Givenchy. but Anna may have vetoed that idea as being ridiculous and unnecessary. It's not like clair is on the same level as Alexander McQueen or Karl lagerfeld etc. Knowing what happened with Claire and Givenchy at the wedding Anna may not have wanted that association at the Metgala at all.

All of the drama at the Vogue UK office may have reached Anna. To add to that Ed and Anna arnt the best of pals. So Meghan being cagey about her attendance, her outfits, her designers and insisting on being Ed's +1 as a big reveal (ie., Taking the spotlight of the gala itself) may have put off Anna. And that's why Anna blacklisted her.

Ed went on to work with King Charles for the prince's trust. But never associated with Meghan personally (except for the Oprah interview which him and his pals watched together and later told the papers about lol).

You don’t need a relationship with a designer to go to the Met Gala. If you’re “It” enough, the designers will come to you or Anna will do the networking for you. And back in April/May 2018, Meghan was “It” enough. What we know about Meghan today wasn’t known back in early 2018 so while people today wouldn’t touch her with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole, they would’ve been all over her back then, especially if there was potential for accessing Kate or the rest of the royal family through Meghan…which is why all those A-Listers showed up for the wedding. If the A-Listers showed up for the wedding, the A-Listers would’ve shown up to dress her for the Met Gala.

And Meghan absolutely would’ve done a red carpet event before her wedding. Especially if it pushed Kate, Charlotte, and new baby Louis out of the headlines — which an unexpected appearance at Met Gala 2 weeks before the wedding would have done. Especially if it fit into Meghan’s narrative about being the more glamorous, fashion-forward, sexy one vs Kate, as her PR was doing in those days.

Like I said, the whole timeline surrounding the rumor is shifty. It doesn’t make sense for Meghan to be planning to attend Met Gala 2019 since she would’ve known she couldn’t make it because of the pregnancy/baby. Especially since it is known worldwide that the Met Gala is always the first Monday of May. But on the other hand, Meghan stayed at the Mark Hotel, which where the celebs stay for the Met Gala since it’s across the street from the Met, for a reason…and that’s so in three months when we’re googling “Met Gala,” up pops the pictures and stories from Meghan’s baby shower. Like I’ve said time and time again, Meghan knows what she’s doing when it comes to PR and SEO. Or at least her people do.

I personally don’t believe Meghan was ever going to the Met Gala. Despite “modernizing the monarchy” by wearing pants/trousers (sorry, The Queen did it 11 years before Meghan even existed on this planet), Meghan just isn’t a fashionable person. She doesn’t even have her own sense of style - she wears whatever someone gives her for free and doesn’t even bother to clean her shoes, remove the tags, take off the protective plastic wrapping, snip off the tacking stitch on her coats, wear the proper sizes and undergarments, get things hemmed and tailored to fit, or steam/iron the clothes. She’s a hot fashion mess. That’s not Met Gala material. That’s not what Anna Wintour wants on her red carpet — and that’s why the 2018 version of the timeline makes sense, because it was before all of the fashion sins were committed, it was before all the behavior and attitude allegations were made that sent the Sussexes spiraling, and it was smack in the middle of Harry’s “they’re jealous of Meghan being the most popular doing things they couldn’t/wouldn’t” PR campaign.

But anons can believe whatever they want to believe. My speculation about attending in 2018 vs 2019 is just armchair-quarterbacking trying to find a version of the story that works timing-wise. And for me, 2018 is more plausible than 2019 and all the teasing/hinting at a Vogue cover afterwards can be chalked up to Meghan’s usual manifestation or Vogue scrambling to keep her happy after getting cockblocked from the Met Gala so she doesn’t target the gala or Vogue or Anna the way she’d been targeting Kate and the royal family. Game recognizes game, and Anna is a master at it.

#ask #rumors #theories #brf

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sisterspooky1013 · 4 months

Text

Loved. Lost.

Rated T | 1319 words | Read it here on AO3

Content Warnings: Child Loss, Suicidal Ideation

She can’t escape it. It’s on her skin, in her bones, in every breath she takes. It envelopes her, suffocates her, doubling the force of gravity on her body and pinning her in place. If, for one fleeting moment, she does manage to forget, it comes roaring back with a vengeance, slashing through her gut and disemboweling her, and she falls to the floor in agony.

She still smells him on her clothes, still feels the phantom weight of his head against her chest. Her lips still tingle from the brush of her final kiss to his forehead, her arms won’t stop aching to hold him. Her heart sits hollow in her chest, eating itself alive to fuel her grief. She feels lost in her own body, trapped by the enormity of what’s happened to her. She can’t imagine ever being okay again.

William. Mulder.

How briefly she held them both. How abruptly she lost them, one and then the other. How alone she is. How unfathomably alone.

She thought she knew loss. Her father. Melissa. The months where she believed that the image of Mulder cold and ruined in a grassy field would be her final one of him. Where she faced the reality of raising a child who would never have a chance to know his father. She was so confident that it could not possibly get any worse than feeling William kick against her rib cage as she stood beside Mulder’s open grave. She was wrong. So painfully wrong.

She wishes she could run away. Somehow outpace the constant reminders of the impossible choice that she made. Somehow evade the eventuality of telling Mulder what she’s done, even as she longs to see him with every fiber of her being. She wishes she could forget the look on her mother’s face as she tried, unsuccessfully, to explain. Wishes she could accept comfort from the only person she has left, if not for the guilt that churns up bile in her belly every time the phone rings. Her breasts throb, begging her to nurse, and his unscented baby laundry soap still sits on top of her washing machine, and her mother won’t stop calling, and she wants to run away from it all, but she can’t.

There is one way out. One darkened path that would end her suffering. In the days when William was still safe in her belly and Mulder was dead to her, it was only the beating of William’s heart that kept her earthside. A life without Mulder was not one worth leading, and yet the instinct to love and protect her child—their child—overpowered her grief. Now, her child is gone, and Mulder is as good as gone himself, and it’s becoming harder and harder to find the will to continue living a life where each breath feels like punishment. It’s only when she imagines him returning from wherever he’s gone and learning that she first took his child from him, and then herself, that she re-commits to carrying on. He’s already lost so much.

And so from father to son and back again they have passed the baton of her survival. When was the last time she lived for herself? She can’t remember. It’s too painful to try.

She wonders if this is God’s plan for her. Is her suffering a test of her faith? Job was rewarded for his unrelenting faithfulness with prosperity beyond his wildest dreams. It’s only now, as a mother, that she realizes nothing man or God could do would make up for the loss of a child. How Job’s wife must have hated him for his sacrifice, how she must have grieved every waking moment for her ten lost children. But her grief wasn’t even worth a mention, wasn’t even worth giving her a name.

Whether it was God’s plan or her own free will that had her pass her defenseless, innocent child from the arms of his loving mother to those of a stranger, she feels betrayed by Him. Abandoned. Alone.

And yet, His plan or His gift of free will brought her to Mulder. Brought her to a love she could never have dreamed of, never even knew was possible. A love so powerful it left her gasping for air, clinging to him for survival. A love that made sex feel like a miracle, pleasure so complete that every exquisitely designed cell in her body lit up and exploded at once. Love that defied science and created life where no life was meant to be created. Love that could only be explained by divine intervention.

But the loss. Reaching for Mulder across the mattress and finding only cold sheets. Startling awake to the ghost of William’s cries and panicking at the empty space where his bassinet should be, her hammering heart sending her to her feet before she remembers and the grief takes her out at the knees. The phone is always about to ring, and the door is always about to open, and any minute Mulder will walk in and hold her, pick up half the weight of this completely unmanageable pain so they can carry it together. She feels William crying for her, across miles and mountains, and she paces the room holding a stuffed bear, patting its bottom as a proxy. Her shirt will be wet with tears and milk that won’t dry up when the sun begins to rise, which it continues to do as though her world hasn’t ended.

Would she give it all up if it saved her from this? Would she go back and turn down the FBI recruiter, take the well traveled path? The thought horrifies her. What she would have missed.

Mulder’s smile the first time she told him she loved him, the way something changed in him, like a long held vacancy had finally been filled. His contented sigh when he pulled her closer in the dark and kissed the top of her head, and the way their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. Driving down a deserted highway at 90 mph blasting Queen and laughing until tears streamed down her face.

She would have missed lying like parentheses around their infant son as he yawned and stretched his womb-bent legs, and the absolute look of wonder on Mulder’s face. She would have missed the overwhelming sense of pride at giving him something he’d been longing for since the age of twelve: a family.

She would have never known the way William immediately quieted when he felt her touch, the way he relaxed against her like she was his safest place. She wouldn’t have heard the way his baby laugh was shaping up to sound just like Mulder’s, or seen her father looking back at her from his eyes.

She wouldn’t have caught Mulder watching her as she nursed William back to sleep in the dark still of night. She wouldn’t have met his eye and smiled, and he wouldn't have smiled back, neither needing to say anything to understand that they were healing, her mother-wound and his both soothed by William’s satisfied grunts and his fist grabbing and releasing at the hem of her pajama top. It felt like magic, and it was. How could she possibly wish all of that away?

Unexpectedly, she finds solace in the fact that the depth of her grief is equal to the vastness of her love. How lucky is she, to have known a love that it hurts this much to lose. And when Mulder comes back, which she has to believe he will, she takes comfort in knowing that his love will also return to her. All is not lost.

She answers her mother’s phone calls. After a time, she returns to work. She carries on, knowing that a life in which such a love exists is surely worth leading.

It has to be.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

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yandere-romanticaa · 2 years

Text

A little reference for those who are unsure, from left to right: Capitano, Marionette, Pulcinella, Damselette, Pierro, my ginger menace <3, Arlecchino, Pantalone and Dottore! Also tagging @bye-bye-sunbird because ily so much Dendro Mum!

"Never before has your name reflected on your attitude this badly, but even now you've managed to outdo yourself."

Childe scoffed at Arlecchino's taunts as her icy words were matched the altitude of the bitter winters he was oh so accustomed to. Besides, him reacting to her provocation was mere bait, something he managed to catch onto quite quickly. He wasn't as dimwitted as she thought he was, he could see the bitter jealousy in her dark eyes as the senior Harbinger eyed his prize. La Signora may have perished in Inazuma but that did little to stop the 11th Harbinger in his conquests.

Such a conquest was dangling on his side right at this moment.

It was a bold, downing stupid move to bring any outsider to an official meeting, especially after what transpired with the 8th Harbinger. But Childe worked so hard to get his cutie pie right where he wanted to, why shouldn't he gloat, just for a little bit?

A part of him did end up regretting bringing his prize along because he never anticipated just how much attention this would cause.

Marinette took any chance she could to steal his darling away, chatting them up while also being unnecessarily touchy, like she was trying to test something. Childe knew that the woman likes to use humans in her experiments but it never crossed his mind that the lady wanted to take his prize and make it into her own. Tearing you up and building from scratch makes her heart leap of joy.

Pantalone kept his nice facade up but his distaste with Childe's fashion sense was made oh so evident. Oh dear, look at the awful quality of that shawl, why not let him get you a better one? It really is not a problem for him, just pick out anything, he's not joking! Absolutely nothing is off the table for him! Greedy gaze and fast hands travel all over darlings body as much as humanly possible before the ginger man steps in, his entire attitude shifting from annoyed to downright bloodthirsty.

Blood red wine swirled like the gentle breeze in Capitano's cup, his feelings and agendas hidden within the safety of his mask, much like his desire to step in and end this entire squabble. You were a distraction, a nuisance. The sweet scent of your perfume made the tall Harbinger question whether or not his gear was of any use to him as he underestimated the power of Childe's new plaything. Not even the sun itself could shine so bright, he thought to himself.

Sitting quietly in the back was Marinette as she eyed the whole scene that was unfolding in front of her, her gaze mostly locked on the heart of the commotion. A dark smile was on her face as she toyed with the idea of turning you into her own little personal puppet, something that only she could own and operate. Besides, it would get bothersome Childe out of the picture for good too.

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002yb · 1 year

Text

Dickjay Thoughts #9

Jason used to write Dick love letters. A means of connecting without letting himself be vulnerable beyond what he felt safe with.

They’re hidden in the pages of Jason’s favorite books. Tucked between lines of text; hidden away and kept safe with narratives less cruel than what was written for him. A secret because the sprawling library with all its stories was his.

It’s Alfred who finds the first letter, a chance happening, a happy accident. The small scrawl across the page makes the man’s heart ache. He has to lean against a shelf for support or sit outright because he recognizes Jason in the penmanship - the words. Although he doesn’t read the contents of the letter once he sees who it’s addressed to, Alfred is still filled with an indescribable warmth just from the writing and he would marvel it for some time - how small Jason wrote, the press of pen to paper.

Maybe Bruce would come across them, too. Purposefully seeking out books he remembers Jason talking about - being stressed because what if his boy never had a chance to read them through, cover to cover? It would be a compulsive thought that cuts through his downward spiral of mourning.

So he goes to the library. He pulls one book, to start. Flipping it through, head blank beside the realization that he’ll have no way of telling what Jason read, what he finished. What he loved, what he didn’t. He should have asked. They should have talked about it. Bruce should have done a lot different.

Then he’d come across that letter and the world would stop. Jason’s small handwriting would bring Bruce to his knees and he’d mourn his loss fresh. It’s of no consequence to him that the letter isn’t addressed to him. Bruce doesn’t share Alfred’s qualms with reading correspondence not intended for him.

The contents come as no surprise to him because Jason was never subtle with his feelings. It’s funny to him how Bruce was less than keen with Jason’s crush before, but finds some level of solace with it now. That his boy got to experience something so soft and gentle and hopeful - thank goodness.

Bruce might actively seek out other books and letters, but in the end it’s too much for him. It would be tempting to keep them and hide them away for himself, though ultimately he leaves them where Jason left them. Lovingly placed, carefully hidden.

And then there’s Dick.

The only reason he gets the letter is because the people around him conspire against him. Or for his benefit, rather. Because withdrawn as Dick might be during this time, there are so many people that care about him. Namely: Alfred and Kory.

Alfred might be resentful that Bruce chased Dick away (and dared raise a hand against him). And for as heartbroken as he is over Jason, he’s just as gutted over Dick being alone in his anguish. And yes, Dick has friends. A found family. But they’re not Bruce or Alfred and just - maybe Alfred wants Dick for himself, too. Maybe Alfred wants his family because he’s mourning the loss of someone dear to him, as well. It’s not like Bruce is pleasant or considerate company during this time.

That aside, Alfred worries about Dick. There’s no indication that Dick is conducting himself as poorly as Bruce - all grief made into violence. Alfred has known Dick since he was a boy though. He knows for fact that Dick’s anguish rears itself in a much more wrathful way.

(Alfred doesn’t believe Dick will lose sight of his morals on killing. He might be ashamed for wishing Dick would though. Alfred wants to - he has no qualms about it. He could, he should - )

(He knows Dick feels the same. It would be nice to talk with someone who understands).

So that’s Alfred. Kory? She’s there with Dick through it all. And the thing is - they’re best friends, soulmates. She knows when Dick is lying and after Jason that seems to be all he does. And they’re not malicious lies. Dick does it so that no one will worry after him. Kory worries though. Because those lies do nothing but hurt Dick further.

She doesn’t like that he withdraws and internalizes and pretends. She doesn’t like seeing the man she loves, someone who has always been so steady and reliable in her life, fall apart, but she would rather Dick be honest and let himself hurt so that he can heal and Dick just - he won’t.

What was once wonderful and wild, strong and resilient is now just cold. Because Kory knows something of Dick died when Jason did and he can’t reconcile the loss. Maybe there’s more to it - Dick trying to temper his rage so that he doesn’t lash out (Kory wouldn’t stop him; she might encourage it, in fact). She wishes Dick would let all those feelings out before he chokes on them.

Anyway, Kory and Alfred worry. They get together because Kory wants to help but she doesn’t know what to do anymore (unrelated, but Kory having a relationship with Alfred! Her checking in on how Alfred is doing and holding his hand when he tries to put up a brave front and exuding all this warmth that Alfred is quietly grateful for as he takes her hand and gives it a fond pat).

It’s after one such meeting that Alfred gives Kory one of Jason’s books to pass along to Dick. And Dick is equal parts confused (because he’s never been the biggest reader; he doesn’t have the time), grateful (because the book was still Jason’s and Dick misses him terribly; it’s nice to have something of his), and endeared (because Alfred and Kory are too good to him - he’s sorry for worrying them).

Whatever encouragement Dick is given to read the book goes unheeded, but the book stays on Dick’s nightstand. Only picked up one night when insomnia hits (it’s not nightmares, it’s not).

So Dick reads it. He even enjoys it. Taking in page after page until he comes across Jason’s letter to him. And Dick - he doesn’t recognize Jason’s writing, but he sees the greeting, the signature line and - oh. Oh.

‘This seems like the sort of story you would like. Hopefully you’ll read it one day and we can talk about it.’

It is the sort of story Dick enjoys, but Dick would rather a story where Jason was still there more. Regardless, Dick has to stop reading at just that first line. Eyes wet, jaw clenched.

He can’t read it. He can’t not read it. He breaks over himself, elbows on his knees as he takes in all that Jason had written him. There’s a scathing review on the story so far - how Jason gets why Dick would like it but it’s basic. The only redeeming quality is the prose and Dick should really read xyz if he likes this and this and this. Which he does. Jason knows. Dick seems the sort, at least.

It’s endearing. Jason is as witty and sassy and insufferable on paper as he is with that tongue of his. He’s just as unsuspectingly sweet, too. And somehow so much more honest (and made timid for it, even with written words).

Dick keeps the book at his nightstand. And Kory might start a bit when Dick wraps her in a hug, but she holds him back and tries to give him some of that warmth that he lost.

Fast forward to Tim. Whatever progress Dick had been making sort of stagnates at this point. He returns to the manor because Dick doesn’t trust Bruce not to hurt another child. For as much as Dick wants to retire Robin, Batman does what Batman wants. All Dick can do is be better than he was with Jason.

So Dick is at the manor more. He ends up in the library and looks for the book Jason had recommended in his letter. When he reads it through - another letter.

Kory thinks it’s romantic. A beautiful way of healthily expressing feelings (hint, hint). She wonders if Jason wrote any more?

Dick ignores the pointed hint for Dick to deal with his grief in more creative ways and instead zeroes in on the possibility of more letters.

Which is how they both end up in the Wayne library.

There are books that Dick knows Jason enjoyed and novels that he pieces together Jason likes based on the other books Jason seems to have favored. He’s not above going through the entire library one book at a time though.

Kory would be a soothing presence as she helps him look through books. It would be slow-going, but she wouldn’t mind. It would be exciting to finally find one hidden away in the stanzas of poems. And she would read it and maybe understand a bit better why Dick has been hurting so badly for so long. Because Jason is kind. And so clearly adoring. Thoughtful and compassionate and warm in a way few are.

When Dick looks back because Kory is suddenly quiet, he might fall in love with her again - how warm and tender she is while reading Jason’s affections. Her smile would be soft and when she meets Dick’s gaze her eyes would be bright with happiness because, ‘he loves you dearly.’

(Sorry not sorry, Kory not being jealous because Jason had such a pure love for Dick that she feels Dick is well deserving of. Kory recognizing in hindsight that Dick might have fallen for Jason through these letters, too. Her not seeing anything wrong with it because it’s just as pure and it’s brought warmth back to Dick, stoking an ember that Kory can soothe back into a fire).

Fast forward again to Red Hood returning to Gotham. Jason’s vendetta is with Bruce, but he’s not above using any and all ammunition so he hits up Dick in Bludhaven. More specifically: Dick’s apartment. Just a casual snoop around reconnaissance. Confronting the bigbird isn’t on Jason’s to-do list since he’s trying to stay under the radar at the moment, but if push comes to shove he can handle himself.

So he breaks into Dick’s place and has a look around.

To preface, Jason comes back with scattered memories. He doesn’t remember the letters for a long time, but something resonates when Jason sees the small library that Dick has amassed. It’s surprising, to say the least. Jason feels a little pleased if only because Dick actually has really good taste. He can’t help but wonder if Dick read them all (he has - each and every one because where the letters are hidden leave a message of their own; a passage that reminded Jason of Dick and those were love notes in their own right).

Jason getting immediately side tracked because there are so many of his favorites. He would brush his fingers along the spines, smiling to himself before plucking the one most worn. Flipping through it until he finds - a letter?

His letter. To Dick.

The mortification would be overwhelming. Jason would slam the book shut, stunned still and with burning ears (though they’re hidden beneath his helmet).

It would take a moment, but Jason would resolve himself and look further. Flipping through all the pages again to read the letter in full, only this time he comes across - another letter? Addressed to him.

A love note that Dick left and hid away with passages to reflect Dick’s feelings, too. A mixture of grief and love and yearning (because he took Kory’s hint at some point and wrote letters he would never send, but would keep alongside Jason’s, lovingly placed and carefully hidden - getting the feelings out because Jason’s [feelings] left him overfull, overwhelmed, especially when combined with all the loss and grief and anguish and rage). It’s in another book, too. Then another.

And Jason is just - hopelessly overwhelmed. Heart racing, breath caught. Because Dick mourned him. He cared. He - he wrote Jason letters.

(Ambiguous on where Dick’s feelings fully land in this: platonic, romantic, somewhere in between or something undefinable. Regardless, there would be at least one letter of Dick being resentful of the future Jason never got to have - that they never got to share).

And of course that’s when Dick makes his appearance. The moment would feel poignant, but it quickly goes to hell in a hand basket because Jason remembers that he’s not here as himself. Dick doesn’t even know that Jason is alive. Jason is just some strange punkass home invader going through Dick’s most personal belongings and Dick is pissed.

Vicious and protective because those books and those feelings are Jason’s - it’s all Dick has. The last person to broach Jason with him Dick beat to death (not that it stuck, regrettably). Dick has no qualms losing it on Red Hood.

Jason doesn’t fight back though. Those letters honestly took the fight out of him. So Jason stays on the defensive, thoughts reeling as he tries to get a word in. Dick doesn’t let up though so all Jason can do is stumble through pleas to wait, please. Hang on, hold up. He can explain -

Dick hits a lot harder than Jason remembers. He’s a lot scarier, too. Downright terrifying (because Jason isn’t the only one who changed in the past years). And Jason - bless him - it already kind of does something for him. That the protectiveness is because of him though? Oh. Oh.

Dick isn’t masked up. He’s just a man in that moment. Maybe more than that, maybe less than. Jason’s heart races regardless. A familiar feeling - the most gentle thing he’s felt in years. An undying, persisting crush.

‘Try to use him,’ Dick would swear, ‘I’ll kill you.’

And Jason wouldn’t be able to help himself, he’d bark a laugh. ‘You wouldn’t. You don’t have it in you.’

Only Dick would laugh, too. An empty sound. Haunting, even. Like Dick knows something Jason doesn’t.

‘Try me.’

There’s something crawling beneath Dick’s skin. Jason recognizes it because he feels it, too. It’s a feeling of needing just one flimsy excuse to turn the world on its head, to burn it to ash and cinders.

Jason knows danger, a lost fight, so he stands down. He doesn’t have it in him to fight Dick, not after - fuck. Jason wishes he could take the books, the letters hidden in them. His feelings are a mess.

‘Let him rest.’ Dick warn him, a quiet request, a broken plea.

That’s not something Jason can give Dick, but at least for that night - Jason retreats. He resolves to leave Dick alone after that, but curiosity kills the cat again and Jason can’t let it go. So he goes back. He engages with Nightwing. Just acting the nuisance as Red Hood gets all he needs put together in Gotham. Nightwing and him have a good rapport. They have a lot to bond over - books and lost loves and all that.

(Jason finally gets to talk to Dick about that book - the one with the first letter. And Dick’s smile is a little sad around the edges, but his laugh is genuine because Red Hood’s criticisms towards Dick’s taste in literature are so similar to Jason’s. The reminder of Jason brings out a softness in him and Jason is left speechless at it).

(Jason talks to Dick about a lot, actually. He recognizes a lingering ache; talks Dick down from a ledge he’s been standing on for what feels like a lifetime).

(Dick helps him, too. Giving perspective where Jason doesn’t care to have it. Being insightful in a way that makes Jason falter, only he can’t. Because his plans for Joker will bring catharsis to the both of them - all of them).

On the night Jason’s plans come to a head, he leaves one last book for Dick with a final letter: ‘No rest for the weary.’

Everything goes as poorly as Jason was hoping it wouldn’t. Batman doesn’t choose him, Bruce doesn’t either. Joker lives to see another day and Jason - if he doesn’t die from the open gash in his neck, the explosion will take him out again, surely.

It’s poetic, in a way. Jason can’t appreciate it though. He’s heartbroken. He doesn’t know why he was expecting more. He doesn’t know what he was thinking; it wasn’t worth it. He should have stayed dead; he came back wrong. The fire and dust in his lungs, the shrapnel biting through his flesh. A crushing weight, dark dark dark. It hurts. It was always supposed to hurt though, wasn’t it? This was always his ending.

When he comes to, Dick is there.

Jason can’t speak. Injury aside, he doesn’t want to. So he turns his back to Dick and tells himself it’s because Jason is tired - not because he doesn’t want to know Dick’s reaction to Jason being back - to Jason coming back wrong (no longer that soft or sweet boy (only he is; he really, truly is)).

At some point during the recovery, Jason remembers the letters. It’s only because he sees another novel on Dick’s nightstand (still there despite everything else that has changed). Jason would reach out for it, fingers brushing over the spine. Well worn. Well read. A book that Jason loved only because he knew Dick would adore it.

He would read his own letter just to remember that there was a time when something in his life was warm and hopeful. One book and then another from the small library Dick has collected. Then he’d read Dick’s (not the old ones though - the new one from the most recent addition to Dick’s bookshelf) and break down a bit because that warm and hopeful something is still there even now after everything.

(Extra: Dick sitting on the floor, his back pressed to the bed. Jason’s back turned to him, too. Dick reading aloud from the book Jason left his latest letter in. Jason genuinely likes it but Dick starts a running commentary as he reads and Dick is not vibing with it. And for just a moment, it gets a reaction out of Jason. A startle because how can Dick not see how good the narrative is? Dick meeting Jason’s flabbergasted look with a smile thrown over his shoulder and Jason’s heart getting the pitter patters because he was absolutely baited).

=====

This was getting too long for what it’s supposed to be omg hahaha. A could-have-been story based on an ask recently received.

Also I realize Kory sort of disappeared throughout. I imagine an amicable parting as they went on different paths, but they’re still on good terms. Best friends and soulmates forever. When she finds out Jason is back, she absolutely gives Dick one of these: (◕▿◕✿).

#dickjay #jaydick #dickkory #jason todd #dick grayson #koriand'r #starfire #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #dickjay thoughts

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writing--whore · 1 year

Text

The Art of Survival - Chapter One

Okay so I have written 5k of the Luis x Reader Hunger Games series (and I'm only like halfway/a quarter of the way through the plot that I have in mind) but before I go any further with the writing and editing, I wanna put the first 1k words to see if people actually like it. So here you go. Plz lmk what you think and if you want more :3

Pairing: Luis Serra x Reader

Summary: Luis is determined to survive the hunger games, which means he cannot allow himself to have a single weakness. And he had none. That was until he laid eyes on you.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: graphic depiction of violence (canon typical for Resident Evil 4 and also The Hunger Games). The violence is committed against you. Canon typical murder of children.

A/N: I re-watched the Hunger Games like a year ago and haven't seen it again since. I'm not going to follow the Hunger Games lore as if it were law. Because A) I don't want to and B) I can't remember it. Please don't come for me. Or do and I'll edit it.

Part One - Part Two

Throughout the whole ordeal - the training, the social events, the interviews - Luis kept his head down and didn’t speak a word to anyone. He didn’t want to think about his chances of getting out of here alive. And he certainly didn’t want to think about how he would have to murder all 23 other contestants if he wanted to live. He’d committed enough atrocities by creating la plagas. A part of him thought this was karma; he deserved to die after what he had done. And yet, when faced with the very real likelihood of death, he realised that he was much more selfish and cowardly than he’d originally thought. He realised that he wanted to live.

He chose not to think about it. He didn’t want to face his ugly instinct to survive and what he would have to do if he wanted to return home. Which is why he didn’t want to have anything to do with anyone else. He didn’t want to humanise his opponents.

But he had eyes and he had ears. No matter how much denied and ignored the situation, numerous pieces of information still infiltrated his brain. For instance, he noticed that Y/N was the weakest opponent. She was the smallest, she was the weakest and she didn’t even seem to possess one single skill that would be helpful in the arena. For as much as he tried to uproot it, a seed of sympathy had planted itself in his heart. None of this was fair. People like her should not be pitted against… well, people like him.

He certainly wasn’t the strongest here but he was far from the weakest. He was decently tall, decently strong. He knew he had a great aim and that he was exceptionally bright. And after fighting the Los Illuminados, he thought he had a pretty good grasp on the act of survival.

There was one final banquet where all the contestants dined together. He couldn’t handle it. Everyone was so fake, trying to make pleasant conversation when they knew a blood bath loomed on the horizon. He scoffed up his food and chose to take a walk instead.

The cool air hit his face and he sighed with relief. The peace was short lived; his ears attuned to a nearby sound of crying. His feet trod silently along the gravel, following the sound until he spied the source. Someone was curled up behind a hedgerow, letting out helpless sobs. It was Y/N.

His feet continued along the path. He buried the sympathy, he buried the shame. Those weren’t emotions he was capable of possessing anymore.

So why then was he haunted by her face when he was trying to get to sleep that night?

He recalled being forced to watch the footage of the other contestants getting reaped, and the way all of the colour drained from Y/N’s face when her name was called. He recalled seeing her taking great gulping breaths before the live interviews, each one shorter than the last like she was forgetting how to breathe.

He groaned and wiped a hand across his face. She should not be here. She should not be fated to a certain and brutal execution. But more importantly, he should not be thinking about this. He had to focus on himself. It was the only way to win.

That’s exactly what he did. As he stood in the arena, facing his contestants in a circle, he thought only of saving his own skin. This was it. The games were about to commence. His heart drilled against his chest. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, he had learnt to hone it, to sharpen his senses while forgoing any mindless panic.

The contestants eyed each other up, trying to unnerve the other. Luis simply didn’t look. He focused on the cornucopia straight ahead. He knew he’d be able to run fast enough and he would be much better off if he could claim a weapon.

So as the countdown hit zero, he legged it, shoulder barging others out of the way. A solid iron pipe caught his eye. It would keep his attackers at arms length and it would be skilled at wielding it. He snatched it and ran, holding it poised against his shoulder in a way that made others afraid to take their chances with him.

He dived into the thick of the forest, picking a random direction and sprinting as fast as he could. No thoughts entered his mind besides the command to keep on running until he couldn’t run anymore.

Laughter cut through the tree trunks a few feet ahead, followed by high pitched shrieks. His feet dug into the mud as he went to veer around the source of the noise. But through the leaves, he spotted Y/N. She was crawling through the leaves on her hands and knees but two kids from district 9 dragged her back into the clearing; two cats toying with their prey. 5 minutes into the games and these kids were already focused on sadism rather than survival.

The district 9 boy easily flipped her onto her back and straddled her, ending her ability to struggle. His fist raised in the air and pounded her face.

Adrenaline shot up Luis’ spine. He wasn’t even aware that he was emerging through the brush. Nor that his arms had sparked to life and were lifting the pipe over his head. It was an automatic, emotionless act, he told himself as he swung.

A sickening crack echoed throughout the trees as the boy’s skull snapped open. Rivers of blood ran down the back of his head.

The district 9 girl screamed - raw with grief - and took off running in the opposite direction.

The boy fell to one side, half on top of Y/N. She propelled her legs, trying to scrabble away from the weight trapping her. Luis was reminded of a bunny caught in a fist.

Horror flashed in her eyes when she caught him watching her. Blood had sprayed across his cheek, painting him as a killer. It gave her the fuel she needed; one more kick and she was free. She scurried away, kicking up fallen leaves and very nearly tripping over her own feet.

~~~

He dreamt of her that night. He dreamt that he was a ghostly spectator, floating around the clearing as the district 9 kids took it in turns to beat her. They didn’t let up. His heart tore itself to sheds to hear her cries as her face was marred with deep black bruises. There was nothing left of his heart when her cries turned to silent defeat. She wasn’t going to get out of this. And no one was coming to help her.

Their punches didn’t let up even as her face turned into an unrecognisable pulp.

“Stop!” He wanted to call out but had no voice.

He wanted to break their hands, claw out their eyes. But he could not act.

#luis serra x reader #luis sera x reader #luis serra x you #luis serra #luis serra navarro

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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

Text

Don't Shoot the Messenger: Part Four

Despite how it might seem, being a messenger for the feared sea-demon pirate, Admiral Satrasi, infamous far and wide for having an entire fleet of raiding vessels who answer to him alone, is a relatively safe job. After all, no one knowingly crosses the Admiral. However, it seems the most recent captain looking to join his fleet hasn’t gotten that bulletin yet.

Fantasy, pirates, male monster x female reader, male demon, M/F, Part 4 of 9

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Don't Shoot the Messenger Chapter 4

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] Part Four [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine - NSFW]

You stick to the shadows of the marketplace, eyes blind to the crowd even as your other senses are alert to danger, while you think.

Satrasi was able to give you instruction enough to find the wreckage of a carriage and a wagon. Ignoring the scattered bones of what likely had been his captors and anything too big to carry by yourself, you were still able to find items to use and sell. The coin you kept to yourself and the jewelry you sold. Consequently, you have more than you ever have before, even though you know you’d not been paid full price for your salvage—nor had the blacksmith seen it fit to pay you for telling him where the rest of it was, large iron cage included, for him and a larger group of townsfolk to see what they could make of it.

You’d gotten a decent pair of shoes and a new, larger waterskin out of it too, which when combined with the repairs to your clothing you’d done on the trip here from the undamaged clothing left behind, leaves you looking less like a beggar than you ever have, even if the family who’d given you a ride had taken the rest of the cloth as payment. They’d taken the coin you’d been able to give them for letting you come with them too. At least it means you aren’t chained to their stall while here to work off the trip.

Satrasi had explained his ship isn’t docked in the port itself to avoid seizure, but that some of his crew should be, getting supplies and enjoying what the port has to offer. He gives you a description and matching names for a handful of them, as well as drawing his flag in the dirt. Apparently, some of the crew will have that insignia on their clothes or tattooed on themselves.

You spend the morning re-familiarizing yourself with the port and locating the salt sellers—you plan to buy the salt right before you leave so you don’t have to lug it around while you search taverns. Judging by the weight of it, you’d be best to find someone with a wagon to travel back with.

After you’ve marked out the taverns you plan to visit, you look for a place to take a nap since you’ll want to visit the tavern in the evening—anyone there right now won’t be fit to talk to. It takes some time to find a place under the docks you feel is secure enough. You wedge in tight, with the amount of coin you have on you you don’t want to take any chances of someone lifting from you. You’re careful not to dirty yourself too much, not wanting to ruin the effect your carefully patched clothes have of lending you a modicum of respectability.

When you wake, you bury half your coin—not used to city pickpockets and paranoid about losing any more than necessary while in the taverns, knowing you’ll need to buy a drink or two in order not to stick out. You just don’t drink anything worth drinking often enough to trust yourself on it.

You start near the docks, trying to find taverns that have more than just locals or regular sailors in them, but that don’t seem dangerous—you’ll get to those eventually, but you’re in no rush.

Your fourth tavern is where you find your first demon and so you decide to linger on this row more than the others. You move through the different rooms, ending up in the tavern next door nearly without realizing it, as steadily as you can, fighting through smoke and pressing bodies to survey them without drawing attention to yourself. You’ve nearly given up on this side of the street when you spot her.

There’s a demon woman, three thick red tendrils with long black streaks down them for hair, gray skin with green scales spread more like freckles than the clusters Satrasi has, green eyes—solid with just a black pupil like Satrasi. She’s holding court at a table, drinking enough to enjoy herself, but not enough to end up under the table.

More importantly, she looks like Rietha, the navigator Satrasi described, and she’s a red arm band tied around her upper arm—the insignia Satrasi sketched proudly displayed. One of the others she’s with, a plain looking man with brown hair has what might be a tattoo of the same on his arm, but it’s partially hidden under his shirt and muddled by the other tattoos around it.

You decide to wait though, wanting to see how this group acts before you approach—they might be less of threat when a little more wobbly on their feet, but you don’t want them incoherent either. They mostly talk to each other or spin tales for some of the others that approach them and recognize quite easily that they’re pirates—mostly people visiting the port from what you can tell. Locals don’t seem as interested.

The man is a good storyteller and Rietha, if that is who she is, adds just enough to the tales to deepen and ground them. They work well together, earning themselves drinks without shelling out their own coin, and you find yourself listening just to listen. While you’re smart enough to know these stories have a bit of gloss to them, it seems like an exciting life: the travel and the crew and the Unbroken Sea.

The others nearby seem to agree as many of them look almost starry-eyed as they listen. Someone teases a man perhaps even a year or two younger than you for just that and the crowd laughs.

“Do you always pull such a crowd of people with nothing but cotton between their ears?” an older woman teases. She’d been listening with interest, but no rose-colored lenses are over her eyes.

“Ye get all sorts who want to hear fearsome stories or even try their luck stealing from pirates,” Rietha says almost lazily as she casually elbows someone pressed to close to her. They blanch and hurry away to the amusement of those closest. “‘Course there are always some who want some’at more mysterious. Ain’t that right, lass?” And she turns to look directly at you. Your eyes widen as she smirks. “Didya think I hadn’t noticed ye lurking in the shadows? Watchin’ us? Or ‘ave ye just never seen a demon afore?”

“I’ve seen a demon before,” you reply, walking closer. You work hard to seem nonchalant, ignore the few still listening even when it seems like mayhap storytime is over. “More fearsome than you, even if he were in rough shape.”

“That so? Brave little thing, aren’t ya?” Her look is appraising as she leans back in her chair, her eyes half-lidded. Her voice becomes more obviously mocking as she says, “Must have been to survive such a run in and be here to tell of it.”

The man with her scoffs. “Lyin’ more like it.”

These are not the people to show any weakness in front of. You shrug. “Believe what you like.”

“If it ain’t curiosity that’s got yer eye on us,” she asks, hand absently traveling over the green spike-y frills on her forearm, “what does?”

“Lookin’ for someone,” you reply, trying to match her lazy confidence as well as you can. People like folks like them, as long as it isn’t obvious enough to come across insulting. Makes them feel safer, makes them feel like they know you, know what you want—makes you seem predictable. “Ships out with a crew. Tryin’ to figure if its yers.”

“Oh, are ye now?” She looks a bit more interested at that. “Ye manage to get a name afore he scampered out of yer bed?”

“I did,” you say, not bothering to address the implication you’d slept with the man who you’re searching for—at least it means they don’t think you're a child. You let out your laces for the taverns, enough that no one balked at your coming in, but not enough to draw interest, or so you hope. “Wicklow he’s called.”

Recognition sparks in both them, but so does an equal amount of skepticism. “See?” the man says with a laugh and a slap of his knee. “A liar, didn’t I tell ya?”

“We might know a Wicklow—plenty around,” she allows, before shaking her head. “But I doubt it's the same one.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, curious despite yourself. You’re feeling more confident now that they've admitted to knowing one, but you don’t follow what might have discouraged them.

“‘Cause he likes his women able to snap him in two,” the man says plainly before looking you up and down. “Not fall over if he so much as breathes on ‘em.”

“Ain’t after him as bedmate,” you reply, rolling your eyes. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let that assumption stand in the first place, even as you note to perhaps check a certain type of brothel after this. “Gotta message for ‘im.”

“That so,” she raises an eyebrow. “From who?”

“His captain, a’course,” you reply, trying not to notice how their attention instantly sharpens on you, trying so hard to remain nonchalant. “Who else would be lookin’ for him? They got split up, yeah? Well, I found the captain.”

The demon’s eyes narrow as she pushes away her mug, a more calculating look on her face. “This demon ye met,” she says slowly. “What sort was he?”

You’re glad she picked up on that: she’s obviously the smart one. “Sea demon, red eyes, more teeth than ye’d expect in more places than ye would too.” Your eyes deliberately dart to the arm band she’s got tied around her bicep with Satrasi’s insignia on it.

“Got anything to prove yer not just tellin’ tales?”

“Yer name Rietha?”

A slow grin spread across her face, revealing bright, white teeth, baring the two blank spots where they’re missing. “Mayhap we do have some’at to talk about after all.”

She ushers you to a smaller side room for a more private talk and you follow in, trying not to make the tension screaming through your body obvious. You’re not sure how well you succeed, but they let you have the seat closest to the door without fuss. Rietha, the crewman who also did some talking, and a third crewmember—a rare half-demon from the looks of them—slide on the other side of the table with fresh drinks.

“Now, what’s this tell about Wicklow’s captain and messages? They got split, ye say?”

You frown, able to tell she's asking to see what your story is for the sake of it, rather than because she believes you. “Yeah, Satrasi said some mercenaries got the drop on them on the other side of the port.” Their attention sharpens at Satrasi’s name and that he might have been attacked. “Kept ‘im in a cage after hightailing away with him. Left Wicklow and another alive when they ran, or at least that’s how it’d seemed to ‘im.”

The crewmembers exchange some looks you can’t read well. The man says, slowly, “It ‘as been longer than usual. They was due back two days ago.”

“They’ve been late before,” the half-demon says, you think he’s a he from his voice, but it's hard to tell with the heavy stripes over his features and the lack of hair.

“You didn’t even know they were in trouble?” you can’t help but ask, rather incredulously.

The half-demon scowls, offended, but the man still looks skeptical. Rietha simply assesses you. “Ain’t got tabs on them. No way to chat while they meet with some of our more secretive contacts.”

“Wouldn’t Wicklow be back by now, to get yer help, after running into trouble?” you persist, not even thinking on how that might make them doubt your story.

Rietha snorts and the half-demon’s scowl gets even more pronounced. “That fool takes his position as first mate too seriously. Probably thought he could get the Admiral back quicker and without us having to fret. Lad’s only got two ways of being: handle everythin’ himself or drunken despair.”

“That seems like a problem in a first mate,” you say plainly before wincing.

Rietha laughs though. “Problem is more than half the time he handles things better than anyone else.”

“Admiral lets him get away with too much shit,” the half-demon spits.

“Admiral prefers loyalty and brains—and that’s ninety percent of what Wicklow is.”

“Yeah, well, the rest is hysterics. Not worth it to my mind.”

“Not your mind that matters, lad,” she says, plainly before turning back to you. “Now, you claim to have found the Admiral in some hide-y hole, some’at with water, I presume?”

You nod. “Yeah, but it’s fresh, so even if I couldn’t find you lot, he said to bring him salt. Said it would help.”

“Aye, it would,” Rietha says with a slow nod. Her voice is carefully blank as she asks, “He hurt?”

You shrug. “Not bleedin’ out, if that’s what yer asking. More sick from the water than anything, I think.”

“Right.” Rietha taps her fingers on the table rhythmically, thinking.

“Yer, not taking this girl seriously, are ya Rietha?” the half-demon is incredulous. “She’s just tellin’ tales.”

“To what end, Hayleth?”

“Good point,” the man says as he turns to you. “What’s in it for you, pipsqueak? Why run hither and yon for a trapped demon pirate ye don’t know?”

“Paid me,” you say, knowing they don’t care about your thoughts on moving to the city, how you want to help Satrasi because he’s trapped and withering in a hole, like you’ve often felt. How he’d treated you fairly, spoken to you honestly. You respect him and that's rare in your life. And he had paid you—not like that wasn’t important. “Says he’ll give me more if if I tell the right people, bring the salt. Can’t do that if he’s dead. And I got plans that don’t begin in my backwater, let alone end there. Best way to get along I’ve had fall into my lap. Not gonna let it slip through my fingers.”

Rietha nods slowly.

“We’ll need to tell the rest, but I think this is worth looking into.” She looks Hayleth in the eye when he makes to protest once more. “She knows too much for a girl in the opposite direction of where they went not to. We ain’t bringin’ no riches with us when we come,” she warns. “Admiral said he’d pay ye, so that’s who’ll do it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply because fair’s fair. You’d expect nothing more. “Town’s Millriver, up the east road, through the mountains, about three days ride depending. Inn’s called ‘Duck and Duchess’’ and I’ll show you where from there.”

“Not gonna draw us a little map right to the Admiral?” Hayleth asks, his grin mocking.

“Only supposed to tell Wicklow more than that,” you reply flatly, not letting him bait you, but not wanting to make it seem like you’re intimidated, even though any of these on their own could take you out if they wanted to.

“Smart girl,” the man says.

“Smart Admiral,” Hayleth corrects. “What if she told the wrong folk? Miracle she got us.”

You don’t bother working up any offense at his attributing luck rather than skill to what you do, it's what most folks do.

Rietha just hummed thoughtfully. “Until then, little messenger.”

Since as far as they knew, Wicklow was with Satrasi when they were ambushed and hasn’t been seen around the city by even his own crew, you decide to head back to Millriver now, but take a longer route so you can check some other local taverns and inns on the way.

When you buy the salt, you have to resist the urge to hold onto the coins, never having had so much and not liking losing the security they give you. At least you’re fairly certain you got a good price—the man didn’t look angry when you left, but he was not as cheery as he had been with the man before you. It takes time to rig up straps to help hold the sacks of salt to you with cloth scraps just so you can carry them and then more time to find a wagon to tag along with to the first town.

No one else is hopping between small towns, either that's their destination or they’re taking a more direct route, so you’re glad you only spent one day in the city after all.

Each tavern and inn you scope out is a dissappointment, as no one matching Wicklow’s description is in any of them. One of the last towns, a day or so’s ride to your hometown, is where you finally hit some luck. You offer to help with the dinner chores at the inn in exchange for staying in their stables—you can’t justify the amount they charge for a proper room—and it's there in the main hall that you find him.

Or so you think. It’s rather hard to tell.

He’s down to his shirt and breeches, face half in his mug of ale, but you think his hair is the right color and his build matches Satrasi’s description. When one of the maid’s sees you looking, she says he’s been there since last night, disappearing during the day and then drinking heavily at night. Unfortunately, not pickpocketable despite his inebriation, but has been paying his tab as he goes with no fuss. She just wishes he wasn’t taking up one of their largest tables by himself and occasionally singing sad ballads very off-key.

More importantly, you’re eventually able to spot a tattoo on the back of his hand that’s close enough to the skull with tendrils for hair and four eyes that Satrasi sketched for you to decide he’s worth the risk of approaching.

“Are you Wicklow?” you ask cautiously, not sure how he’ll be as a drunk, but recognizing that subtlety likely will not work at this point.

He doesn’t pick up his head, only moans and says, “Does it even matter anymore?”

Right, dramatic and sad. That is what the crew at the port said. “It does,” you keep your voice as even as you can, calm and steadfast against his wavering, “because I’ve got a message for Wicklow.”

He turns his head to the side to blink blearily at you. “What more bad news could they bestow on poor Wicklow?” he laments. “Has he not been brought low enough?”

Lovely, talking about his own self by name. Never a good sign. Your conviction he’ll remember this conversation come morning is dropping with each word. But you can’t let that doubt get into your voice—he’d surely take it as a cue to sink deeper. “So you are Wicklow, good. Satrasi says—”

He bolts upright at the name fast enough that you jerk your head back, suddenly wary. Ought he not be able to spring up that fast as full of ale as he is? “The Admiral?” Then his expression falls and he gestures with his whole arm, “Spare me your lies! Satrasi got taken and I’ve lost the trail. It’s been days and days. I sent Millie back to the ship, but she’s not back yet either, but she was hurt, you see? So it's just me and they went through streams and over rocks and I’ve no notion of where they could be on this side of the mountain. My captain, in their heartless clutches.”

Dear gods, did this man used to be in a theater troupe? You’ve not heard such bellyaching since you had to watch Ginnie’s youngest while she was off visiting her gran. “Yes, well,” you decide it’s best to ignore his flowery language. “He got free on his own, but now he’s stuck ‘cause he can’t get to the sea.”

“Have you seen him?” he lunges for you, but stops to only clutch at the back of a chair when you take a step back. “Spoken to him?”

At least he seems to be hearing you now. “Yes, stumbled upon him in a cave.”

“A cave?” he wrinkles his nose. “Why would he be in a cave?”

“Because it was the closest water he could find,” you explain slowly as he blinks at you. “Even if it's not the sea. There’s a pool in it.”

“How wise of him,” Wicklow says, nodding vigorously and then clutching at his head. “How unwise of me.”

You wince and look around. The innkeeper seems glad you’re dealing with this mess and so you’re able to get some bread into Wicklow’s hand relatively quickly. “Mayhap it's time for a bite of food, yeah?” Wicklow stares at the bread before looking back at you. “Or some water?”

“But what of Admiral Satrasi?” he asks around a mouthful of bread. Even as he accepts the tin cup of water you press into his hand, Wicklow protests, “We should make haste to him.”

“I’m not sure you can make haste in your state,” you point out.

He swallows down all the water and straightens in his seat, his expression losing some of its waver. “Nonsense,” he says brusquely—the most competent and coherent he’s sounded since you ran into him. “A bit of ale isn’t going to delay me. He can’t be in freshwater for very long you see.”

“Yes, I know,” you reply, not trusting the veneer of sobriety he’s trying to pull on. “He bid me to bring him salt.”

“Good, good,” Wicklow is smart enough not to nod along with his agreement this time. “That certainly should help. You know where he is? Is it nearby?”

“Yes,” you say tentatively. This is the only person Satrasi said to trust with the actual details of where he is and for the first time, you question the validity of that decision. “Only a day's walk.”

“Splendid. Let’s go.” He stands up, takes one step forward, and promptly falls over.

You stare down at him on the floor and sigh.

"Right."

[Part Five]

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