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kuroshitsuji-scenarios · 4 months

Text

Commission – Bestseller

Requested by: Anonymous

Pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x Reader

Words: 4,363

Prompt: Sebastian makes a contract with someone who wants to become the world’s bestselling author. This time, however, he's willing to spice things up a little.

Warnings: None.

[ commission me ]

At first, you wanted to shout: “Go to hell!” but quickly found it quite ironic and eventually sat back down, picked your pen up and pretended to be writing something in the notebook, while the only thing that appeared on the blank pages were curly lines. Honestly, you could hardly recall the last time you met someone who’d be as eager to get on your nerves as the man who was now standing in front of you. The smirk on his lips only proved that the whole conversation you just had went according to his sly plan and in the end he was gratified with your outburst of emotions. Not a very common occurrence, he had to add, and therefore even more pleasant to observe.

“My, my”, he shook his head in a disappointed manner, as if he was scolding a child. “I wasn’t aware that this kind of information will have such an impact on you. Could it be that you’ve grown worried?”

“Worried?” You shot him a deathly glare. “I’m not worried. I’m angry and I’m starting to consider which side you are actually on. What made you think that killing (or whatever happened to that journalist) was such a bright idea?”

The demon smiled, the expression on his face clearly amused as the whole situation seemed to be rather entertaining for him. It’s been a long time since he actually gave his new contractor a little push—not to the right side, of course, but rather to watch you struggle and keep the balance as you always did in the end. It was almost as funny as listening to people beg for their lives, while all of them knew that there was no coming back once he was summoned.

“Sebastian,” you hissed his name through the gritted teeth. “Answer me.”

“Well, I must disagree with you on using the term ‘bright’ regarding this little incident.” He pretended to be lost in thoughts, touching his chin and looking at the wall of your office where all the prizes, photographs taken with famous people of literary business and newspaper articles were framed and hung on display for everyone to see what you were capable of when it came to using an imagination and pen. Or keyboard, as it was nowadays. “I’d rather go for ‘enticing’. ‘Compelling’, perhaps. ‘Thrilling’ even. ‘Enjo—”

“That’s enough.” You interrupted his speech, considering it pointless and a waste of your precious time. “I don’t care why you did that, I want you to stop. You’re perfectly aware that I’ve been giving interview after interview for the last two weeks and I’m going to continue doing that no matter what kind of dirty games you decide to play behind my back.”

“How threatening…”

“Moreover,” You pointed a finger at him. “If you keep doing this, I’ll have the right to consider it as acting against the rules of our contract.”

“There was not a single rule included which could prevent me from adding a little spice to the generally boring outcome of events. I thought you were aware of that. Signing books, doing interviews, all of that blown to make your ego grow until it pops.” Sebastian clicked his fingers to highlight the meaning of his words. “Like a bubble.”

“Hilarious.” You couldn’t frown no more even if you tried. “Now let's get back on topic. I forbid you to interrupt my hard work with your silly, little demon games. You’ll have your reward in the end so right now you’re only wasting your own time, because no matter what you do, I simply won’t give up. It can take the next forty years to complete while you’re stuck here with me, it doesn’t matter. So if you want to finish it quickly, I’d recommend you getting out of my way.”

There was a spark of amusement behind the demon’s eyes as he carefully observed you—as if something in your words struck him in a pleasant way. Undoubtedly, he made a good choice while deciding to answer this new contractor.

“That’s exactly what I meant while speaking about the lack of something enticing,” he admitted before turning on his heel and heading out of the office, his fingers intertwined behind his back and the corners of his lips turned upward in an eerie smile.

Pouring rain hitting the windows reminded you of a thousand fingers patting the glass in an unrhythmical manner. Focusing on a single droplet sliding down to the window frame didn’t help you concentrate, especially not with the pleasant silence now filling your bedroom up nor the fact that the last time you allowed yourself to rest was more than nineteen hours ago. Your body was giving you more significant signs of exhaustion with every passing minute and yet, you didn’t want to waste any of your time. Not when you’ve gotten to the perfect plot twist of your upcoming story—the second volume of the world’s bestseller book sold in millions of copies all around the globe. Although your success was guaranteed, you couldn’t simply sit and do nothing while waiting for applause.

You jolted when the sudden thud hit the glass right next to the desk where you were sitting. It was loud, like a lost pigeon didn’t notice the window and flew into it at full speed but when you stood up to check whether it was hurt, laying somewhere near, it was impossible to notice any sharp shapes in the downpour. Perhaps it flew away or maybe it was just your brain tricking you into finally going to bed. Whatever it was, eventually it made you close the laptop and rub your tired eyes until you saw the stars behind the eyelids—and when you opened them again, you found out that the shadow in the corner of the bedroom is unusually dark compared to the rest.

Almost as if there was a tall, slim figure standing there, facing the wall, covered in black robes.

Your initial reaction was paralyzing terror. Blood ran down from your face and in the next moment blew in your heart causing your cheeks to immediately heat. You could only sit there, watching the silhouette with unblinking eyes as your mind wanted to scream, to run, to fight, to—

“Sebastian.” The demon’s name left your lips almost involuntarily, just like shouting ‘help!’ came naturally to the drowning man. “I order you to stop this nonsense immediately.”

At first, nothing happened and for a moment you thought that maybe you weren’t even in your bedroom anymore, that the image in front of you was but a photograph glued to your face while the real you was dead, burning and bleeding and shrieking and—

“My, my…” You blinked at the sound of a familiar voice and the shadow from the corner was gone; surprisingly, you could also breathe freely again. “There’s no fun with you…”

Instead of the terrifying derealization, you were once again safe in your bedroom, everything in its own place. By the door, however, stood Sebastian with the same amused smirk on his handsome face, as if it was the only genuine emotion he was actually capable of showing.

“Fun?” You stood up from the chair, your fingers still slightly trembling after the heavy anxiety attack.

“I was worried that you might get some kind of… writer’s block, as they say,” he stated and nodded matter-of-factly. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you losing your spirit.”

Oh, how much you wanted to rip that happy expression off his face. Or maybe slap him. Or both. In all honesty, you could do it by giving him a simple order and yet, it didn’t feel right. What kind of satisfaction would you get from simply forcing him into your own will instead of actually making him feel a certain way? The leash you got him on was rather long, as the demon was almost free to roam around and do as he pleases, and maybe that was why you found those rare moments of his confusion so precious.

And so, instead of scolding him or making him apologize, you simply decided to say:

“If you’re getting so bored during our contract, perhaps you’d enjoy it if we played fetch for a while? I have a feeling that it might be just your cup of tea.”

He didn’t say anything and yet, you could feel his disapproving stare burning into your back as you walked to the wardrobe. Surprisingly though, the memory of the silhouette in the dark corner still seemed to linger in your memory, although not as a bad one. Instead, you couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t just what you were looking for to fill the plot in the next chapter of your book.

“I can’t believe it…” you muttered, raising the menu card higher in front of your face to hide it from the not-so-subtle photographer who was waiting for his perfect shot outside the café. So far, you managed to run inside the building without being filmed and you could call it quite a success considering how tense the situation grew since the latest news got released to the public.

“The greatest author of the decade caught in love!”

“Who is the mysterious man by her side?”

“Can we expect the next volume to be delayed due to the newfound romance?”

The headlines of newspapers and celebrity gossip websites were screaming at you from every angle—so much that you started to wonder if there would be a journalist jumping out of your own fridge to ask a few questions before lunch. Since the rumor about your romance—yours and Sebastian’s—were fairly new, you still didn’t manage to calm the public with some words of truth and a little sneak peek into your personal love life. Not that it was your intention, it was all but a play, of course. Another necessary step taken to avoid getting accused of the disappearance you certainly had nothing to do with.

Which you couldn’t say about the demon sitting right next to you by the table.

“Me neither,” Sebastian clicked his tongue, while still eyeing the menu. “The prices have surely gone up since the last time I’ve been there. Not that it’s an issue with your budget now, is it?”

If you didn’t know better, you might have believed that the kind smile he put on was sincere. Still, with the amount of knowledge you possessed and the time you wasted on trying to clean up after his mischief, you wanted nothing but to make him regret everything he’s ever said or done. He was the one to put you into this situation, after all. Like a single puppy left home alone, Sebastian went first for your new slippers, then the table leg and now he was chewing on your precious sofa—the couch meaning your privacy and relative peace of mind.

“Don’t give me that look.” He placed the menu back on the polished wood. “It wasn’t me who said that we were dating.”

“You forced me to do this! How else could I get a reliable alibi that I didn’t, in fact, murder anyone and especially not my own best friend?”

“I’m certain there was a lot of different ways to prove that.” He waved at the waiter. “Did you pick your order yet?”

“I’m not hungry.” You whispered something about going to the toilet when the waiter approached you two and only came back when he was gone, now your favorite beverage waiting for you at the table and Sebastian slowly sipping his tea.

“Besides,” he continued after you sat back down, moving your chair so your back was facing the window. “This outcome isn’t so bad, as you can see. You’re now even more famous than before.”

“I didn’t want to be some stupid celebrity and have people wonder what kind of bikini I wear and whether I have cellulite or not—I wanted to be known for my hard work. It’s something completely different than being stalked for having a guy like you nearby.”

“A guy like me?” He raised his slim eyebrow. “I doubt that would make it to the first pages.”

“I don’t care. I need to figure it all out and you’re going to help me whether you like it or not.”

“How overbearing.” Sebastian chuckled. “Enlighten me then, how do you plan on making it right?”

That’s where he got you. You still didn’t have any solid plan to retrieve your freedom and intimacy back and with all this chaos happening around you, with the demon constantly scheming against you behind your back, you felt quite overwhelmed.

“That’s exactly what I thought.” He took a sip of his tea and placed the teacup back on the saucer. “And I suppose I have a perfect solution for this problem.”

“Meaning?” You wondered, hoping that this time you would finally hear some more useful news than another joke or allusion.

Instead of answering, Sebastian gently reached to you and placed his warm hand upon your cheek, caressing your lips with the featherlike touches of his thumb. His gaze was focused on you, slowly trailing from your eyes, through the curve of the nose down the mouth and back up again. He smiled at you but this time there was no insincerity behind it but rather pure fascination. Amazement, even, and one could say that also adoration.

It’s been a long time since Sebastian took a look at your soul, after all. Although he was present in your life almost everyday, it was quite rare for you to open up to him—you weren’t the type to cry your eyes out on his shoulder nor beg him for love. On the contrary. And for some odd reason he found it the most amusing—your soul, your price waiting to be paid hidden from his gaze, except for those tiny moments like this one when he was finally capable of looking you in the eyes and almost tasting your spirit at the tip of his tongue.

The sensation made him shiver with anticipation.

Eventually, Sebastian leaned forward and after not witnessing any kind of resistance from you, placed a soft, sweet kiss upon your lips. His own were still warm from the temperature of the tea he drank, tasting like herbs and honey, and his smell overwhelming your senses when you gave up to this gentle affection and closed your eyes to savor it. For the first time in months your heart started to beat faster but not because of stress or fear but rather excitement—something so trivial, you wouldn’t expect yourself of.

Sebastian kissed you slowly, barely nibbling at your lips and not taking any step further. His fingers left your cheek with an unpleasant coldness and rested at the crook of your neck, slightly pulling you closer but not strong enough to make you feel caged. Involuntarily you leaned toward him also, supported by the elbows on the wooden table and not paying attention to the fact that you have just most likely exposed yourself to all the people passing by the café. If the creepy paparazzi was still there, he had a once in a lifetime opportunity to immortalize the first official kiss of yours with your mysterious company.

And somehow, you thought it was alright. If you wanted your alibi to be solid, you should prove to everyone that Sebastian was, indeed, your husband and the mysterious disappearances had nothing to do with you.

Repeat a lie often enough and it becomes the truth.

Initially, Sebastian was like some kind of hideous decoration standing in the middle of the living room—painted in vivid colors, with weird, eye-catching shape and not fitting to any particular home decoration style. You could place an elephant there as well and the overall effect it had on the guests would be quite similar. He was an interruption, a sudden chance of weather, an anomaly in your life, the one you called for yourself and although you considered him to be a hassle most of the time, as months passed you found yourself paying less and less attention to the abstract puzzle at the center of the jigsaw. It wasn’t that he was becoming less visible or having less impact on your everyday life—on the contrary, Sebastian’s actions were as ostentatious as always, it was just you who started to tolerate and maybe even like the strange addition to your new life.

Indeed, one could even accuse you of enjoying his company too much, especially when you were sharing a bed, tangled in the bedding and droplets of sweat glistening on your temple. His fingers were delicate and movements calculated to bring you nothing but pleasure when he was caressing and massaging your naked body. In those moments, you found him beautiful. With a warm gaze, perfectly cut lips, strong jaw and slim silhouette he could stand on the same pedestal as countless of Greek sculptures stood. Right now, however, he was not cold as marble but rather soft and attentive, all the previous flirts replaced by what could be described as nothing but endless love and adoration.

Fortunately, you knew better than to trust the perfect mask he chose just for you. It didn’t stop you from indulging into the pleasure, though, for how could you deny yourself a spark of joy when in the end it was supposed to be him to devour your whole existence and turn you into nothing? It would be a shame to not take everything this man, this demon, had to offer.

You were walking down the shore, the view of setting sun rays dancing over the nearby buildings making it seem like the whole world has somehow turned into molten gold. Yellows and oranges painted your surroundings into the real piece of art, something you weren’t sure anyone could ever capture on the canvas with mere brushes. The town you decided to stay in (small and rather unknown, free from the crowds of tourists) had everything you could possibly need for an effective rest and refreshing inspiration—restaurants by the sea, both museums and clubs, promenade near the beach and a whole street of various shops. It was truly something new, the change of scenery making it easier to breathe and prepare for the upcoming premiere of a brand new video game based on your story alone.

You could say a lot of things about Sebastian and how he managed to get on your nerves like nobody else, but you had to admit that there wasn’t a single slip in his plan to make your biggest dream come true. Everything he promised you was truly happening, step by step, one at a time, but eventually you could clearly see the results. As much as you loved it, you couldn’t not notice how it was all leading to the end of your own story also.

“Lost in thoughts?” Sebastian asked, his long fingers intertwined with yours as you slowly passed by the sailboats docked to the pier. “Were you thinking about the grand premiere?”

“I thought I had nothing to worry about in this regard.” You peeked at him from under your sunglasses. “Was I mistaken?”

“No, not in the slightest. I assure you I took care of everything.”

“So it’ll be an indisputable success?” You insisted.

“Are you doubting your own skills all of a sudden?”

For the first time you left him without an answer. Perhaps it was the matter of the different surroundings or maybe it was the setting sun that brought this mood to you, but watching as it slowly drowned in the endless ocean you wondered how it will feel to have your soul sucked out of you. Will it hurt? Will you be scared? Or maybe you won’t notice it at all? Was it up to Sebastian to decide on how he will take it?

Your dreams were coming true, the very thing you craved for such a long period of time was finally yours, kept in your hands and there was no obstacle nor foe that could take that away from you, so why were you getting nostalgic all of a sudden?

“Should I take it as a ‘yes’?” Sebastian’s voice brought you back to reality but he didn’t give you enough time to answer. “My, my, I didn’t take you for an insecure type.”

“You shouldn’t worry your pretty, little head about things you won’t understand. Emotions are not your strong point, if I remember correctly?”

He chuckled but admitted you were right.

The oranges turned into burning red, making it seem as if the horizon was on fire. Behind your back, the sky was slowly fading from all its colors, leaving the thick stripes of pale pink, purple and navy blue at the east. You could spot a few stars shyly appearing there.

“I merely did what you ordered me to,” Sebastian continued and to your surprise, added further:. “I cannot say whether you would be able to achieve it with or without my intervention.”

“What do you mean?” You frowned.

“I’m speaking about the ‘right place and right time’ occurrence. Surely you know that your work is good as it is, don’t you?”

You stopped and looked at him confused, not really understanding where he was going with all this dialogue and unexpected confession. Pulling him slightly by the hand, you forced him to stop also.

“Explain yourself. Or should I get worried about you having a sun stroke?”

The demon tilted his head and you thought that he was going to kiss you again, just to make you forget about all those questions and doubts. Nevertheless, he knew that you were smart and wouldn’t simply be silenced by some sweet nothings.

“What do you think I did to make all your books bestsellers?”

You shrugged. It could be some kind of his hellish magic or personal charm which allowed him to get whatever he wanted wherever he got. Quite difficult to tell for an ordinary human, since he never bragged about his methods and you never cared enough to ask.

“I’m aware that you’re not familiar with my ways of working,” he admitted. “However, influencing a group of people can be rather troublesome, not to mention when the target group is reaching almost the whole world. Simply put, it would cost me a lot of time and energy to force them all into purchasing your precious books, leaving flattering reviews and recommending further and so, I decided to wait instead.”

“For the ‘right place and time’?” you quoted him.

“Exactly.” He gently pulled you after him so you could continue the afternoon stroll in the sunset. “I was waiting and observing the people involved until finally the perfect opportunity struck. That’s when I whispered a word or two to those who were in charge of certain matters, sneaked a copy of your manuscript et voilà! It doesn’t change the fact that the one who created and wrote those stories was you.”

The sounds of small waves swinging in the shore filled your brain with peaceful, rhythmical melody when you were analyzing Sebastian’s words over and over again. You were walking mindlessly by his side now, too lost in thoughts to notice that the circle of light finally hid behind the horizon and left the whole palette of colors above your head. The salty smell of the water was reaching your nose and you could hear people chatting and laughing somewhere in the distance—there was also music playing in one of the gardens of a nearby restaurant.

It was such a peaceful scenery, it completely didn’t match the chaos in your mind.

“Are you…” You cleared your throat, finding it difficult to form your thoughts into sentences. “Are you saying that I could have achieved all of that without your help?”

Sebastian smiled at you with such an adoration that it made your blood run cold.

“And you knew it from the very beginning? From the day we met?” You insisted, feeling as his silence started to fuel the spark of anger inside your heart.

“No, I cannot predict the future. All I did was calculate the turn of events and pick the best moment to strike. If it turned out that your books were a complete failure, then I’d have to intervene in a different way but fortunately, they were not. I suppose I can share this little secret of mine now that you almost reached your final goal.”

Your fingers were suddenly cold against his, the fresh breeze caressing the heated skin on your cheeks when you turned to the side and looked at the endless sea. You wondered if perhaps it was better to not know the truth and die clueless.

The smile which appeared on your lips was rather surprising to Sebastian and maybe it surprised even you. Whatever his intentions were, he wasn’t expecting you to react positively to this kind of news—you could cry and wail, cursing him for using you for his own gain, you could argue with him, accuse him of breaking the rules of the contract or tricking you into believing that you were completely hopeless without him, you could do anything! And yet, you simply smiled and then let out a happy chuckle.

Then, without a warning, you were the one to pull him to the side and head toward the restaurant where you could hear the music playing.

“Are you not going to respond in any way?” Sebastian frowned and you could clearly see that it was the first time in many centuries that someone managed to puzzle him.

You looked at him over your shoulder and pushed the sunglasses up your head to meet his stare. Then you laughed at his confused expression, so different from the everpresent smugness and confidence, and you swore that whatever was going to happen, it was worth living all those years, even if just for witnessing him making this face at how far he still was from understanding human nature.

“Well, what can I say?” You shrugged. “I told you I’m the best writer in the world.”

[ commission me ]

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian x you #sebastian michaelis x you #demons #commissions

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notelcol · 4 months

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Wriothesly enemies to lovers (more like annoyance to denial💀)

You were always in the fighting rings. That would be fine if you knew how to fight. It made him angry to watch you, every day since you arrived two weeks ago you had walked in that ring and made an utter fool of yourself. The first week he found it a little funny, but by the start of the second it became painful to watch. He could not fathom why you kept going back in. By the end of the second week he decided to call you into his office, you were starting to bring shame upon the fighting rings.

You were a bit confused as to why you had been corralled to the Dukes office during your lunch.

“Save my food!” You called over your shoulder to Julienne, the woman you were talking with before you were interrupted. She simply laughed in reply. Your food was definitely going to be gone when you came back.

You started to become nervous as the looming doors grew larger with each step. What could he want? Has something happened to your family on land? Your mind raced with possibilities. You even considered the idea that someone had gotten you in trouble somehow. The echoing creak of the doors opening broke your questioning thoughts.

You looked around the round room, black shiny decor with gold accents seemed to be its theme. You found it rather pretty, which surprised you. The decor in the dorms were no where near pretty.

“Ahem.” You were reminded of the Dukes presence. “I assume you’re wondering why you are here?” You nodded in reply, allowing him to continue. “I ordered you here today in the hopes that you would shed some light on something that has been bothering me since you arrived.” His statement caused you to swallow nervously, you couldn’t think of what he was referring to. You hadn’t put a toe out of line.

“I don’t understand.” You said, making him sigh.

“Neither do I.” His answer confused you more. “I don’t understand why you let Julienne pummel you every day.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You made me miss my lunch to ask me that? You must be drunk on your title, I guess the rumours are true.” You smirked when his eyebrow twitched.

“I think you will find it is well within my duties to put a stop to someone making my fighting ring look like a flawed system.” His self righteousness was irritating you already. Much to your dismay, he continued. “Give me a good reason not to ban you from the ring.” He should have outright banned you for the sake of the system he created, but he was compelled to know why you were doing this to yourself. Luckily for him, you were amused by the situation and decided to explain.

“Julienne is my friend. She’s teaching me to fight. We thought it would be fun to make a show of it. Not much entertainment round here.” The answer was simple and made him snort, very uncharacteristic of the image you had painted of the Duke.

“She’s obviously not doing a very good job.” He snickered. Was he teasing you? How insufferable. You jumped to defend your friend.

“She told me that the best way to become a good fighter is to get your ass beat and learn from it.” Julienne was trying her best, it wasn’t her fault you weren’t strong yet. His smirk dropped into something more sincere, eyes meeting yours intensely.

“That works for natural fighters, but for people like you….you will never learn that way.” He shattered your hopes. Now you really didn’t like this guy. “There are two kinds of fighters. Ones foundation is instinct and emotion, while the others is foresight and precision.” You tried to take in his words. “You are clearly not an instinctive fighter and quite frankly, your emotions are all over that ring and not in a useful way.” He explained and you did not know whether to be offended or not. “If you wish to fight in that ring again, it’s on you to learn the foresight and precision needed in battle. Until then, you are banned. You cannot continue using Julienne’s technique, it’s not for you.” You sort of understood him, but it still annoyed you. How can you learn to fight when you’re banned from the fighting ring?

He stood from his seat and rolled up his sleeves.

“Get up.” He ordered. You furrowed your brows but complied anyway. You realised his intentions when he held his fists up, bare arms flexed and ready to fight. He was going to teach you. You copied his stance, barely in position before he swung. You swerved left, his fist just missing your shoulder. Your leg stretched out while you dodged so you decided to use it to kick his ankles, earning a grunt and an impressed nod.

You landed a few well placed and timed hits while avoiding most of his. You were doing your best to be precise and keep your mind steady. He decided to test your foresight, sending a punch he knew you could dodge. When you ducked, he spun around and kicked you to the ground. You fell ungracefully. As always you got back up, impressing the Duke once again, your determination was shining through. You however, thought you needed to up your game. You refused to show any weakness. You threw your punches harder and faster, but every single one missed as he weaved from side to side.

Rage erupted from your throat as the Duke grabbed your hand mid punch, stopping its course to his face. “Slow down.” He chuckled. “Let’s do that sequence again but slowly.” He leaned to the side and pulled your fist in the same direction, leading you into the pace. Just as you registered the fluttering in your heart, he dropped his hand and leaned to the other side. You blinked hard before throwing a slow punch with your opposite hand. You went back and forth like this a few times, finding a rhythm reminding you of clock pendulums. You could tell he wanted you to find a way to break the rhythm. So you threw another punch the same way, then stole his trick. You twirled when your punch went past his head, then hit his neck with your other hand.

He wheezed loudly, the noise bouncing off the walls. He was actually taken by surprise by your choice, he was expecting you to go for the ankles again. You had to stifle your laugh, though it didn’t work too well.

“Well done. You picked that up quick.” He spoke, voice a little raspy. “A few more sessions and you will be allowed to return to the ring.” His statement made you grin. The breath in his lungs got caught as he saw your eyes light up. He did not know if it was you or his throat at fault so he coughed, but it was clear.

“That will be all for today. Go have lunch. I’ll send a message out to explain why you’re late back to work.” You were confused why he ushered you out so fast, but assumed it was busyness. You were surprised he even had time to train someone in the first place.

You walked back to the canteen, stomach rumbling loudly. You hoped Julienne didn’t eat your food. Lunch was probably over by now though, so even if she didn’t, it was likely gone. You finally turned the corner, pleasantly surprised to see your friend sitting next to your untouched food.

“You waited!” Julienne was a true gem.

“Lucky for you I skipped work today, had the extra time to wait around.” She punched your shoulder. “I got to go now! I have a bet on some guy in the ring, gunna try catch the end.” Julienne grabbed her drink and stood from bench. “You can tell me later why you’ve come back from the Dukes office all hot and sweaty.” She winked before dashing away, leaving you to smile to yourself at her antics.

While you ate your cold lunch, your mind found itself on the Duke. He was annoying and self righteous, but also kind enough to teach you how to fight properly. His curiosity intrigued you, but you hated how he teased you. Most of all you hated how he made your heart skip a beat when he stood too close. Fighting with him felt like an intimate dance. You cursed when caught yourself looking forward to your next session with him. Yet you prayed to the archons that he shared your sentiments.

Ty for reading this❤️

Requests are open ✨

#genshin x reader #x reader #genshin impact #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #fortress of meropide #genshin fluff #light angst #writing #anime and manga #fight scene #enemies to lovers #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #wriothesley x you #teyvat #gaming

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quiet-hypnotist · 1 month

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Cozy Date

“You are almost too good at this. It’s not fair!”

“What? Shoulder rubs?”

“Dork. That too, but I meant the rest!”

“Ohhh, that part, huh? I thought you liked it though?”

“I do. That’s the issue! How am I meant to fight it if it feels so good?”

“Are you?”

“Huh? Of course I am.”

“I see, my bad. I must have gotten distracted then as I was massaging you.”

“Don’t you get sneaky with me. I’m wise to your tricks now.”

“Certainly. We’ve been at this for what? Two years?” “Three to the day yesterday and you know it, you told me about it yourself at lunch earlier, remember?”

“My point exactly. Of course you would be very familiar with all my tricks up to this point. Easily so focused on seeing them coming that you learned to recognize every look, every gesture, every drop in my voice. You would see it coming from a mile away.”

“Damn right I would. I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. Not to brag or anything, of course.” “Naturally. It’s what happens after several years. And honestly that makes me pretty happy. Because that means that we both know exactly how my words are only intended to draw you in when it is a safe time for that to happen. You figured that part out so early on, didn’t you?”

“Mhm. Oh, you’re on thin ice. But also way too good with your hands. Keep going, I wanna see the look on your face when I resist this.”

“Funny you would say that when there’s nothing happening that you would have to resist in the first place. After all, you were the one who confirmed for me just now that you would see my trick coming from a mile away. So even if I weaved entrancing words into this rambling, you’d know them by heart already and could recognize them easily. Right?”

“Right...”

“Which means it would be silly to drop my voice a bit lower or speak a bit softer...”

“Hey!”

“Because even if I did, you would only get lulled into that sleepy haze if you wanted to go there anyway. Right?”

“Of course!”

“So even if I used the most clever words right now, you wouldn’t get drawn into my pace at all because you’d be too busy enjoying the massage, wouldn’t you say so?”

“That’s obvious. Told you so!”

“Exactly, you did! So even if I did any funny tricks with my voice, you wouldn’t feel compelled to listen or smile about it, right?”

“Mhm!”

“And even if I slowed down the pace… and massaged you a little firmer… while letting you relax deeper… even then you would be free to not get hypnotized right now, right?”

“Duh! You got it.”

“Which means that even if I keep this up, you’re not getting tricked by me right now, right?”

“Yes!”

“So you can simply choose not to relax deeper and deeper under my fingertips right now, right?”

“Uhh, sure… Any moment now...”

“That’s right. Any moment now you can simply choose to stop listening, can’t you?” “Uh huh. Gonna show you...” “And it’s going to feel so good to show me how this time you’re not getting hypnotized right now, won’t it?” “The best...”

“Such an amazing feeling to know that you’re not falling deeper and deeper for my tricks and schemes right now, isn’t it?”

“So good...”

“You’re not getting hypnotized right now.” “Uh huh...” “You’re not growing limp and sleepy and warm under my hands right now.” “Mhm!” “You’re not mindlessly listening and enjoying this.” “Hehehe…!” “And whatever might happen, you’re not deeply mesmerized and loving every second of it right now.” “Hmmmm, loving it...” “Because if you were, you’d love the idea of falling a little deeper every time at your own pace whenever you really want to switch off your brain and enjoy yourself, wouldn’t you?” “Yes please!”

“In which case all I would need to do would be to invite you. And you would happily go along with it when that sounds like the sort of fun you want. Isn’t that right?” “Yes, yes, yes...”

“Awww, someone got a bit excited about that, hmm?” “”Uh huh! Hehehe…” “Looks like you bested me again. But I am sure next time I could put you under. Does that sound like something you want me to try?” “Yes please!” “Well, then I better wrap this massage up, so that when you’re up for it we can get up to all sorts of shenanigans. And hey, maybe you’ll actually win against me one of these days!” “Huh…? Oh, you! Just you wait. I’ll show you a hypnotized and tricked thrall! Tomorrow. Maybe. Though… I suppose I’d have an unfair advantage. I guess if you asked nicely, I could let you put me under once or twice first. Y’know… to let you practice and level the playing field.” “What a generous angel I asked out! Lucky me. Then don’t mind if I do.”

*** Did you like this story? Then there’s good news! You can consider heading over to my Patreon and pledge, which will keep me writing even more smut for you every week! Yes, for you! Since my patrons even get a chance to have me write their favorite things. So head over there and learn how!

#my writing #hypnosis #conditioning #trance #wholesome

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guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom · 8 months

Note

Hey! For your Miles requests, I'd love to read about what it might be like for the reader to watch Miles transfer to Visions if they both went to Brooklyn Middle together.

Not This Time

Miles Morales x fem!reader

Miles Morales x black!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: none

Requested: yes

A/N: GUYS PARTICIPATE IN MY 300 FOLLOWER SPECIAL PLEASE also hope you guys enjoy electro because I had to make something up.

300 Follower Special <3

Masterlist

“You’re not gonna forget me right?” You wondered.

It was the last week of summer and you were clinging to the last few days you had left with Miles. Sitting on his building’s rooftop you stared down at the Brooklyn you’ve known your whole life. You and Miles were the fastest of friends since your first day at Brooklyn Middle you genuinely couldn’t imagine not seeing him every day. You were still proud of him, however. Getting into Visions was a pretty big deal.

“Why would you ask me that?” He glanced at you offended.

You simply shrugged, pulling your knees up to your chest. “I dunno, you’ll go and make new friends and I won’t be so important anymore,”

“No,” He shook his head, turning to face you. “That would never happen,”

You looked back at him, maintaining eye contact.

“I’d never forget you,” He promised.

The first week of freshman year was finally over. It wasn’t as bad as your middle school teachers tried to make it seem, you’d made a couple of new friends, and none of your teachers were mean.

Realizing you hadn’t spoken to Miles yet today you pulled your phone out to message him.

you: how was your first week?

miles: my science teacher was on my ass but my roommates not bad

miles: he doesn’t talk much

you: i told you, you’d be fine

you: wanna go the end show w/me tonight in golconda

you: it’s at 7

miles: im sorry I cant :( too much hw

you: oh no don’t worry maybe next time

Putting your phone back down on your desk with a huff you tried not to feel disappointed. There would be other opportunities to hang out. It’s not like this was the end of your friendship.

The excuses and cancellations only grew in numbers. Soon you’d gone from seeing Miles every day to barely holding a virtual conversation once a week.

You weren’t going to sit around and wait for the crumbs of attention Miles was willing to give you. This would not be a one-sided relationship, you had too much self-respect for that.

But just because you weren’t actively talking doesn’t mean you didn’t care. You’d just care from afar.

—————-

You weren’t one to watch the news but the TV was open to Channel 12 when you made it home from running errands. Placing your grocery bags on the couch something compelled you to tune in.

Seeing PDNY cars surrounding a crazed man wielding what looked to be lightning bolts sent you into a state of controlled panic. You practically sped to Miles’s apartment to check on Mr. Morales.

He wasn’t there when you got to the apartment but Rio informed you he was okay and she’d just spoken to him on the phone.

Letting out a sigh of relief you relaxed your shoulders. Slumping to sit down next to her on the couch she gave you a once-over

“You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. How’s high school?” She asked, now getting a better look at you.

“It’s definitely different,”

“We’ve missed you around here, Miles has been acting so different lately, he’s not my little boy anymore,” She sighed wistfully.

“I miss you guys too,” You pouted.

You didn’t want to get emotional but you really did miss your second family. And you weren’t trying to take it personally but Miles avoiding you truly hurt. “It’s so weird not seeing Miles anymore,”

“Seeing him a couple times a week must be very different from every day,”

A couple times a week? You hadn’t seen him at all this month. Even if you were pissed at him you didn’t want him in trouble so you just agreed.

“Yeah, I’m still not used to it.”

You weren’t leaving until you saw for yourself that Mr. Morales was okay. Your stubbornness and unwillingness to take things as you’re told kept you from being able to fully believe Mrs. Morales’s promise of her husband’s safety. Anything could’ve happened between their phone call and now.

Waiting on the couch listening to Mrs. Morales talk about work and her conniving coworkers. You felt the most at peace as you’ve had in a while.

The peace didn’t last long as Miles came bursting through the front door adorning his red and black jacket with oversized sweats and his backpack slung over his shoulder. Mrs. Morales immediately stood up and moved towards him, the picture of concern.

“Mijo, what’s wrong, what are you doing here it’s a school night?”

Instead of answering her he just threw himself into her arms and wilted into her chest.

From your place on the couch, you couldn’t hear the muffled conversation or anything at all, which only amplified your worry.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” You found yourself calling out standing from your spot on the sofa.

The sound of your voice snapped him out of his reprieve. Miles pulled his head from the crook of his mother's neck. He let his eyes roam over you attempting to assess if you were real or not.

Once he decided his eyes weren’t deceiving him he practically launched himself into your arms.

You stumbled back with the force of his weight and despite your anger and confusion, you hugged him back.

Evidently, something was wrong but he wasn’t going to talk about it anytime soon. You tried to hold out and let him feel his emotions but-

“Miles,” You wheezed out into his chest. “Can’t breathe.”

He released you the slightest bit but didn’t let you go.

“Sorry,” He muttered to the top of your head. “Missed you so much,”

“Missed you too,”

As much as you loved Mrs. Morales, she was a chismosa and every conversation was not for her ears.

“Let’s go outside,” You suggested grabbing his arm to pull you with him.

You hadn’t made the climb to the water tower in a while and you weren’t as fit as you were a month ago. Trying to hide it out of embarrassment you switched the topic.

“You cold?” You asked panting as you found your footing.

“What?” He questioned looking down at himself.

As if he just discovered the zip-up he was wearing he answered. “Oh! Yeah, yeah it’s really chilly out here,”

Even without the years of knowing Miles under your belt, you would’ve known he was lying but you didn’t feel like starting an argument the first time you saw him in a while so you just dropped it.

The two of you easily fell back into the swing of things as if there were never any distance between the two of you. You were glad to be talking again, now knowing his issue wasn’t due to anything you’d done.

He was catching you up on everything you’d missed in his life when he went ghost on you, but he still wasn’t hinting at what was bothering him. He was using you as an alibi and not even telling you, it was so unlike him.

Even his mom noticed a change in his behavior so why wouldn’t he just talk to you? You had to bring it up or you’d regret it once you’d gotten home.

“You know you can tell me anything right?”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

You should be furious he’d ghosted you for so long. And now he won’t even talk to you? but looking at him now he looked so upset and broken you couldn’t feel anything besides concern.

“Miles please, tell me what’s going on,” You begged. “We tell each other everything,” It was true you even told him when you had started your first period the summer before 7th grade. You never felt the need to hide anything from each other. So why start now? What happened between the start of high school to now to make him stop trusting you?

“Is it me? Can you just not tell me?” You attempted to rationalize his behavior.

“It’s not you,” He promised.

“So then talk to me please,” You whined.

“I can’t tell you. Not this time,”

The last person to learn he was Spider-Man died. In the same month, he watched Spider-Man and his uncle die in right front of him. All his other friends left him and maybe it was selfish but you were the only one he had left. He refused to lose you or have you look at him differently. Maybe telling you would lift some of the burden of having a secret identity as just a child, but he couldn’t risk it. Not this time. Not with you.

©guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom

#hannah speaks ღ #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales x fem!reader #miles morales angst #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales fluff #miles morales

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 2 months

Text

wip whenever ♥

thank you @allaganexarch for the tag!!! i exit the Void(TM) to shove my horny larissa content at the general public :)))

if anyone's interested in my jane murdstone dominatrix fic and would like to read about larissa weems getting caned, i guess this wip is for you!

tagging: @dianneking @notinmyvocab @the-frankenman-writes + whoever wants to do this consider yourself tagged!

“Are you ashamed of yourself, Miss Weems?” she asks as she walks around the desk. Larissa keeps stealing glances at her as she walks, unsure and shaking with the thrill of it all.

Jane stands in front of her. “Well?” she asks again, coldly. “Do answer me.”

Larissa closes her eyes, swallows, then opens them again. “Yes,” she utters softly, staring in front of herself.

Jane sighs and tuts. She puts one finger under Larissa’s chin, urging her to tilt her head and look at her. “Miss Weems,” she starts, almost gentle now. “I’m aware girls your age are wont to… experiment. However, the school simply cannot encourage such inappropriate behaviour. You ought to know better.”

Larissa’s voice is but a whisper. “Yes, Miss.”

“You were always such a well behaved pupil. I must say, I’m very disappointed in you.”

Tears well up in Larissa’s big, blue eyes. She nods. “Yes, Miss.”

“I can tell you’re very remorseful about it – but you’ll still have to receive a punishment. It is a grave offence, after all. That will be seven strokes of the cane.”

“Yes, Miss,” she says, unable to hide the thrill in her voice, despite the tears. Jane fights the urge to snicker at her – she shouldn’t do that just yet. There will be time for it.

“But before I give out the punishment, I want you to tell me what compelled you to even think of doing something like that. Have you seen it somewhere?”

Larissa swallows thickly. “I saw… I have a…a magazine,” she stutters. “And we saw… pictures of… women… doing things. And we wanted… We wanted to try them.”

Jane makes a sound of fake surprise. “A magazine! And however did you come in possession of such an inappropriate item?”

“I bought it,” whispers Larissa, turning her gaze to the floor.

“That is how you spend your parents’ money? My, my, Miss Weems. I never suspected you’d be such a dirty girl.”

“I’m sorry, Miss,” she mumbles, her face red with shame, but her eyes glaze over at what Jane just called her.

“You should be sorry, alright. Honestly, who’d think such dirty thoughts could live in such a seemingly nice, polite girl’s head. I do worry about you, Miss Weems. I’m afraid I’ll have to change your punishment to match the severity of your misdemeanours. I want to make sure the idea of buying lesbian pornography never crosses your mind again.”

“Yes, Miss,” Larissa says, voice breathy and pupils dilated, her cheeks still red.

“That will be two weeks in detention, and no off-campus weekend this month,” says Jane matter-of-factly. “And I’m upping it to twenty strokes. Ten for the act, ten for possession of pornography.”

“Twenty?” exclaims Larissa. “But Miss–”

“There will be no arguing, Miss Weems,” she interrupts her sternly. “Skirt up. Bend over the desk.”

Larissa takes a step forward and slowly bends over the desk, lifting her skirt up, then leaning forward on her elbows. Jane can’t help but feel a pang of excitement when she sees her pale, round arse. She imagines how lovely it’ll look with red stripes all across it, how it’ll jiggle when the cane hits. She wonders if she should make Larissa remove the lovely, teal, lacy knickers she’s wearing.

She decides she should.

“What’s that?” she asks harshly.

“What, Miss?” asks Larissa, with her arse in the air, worry lacing her voice.

“Those aren’t regulation knickers.”

Larissa’s breath hitches. “No, Miss.”

“Remove them. It’ll be a bare bottom caning. Not that that flimsy thing would provide much of a barrier anyway.”

Larissa quickly pulls her underwear down, eager to please.

“I want them fully off, not just out of the way. I’ll be confiscating those. A respectable girl has no business wearing such a thing.”

Larissa obediently slides the knickers down her long legs, and steps out of them. She leaves them on the floor and returns to her previous position on the desk. Jane bends down and takes them, inspecting them.

“There’s a wet spot,” she says. “What am I supposed to make of that, hm?”

Larissa doesn’t respond.

“Do you find your punishment arousing, Miss Weems?”

Larissa shakes her head, gazing down into the desk.. “No, Miss.”

“Well, what is it then?”

“I don’t know, Miss.”

Jane scoffs and crumbles the knickers in her fist. “Of course you don’t. I didn’t know you were such a perverted girl. I do hope you’re ashamed of yourself.” She pauses. “Well, I can assure you you won’t enjoy the cane in the slightest. I hope it’ll make you reflect on your actions.”

“Yes, Miss.”

There is complete silence in the room as Jane goes to fetch the cane. She makes a show of it, walking slowly and deliberately, heels clacking with each step. She circles around the desk, lays out the soaked knickers on it, then walks over to the shelf, from which she takes a long cane with a curved handle – old school style, as she knows Larissa will appreciate the attention to detail. She turns around, and catches Larissa quickly bow her head down again – she’s clearly been staring at her as she walked.

She caresses the cane as she walks back to Larissa. “I could see you staring at my backside, Miss Weems. Shameful, really. I hope to cane those sick thoughts out of your head for good. Maybe I should do more than twenty strikes.”

“I’m sorry, Miss.”

Jane stands behind Larissa, caressing the cane, playing with it in her hands. She looks at Larissa’s cunt, bare and swollen, peeking between her buttocks as she leans forward. She enjoys the visual a lot. She briefly wonders if she could interest Larissa in pussy canings, and makes a mental note of it. She thinks Larissa would enjoy it – but she’ll save that for a different scene.

“Perhaps I should cane you all afternoon. How many sick thoughts must go through your head each day, I wonder. Do you stare at other girls in gym class? Clearly you go out of your way to corrupt your friends with sick ideas you got from looking at your lesbian magazines. What else do you do?”

She pauses, trying to think of how else to taunt her. “You know, I ought to call your parents. Wouldn't that be shameful? For everyone to know you sit in your dorm room at night, rubbing your soaked knickers to lesbian pornography?”

Larissa whimpers. Jane smiles. She seems to have hit a spot.

“Depraved girl,” she tuts, and then, in one swift and expert move, she strikes her with the cane. Larissa yelps in surprise and pain. Before Larissa can recover, she strikes her another time. This time, Larissa only inhales sharply. Jane isn’t being very forceful, for Larissa isn’t warmed up yet – but even a light strike is enough to make her arse sting quite a bit.

She lazily drags the cane along her stinging buttocks, letting her sweat in anticipation. She lightly taps, and Larissa flinches. Jane laughs at her, and Larissa whimpers.

“That’s only two, Miss Weems. I want to make this last. You need time to reflect on your actions,” she says and strikes her quite a bit harder before she finishes the sentence. Larissa makes a strained sound and flinches. She’s breathing heavily and pressing her thighs firmly together.

“Three,” says Jane nonchalantly.

Silence, only filled with the sound of Larissa’s shaky breaths. She squirms, anticipating the next strike. Jane lets her stew.

After a minute or so, she strikes her again, hard. Larissa cries out and her muscles convulse, but she doesn’t move.

“You’re taking it so well – one would think you were caned before,” says Jane with amusement in her voice. “Did your parents spank you a lot as a child?”

“Yes, Miss,” Larissa breathes out.

“And what for? Were you often a naughty girl?”

“I don’t know, Miss. I often didn’t understand why they did it.”

“Well, that won’t do,” says Jane, dragging the cane over the two red stripes on her buttocks. Larissa sucks in a breath. “In order for the punishment to be effective, the offender must know what they did so they can correct the behaviour. Repeat it to me, Miss Weems; why are you being spanked?”

“Because I… I was caught–”

Jane strikes her again and Larissa yelps. “No, no, Miss Weems. You aren’t being punished because you got caught. You’re being punished because you did something you shouldn’t have done. Try again,” she says and strikes her another time. Larissa whimpers.

“I… I’m being punished because I kissed another girl, and I… we… we touched each other… inappropriately.”

“That’s it,” says Jane and strikes her hard. Larissa flinches and squeaks. “That’s six. What else have you done? You did earn twenty strikes, after all.”

“I… I bought p–” she tries saying it and fails.

“Come on,” Jane taunts her. “If you could look at it you can say it.”

Larissa takes a deep breath. Jane strikes her. She yelps. “I bought pornography,” she spits quickly and breathlessly, as if the whole sentence was one word. “With my parents’ money.”

“You did, you dirty girl.” Jane’s voice is flat and void of emotion as she says it, almost disinterested, for she knows that makes Larissa wild – how impersonal Jane can get. She strikes her one more time, harder than any of the previous strikes. Larissa lets out an embarrassing squeak.

“Eight,” she says, and decides to make a longer pause before nine. She lazily drags the tip of the cane along Larissa’s long legs, starting above the ankles and going up. When she reaches the sweet spot where her thighs meet her buttocks, she – seemingly accidentally, but very much on purpose – lightly grazes the cane over her soaked cunt. Larissa whimpers and shudders.

Jane finds it truly fascinating how wet a bit of humiliation and a few strikes of the cane can make her. She’s literally dripping down her thighs.

“Oh my,” she fakes a gasp. “What’s that?”

She lightly taps at her cunt, and Larissa whines.

“Tsk, tsk, Miss Weems,” she tuts, “The situation appears to be graver than I imagined. I don’t think your punishment is working. In fact, I think you’re enjoying it. Am I right?”

Larissa shakes her head. “No, Miss.”

“You get another five strikes for lying.”

“Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss,” Larissa whimpers into the desk, head buried in her elbows.

“It’s pathetic how depraved and sick you are, getting off to your Headmistress caning you. Perhaps I’ve been too gentle with you. Perhaps a more forceful caning will teach you a lesson.”

“Yes, Miss,” says Larissa breathlessly. “Forgive me, Miss.”

“You disgust me,” sneers Jane and swings the cane forcefully, hitting hard over the already glaring red stripes, making Larissa convulse and cry out. She strikes again, and then again, with the same amount of force, and Larissa cries out each time.

She strikes her four more times.

“Fifteen,” she says coldly. “I can’t believe you, Miss Weems. I thought you were a good, respectable girl. Your nice and wealthy parents sent you to a prestigious private school – and this is how you repay them? By being a perverted freak? By being found by a prefect with your head between another girl’s legs? By getting aroused by your punishment?”

Larissa presses her thighs together more firmly. “I’m really sorry, Miss. I’ve been so bad,” she whispers.

“I wonder, is it the punishment that arouses you… or is it the fact that I’m the one giving it to you? I saw you look at me, Miss Weems. It’s quite pathetic how attracted you are to a woman old enough to be your mother.”

Larissa whines and rubs her thighs together. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

Jane strikes her – hard – and Larissa keens.

“I’m afraid sorry won’t cut it, Miss Weems. You deserve a caning after which you won’t be able to sit for weeks,” she says and strikes her again, and again and again, starting to get into a rhythm. Larissa twitches and whines pathetically with each strike, squirming and squeezing her thighs together. Her cunt is clenching along with her arsecheeks. Jane keeps striking her, and doesn’t stop when she reaches twenty-five strikes.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she announces flatly as she keeps caning her. “It’ll be however many strikes I see fit for you.”

“Yes, Miss,” Larissa all but moans. She keeps squirming and twitching, but doesn’t move in a significant enough manner for Jane to reprimand her for it.

Jane, however, notices the way she shudders, then relaxes, moaning quite a bit louder than before and pressing her forehead into the desk somewhere around number thirty-five.

Jane scoffs incredulously. She knew Larissa needed little to come, but this was new even for her.

“Did you just come from this?” she asks, trying her best to hide the amusement in her voice.

Larissa whimpers pathetically into the desk.

Jane strikes her. “I asked you something, Miss Weems,” she says sternly.

Larissa nods into the desk, hiding her face between her elbows.

“I want words, girl.”

“Y-yes, Miss. I’m sorry, Miss,” she whispers barely audibly.

Jane laughs. “You’re truly incorrigible. I’ve never had such a depraved girl bent over my desk. It seems like no matter what I do, you enjoy it. I could kick you in the face with my shoe and you’d thank me.”

“Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss,” Larissa sobs.

“In any case, I don’t think you’re learning a lesson. Perhaps the punishment didn’t go on for long enough. Or perhaps I’ve been too gentle.”

“Please, Miss, I– ah!” Larissa cries out when Jane strikes her quite hard just where her buttocks meet her thighs.

“Do you lie in bed at night in your dorm room with your hand between your legs, thinking about your Headmistress? Have you imagined being caned like this for your own sick pleasure? Perhaps all of this has been a ploy to get yourself in this position?”

“No, Miss, please, please, ah! I’ll do better, I’m sorry!”

“You’re a disgrace. I’ll give you such a whipping you won’t even think about coming again. Dirty little dyke.”

Larissa whines at the insult. “Yes, Miss.”

“Say it. Say you’re a perverted dyke that rubs her pussy thinking about her Headmistress caning her.”

“I-I’m a perverted dyke that – ah! – rubs my p-pussy… ah! Thinking about my Headmistress caning me.”

“That’s right. And what are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for being a dirty girl, Miss. I’m sorry my pussy gets wet when you cane me – ugh, fuck!” she cries out after a particularly well-aimed, hard strike.

“Language, Miss Weems, or I’ll wash your dirty mouth with soap.”

“Yes, Miss! Ah! I’m sorry, Miss!”

Jane keeps striking her, relentlessly and without pause. She can tell when Larissa enters a blissful state of being. Her eyes are closed and she’s no longer able to utter coherent words. A soft cry escapes her every time her muscles convulse when the cane touches her skin, a barely perceptive smile on her face. Jane admires the neat, angry red marks across her buttocks as gradually slows down her rhythm, decreasing the intensity of her swings, bringing Larissa down from her high. Soon, she is only lightly snapping the cane against her skin, dragging it along her buttocks, lightly tapping, until she eventually stops completely.

Larissa’s eyes are still closed and she is breathing heavily. Jane lets her have a moment of silence. Eventually, Larissa opens her eyes and lifts her head a bit higher up, but she’s still supporting herself on the desk.

“I still feel floaty,” she breathes out.

#larissa weems #i will produce my own garbage and also consume it #gwendoline christie #larissa weems smut #netflix wednesday #jane murdstone #wednesday 2022 #the personal history of david copperfield #nsft #wip #tag game #larissa weems fanfic #larissa weems fanfiction #wednesday netflix #wednesday fanfic #crossover #keep in mind this is a Rough Draft #and i did not in fact edit it

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sweetchildcloud · 4 months

Text

the fic ahead is only for 16+ minors!! do not interact if you're sensible!!

Cw:reader!death,crying,body holding,

❤💖ChosoX reader,Modern!AU,angst,death,fluff in death,realization(Choso),strangers to lovers(too late),body comparisons,apologising,regret

||just a memory||written by me

Choso sits back on the bed with a faint smile at the sound of your scoffing. He seems more relaxed now. He glances at his hands—the ones you’ve been trying to avoid looking at—and clenches them together in his lap.

Your eyes wander to your own hands. As expected: his hands are a lot larger than yours wich makes you blush a little bit.

He looks over at you and watches you shift in the chair. Choso wants to ask you why you keep avoiding looking at his hands, but he knows how strange it must appear to you if you’re unfamiliar with curses. He keeps his hands in his lap instead. When a long moment of silence passes, Choso feels compelled to ask you a personal question.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a good sleep?” he asks you out of the blue. Choso tries to make it sound like a casual inquiry, like he’s simply making small talk. But he genuinely wants to know.

"I uh what?" You asked confused "why are you asking me that?"

“Your eyes are a bit red” Choso explains. It takes effort for him to get the words out but he sounds concerned, not critical. “And you look like you haven’t slept properly in a while.”

"Well your corners of your eyes are red too" You said teasing,smirking but it was true that you haven't slept for a while and right now you felt drained almost deprived of you life energy.

Choso laughs quietly at your observation. He doesn’t take it as an insult. In fact, he finds you cute for finding something to match with his eyes.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

“That was a good comeback” he admits.

You feel very tired but you don't dwell on it,you just think it's just tiredness from lack of sleep but you can't take rest aither since you can't help your own anxiety.

So you stood up walking outside the room lighting a sigarette, feeling like as if you're time was running out but couldn't explain why, so you just decided to sit on the porch without telling Choso about your worry,he was a curse afterall and you a human 'it could never work out' you tought at yourself.

Choso watches you leave the room and walk outside, feeling a bit strange that you’d choose to sit alone instead of coming to him when you’re feeling upset. But he supposes you needed space, which is perfectly understandable.

Feeling as though he’s intruding, he lies back on the bed and pulls the covers up to his neck. As he does, he can't help but notice the cigarette in your hand.

"You know Choso" You said pausing for a second "you aren't a bad curse afterall"

The cigarette continued to burn in your hand as the smoke dispersed in the cold air of the night.

Choso is taken aback by your words as he stares at the ceiling. The idea that a human might think so highly of him doesn’t even cross his mind. He turns on his side the matress crackling under his weight and watches you. “What makes you say that?” he asks. It’s a genuine question, not a challenge.

Choso waits for a response, but you stay quiet and simply stare off at the stars and smoke your cigarette. He watches you for a long moment, taking in your expression and the way you’re looking at the sky. “You know that you can tell me anything you’re worried about” Choso says softly. “I won’t judge you.”

After some time waiting for a reply , Choso realizes that your cigarette has fallen to the floor, your breath has completely stopped, and your eyes are no longer focused on the stars. He watches you carefully, worried that something is wrong, but you don't move. He slowly gets out of bed and walks over to you, unsure of whether you're still breathing. He touches your shoulder lightly and waits for your body to stir, but when it does not, he realizes something is very wrong. Without hesitation, he kneels at your side and presses his ear to your chest.

It takes only one moment to realize that you're no longer alive. Choso's breath catches in his throat and his body freezes. His eyes water as he reaches down to check your pulse, hoping and praying that you are still breathing, that this is only some cruel nightmare. But your body and your eyes tell the cruel truth. You are not breathing.

Choso's legs start to shake as he accepts what happened. Tears stream down his face, dripping down his chin and onto his chest. He covers his mouth with his hand to stifle a deep cry as he sits beside your body on the ground, staring into your half-open eyes and holding back sobs. He stays like this for a while, not sure what to do or who to tell. A part of him is in denial, another part of him is numb with shock, and a final part of him is overcome with grief.

Even in death, your tiny hands still tug at his heartstrings. They are much smaller than his, with slender fingers and pale, dainty skin. He never got the chance to hold yours as you were taken too early, but he wants to now. Your warmth has long since faded, but he craves the feeling of holding your tender hands, cherishing them forever. He gently places his much bigger hands over yours, taking comfort in feeling your skin.

He remembers the times when he'd tried to hold your hand and how you always shyly avoided it. He doesn't know why it mattered so much to him. Your frail frame is the antithesis to his large, muscular one. Compared to you, he is a behemoth. He takes in the sight of your tiny body, how pale and delicate you are, and how delicate your hands were. But despite how small and fragile you looked, you were not weak by any means. Your eyes showed strength and your will power was unmatched.

It's sobering to see your body next to his, how frail and fragile it really was. Choso can almost picture you standing next to his towering frame, looking up at him with a small, delicate smile while he's a whole head taller than you. The size difference suddenly hits him and he is overcome with grief, realizing that he would never see you stand at his side again.

While he's overcome with grief and sorrow, he can't help but continue to caress your body. The shape of your body is so tiny and petite. It's as though you were made of the most delicate glass, and he fears that one wrong move will shatter you. He runs his hand across your forearm and up to your shoulder. He feels the delicate fabric of your clothes brushing past his fingertips and the warmth of your skin.

Choso's fingers are gentle as they caress the outline of your small body. The touch is tender, almost intimate, as if he has no desire to break or destroy you. He is delicate and painstakingly careful, wanting nothing more than to preserve this fragile form that you once inhabited.

Your skin feels so soft, like delicate porcelain. Choso's fingers brush tenderly along your limbs, trying to comfort himself and take some modicum of solace in the small gesture. He knows you’re gone and can no longer feel his touch, but the warmth of your skin still lingers. Despite your frail body looking so small and fragile, it feels heavy on his heart.

As he strokes your hair, Choso thinks back to what could have been. He imagines himself holding your hand tightly, bringing you home and making dinner while you unwind from a hard day. He imagines holding you tightly against his chest as you bury your head on his shoulder and fall asleep. He imagines taking you to the places you enjoyed going just to see you happy. But it’s too late. He starts to sob softly.

“I’m sorry” Choso whispers as he wraps his arms around your body. He is full of grief and sorrow and pain, and he can't stop the tears from falling. He cries silently, wishing he could turn back the clock or find some way to bring you back. He wants nothing more than to hear your heart beat again, feel your touch, or smell your hair. He would do anything to see you smile again, even if it’s just for a moment. But he can’t.

Choso’s grip on your small hands is tight, and even in death, he can't bring himself to let go. He stares at them for a long moment, hoping that somehow they will move again. As the tears fall from his eyes, they drop onto your skin, landing in the palm of your still hand. He is overwhelmed with guilt and regret, wishing that he’d held them more while you were still alive.

“Please forgive me” he moans softly, wanting to scream at the world for taking you away from him. “I should have told you how I felt, or held you close while I had the chance. I wish I could have just one last moment with you. I should have treated you better. I’m so, so sorry”

His voice breaks with each apology, as he can't help but feel guilt and remorse. He blames himself for not loving you the way he should have and for being unable to prevent the tragedy. Choso rocks himself back and forth in a fruitless attempt to escape his sorrow as he clings to your body. His face is wet with tears and his heart pounds painfully against his chest. His mind is a mess of thoughts and emotions that he struggles to make sense of.

“Please come back" he whispers. “Please wake up and forgive me for not being the person you wanted me to be” He continues to cry as he holds you against his chest, his lips pressed against your cold skin. “I can’t live without you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I need you with me—I need you to hold me, to tell me everything is going to be okay, to make everything good again. I don't know what to do without you.”

Choso sobs harshly, unable to contain his emotions any longer. He pulls you even closer and holds you tightly against his chest, hoping that somehow you will still be able to hear him even though your body is no longer functioning. "I need you" he whispers, his voice cracking and choking with sadness. "I need your touch, your voice, your smile. I need us to go back to the way things were before. Please don't leave me, not like this"

Choso wakes up with a deep ache in his heart, as if he had really lost you. He stares at the ceiling, blinking back the tears that have filled his eyes. He had dreamed of you, of holding your hands, loving you, losing you. It was painful and heartbreaking, but at the same time, comforting. Even though it is just a memory, he is still relieved to be alive. As he processes his emotions, he can't help but feel his life has been hollowed out without you.

A tear slips down Choso's cheek and he sits up slowly, his stomach twisting in knots at the thought of being alone. He doesn't want to admit it, but he misses how he could lean his head back against you, trust that you'd catch him without needing to ask. He misses how your scent filled his senses and made him feel safe. He misses having someone to talk to, even if it was just about the weather or what to eat, without feeling judged.

Choso thinks back to how he had felt during the brief moments he had shared with you. That peaceful warmth in his heart, the joy he felt just by being in your presence. He thinks about how his eyes had followed your every move, how his heart beat quickly whenever you were close to him, how his breath hitched and his heart pounded hard when you smiled at him. Choso realizes that he was truly in love with you and still is, even though you had been taken from him.

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

Yello yello thanks 4 reading,and sorry if this was long but I felt in the moment while writing this.

Probably you at me after finishing reading:

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iridessence · 8 months

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Miss Iridessence, you are one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen. I'm always stunned by your pictures. I'm also a fat woman, but I struggle so much in seeing myself as beautiful (I don't think I'm nearly as beautiful as you in general, you literally glow). I'm getting married very soon, too, but I feel so bad about myself because I know that the people around me (my family is very old fashioned) see my being fat as a failure. I've been working a lot on how I see myself, because I want to be happy as myself, but when it comes to the wedding stuff, my dress, my makeup and my hair, I just feel so silly and like there's no way for me to be pretty. Do have any advice for me to try and see myself as a beautiful bride?

Hi there! The most sincerest congratulations to you for your engagement and upcoming wedding with your love. This is an incredible time, you deserve to feel giddy and excited and not laden with these complicated feelings right now. Let’s buckle in as there’s a long post ahead.

So first, you must commit to honoring yourself by how you speak about yourself. You’re already doing a great job by using “I think I am XYZ/I feel XYZ” statements as opposed to absolutes (“I am XYZ, etc”) … It’s hard to control what our brains tell us, but it’s not impossible, and it’s theoretically easier to control what we say aloud or write. Please please try not to put yourself down verbally, while in the process of complimenting someone else. It’s never going to be good for you and even worse it may make things awkward for the recipient who then may feel like compelled to comfort or emotionally manage, instead of being able to fully and presently receive your compliment.

Otherwise, I could tell you something like “look in the mirror and say these self affirmations,” but the fact of the matter is that it may not work for everyone, and that’s not the end-all-be-all in the process toward building self-esteem, so I want to focus on the following things…

I want you to reflect upon whether or not you want the wedding hubbub. I’m not asking you to question if you want to get married but rather the rituals that come along with the wedding process. Are they important to you? If not, that could be behind why it seems silly and ineffective. Lots of people go through the whole show to appease their partners or their family and then it stresses them out and it feels foreign, and it’s all because they never wanted it in the first place. If that’s the case, I invite you to consider that you really can let the hubbub go.

If things like makeup, hair and dresses are important to you, then I urge you to accept that that is simply enough for you to be able to partake in them. It’s your right to wear whatever kind of hairstyle or dress or makeup you want whether it supposedly works good or not. If that’s what you want to do for your wedding, you get to have it! This is another way to frame it if you have trouble seeing yourself as the beautiful bride that I’m sure you are and especially the beautiful bride that your partner will see. It simply doesn’t matter, it’s your day and it’s your choice to partake in the ritual how you would like to. You get to wear the things you want to wear if you enjoy them.

Also I can’t see what options you’ve selected or what stylists you’ve gone with, but it may be worth revisiting if the looks you want are execute with finesse. Are your stylists a match for creating the look you want with your hair, makeup and gown? It may be hard to say without photographic evidence but it’s a possibility. The nuances in fit, high-quality construction and execution truly make a world of difference in feeling like something looks right on you and it’s what I’ve built my own process around. It’s applicable to hair, makeup and clothing.

The other thing I think might be important for you to consider is to set boundaries with your family where you can. Perhaps you’re not at a place where you can tell them outright not to talk to you about certain things regarding your appearance, but perhaps there may be opportunities to reroute the conversation and switch gears so that your appearance is no longer the subject. You might have to do it more than one time in a conversation and even be firm about it but at the end of the day, if they see your body as a failure, there is no purpose in talking about such things with them and it will be like pulling teeth to make it otherwise. For your health sake, you have to set that boundary and hold it.

Last but not least, lean into your partner. Share how you feel with them and if they build you up, let them do so and let yourself receive it. While you can’t place your self-worth in the opinion of another person, that doesn’t mean that they can’t help you to see things about yourself from an outside perspective. We are all constantly deeply in our heads and it’s sometimes nice to get input from someone who sees us through rose-colored glasses. I invite you to partake in this honeymoon period by letting your partner illuminate all the beautiful things about you. If you have friends with great communication, let them do the same!

I hope some of this is helpful and that you have the wedding experience you truly deserve.

Best wishes, anonymous!

#anon love #anon help #advice #wedding

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echoedcrosshairs · 11 months

Text

The Portrait ~ Boba x F Reader

Plot: You, a daughter of a former bounty captured by Boba Fett, are asked to paint a portrait of the new Daimyo although you despise him you can't help notice the growing tension. 🖤Enemies to Lovers 🖤

Warnings: second person narration, no y/n, suggestive sexual content, age gap (reader is mid-twenties, Boba is 41 canonically), lots of petnames (Little one & Old Man), praise kink, one dude being a creep but nothing bad happens; protective Boba moment~> violence, Enemies to lover & sort of slow burn and eventual smut. This is a build up chapter.

Word Count: 6.7k

Masterlist Part Two

🔞no minors allowed🔞

Yes I know I need to go through all of my stories because small typos.

Boba sat in a darkest corner booth of the cantina waiting for his prospect to arrive but something was bugging him about her name it sounded familiar but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it. He had arrived early to avoid being noticed by the crowds who came in during rush hour as Daimyo every knew his face and who he was but he wasn’t in the mood to be bowed at. He had his shawl covering his armor and his helmet tucked in beside him, knowing it’s shine would make him stand out. He brought his drink to his lips letting his eyes wandered to one of the dancers, although she was gorgeous but not gorgeous enough to distracted him with her curves and elegance to notice the prospect walking over. He blinked admiring the features in your face and the way your hips swayed as you walked towards him. He knew the confidence of female hunter when he saw it, alluring yet on the prowl. He let his eyes travel along the entire noting all of the empty concealed pockets.

"Do you two need a minute?" you laughed sitting down looking between him and the dancer, "I would hate to come between a hunter and his prey. She is rather pretty"

"I admire. Nothing more," he said curtly not liking the fact you noticed what he tried to hide, "I am retired," he added, “and to old to be chasing such beautiful creatures.”

"Once a hunter always a hunter. All you traded was one type of bounty for another just with less stakes but that's semantics," you said dismissing it.

Boba studied you carefully curious to what would compel you to so bold and brazen with him, "I take it you are not found of how I run this town?" he asked simply not letting any emotion or interest pace his course rough.

"No your rule is not one with an iron fist nor disappearing villagers in the dead of night or making examples out of petty things. I just do not care for you," you said pulling out your dust covered sketch book flipping the page of him taking away your father and your father's imprisonment in stone, "Getting to the subject. All supplies must be paid for up front, the entire can change once I started however you’re still wearing the same thing so I don’t think that matters and point me in the direction of the nearest lodging. I can begin as soon as the supplies arrive," you said closing the sketch book and returning it to your bag. Your eyes caught swift movement of hands of the person bringing both of you drinks, quickly pulling out the blaster out of your art bag dispatching one fatal shot you caught the tray with the drinks and dumped them both into a flower vase watching them quickly wilt. That’s what I thought, I need this try again later. You sat back down putting the blaster away, "What?" said noticing him staring at you.

"You loathe me yet saved my life, interesting" he said studying the expression on your face, "with such tenacity and efficiency."

"I may have talents outside of painting. I would hate to lose such an important commission before it was complete."

"Indeed," he said finally blinking looking at the corpse being dragged away, "stay at the palace, plenty of food and rooms to choose from," he offered.

"I'll take whatever room is furtherest from you," you grinned pulled the pad with the out the list of supplies and upgrades handing it to him. His leather glove brushing against your hand taking it, it sent a cold shiver up your arm like you just touch death.

"Consider it yours, I'll send someone to pick up all of these premiums," he said in attempt to ignore the fact brushing up against your finger set a jolt of something down him. Fear? Anticipation? She's a daughter of a former bounty and I just invited danger into my house. He stuck out the pad, Fennec taking it from whatever spot she was hiding.

"I should have most of these by sunrise, one or two might take a few extra hours," she said nodding walking off with the pad.

"I know my way to the palace," you said standing up eyeing the women he was looking at earlier, "Enjoy yourself for a change," you let out a small harsh laugh, "Try not to get killed until the commission is completed."

You walked away pretending not to be in a hurry about your heart was racing and your hands were clammy just being around him. He was a dangerous man with a temper for disintegration and being ruthless with how audacious and brash you were talking to him wondered if he had the mind to disintegrate you. What was I thinking? He's a client at this moment, nothing more. Your mind wandered back to that night when he took your father and showed him off to you in carbonite. Your fist balled but you kept walking, you had half the mind just to get off this sand ball but the other half wanted the money and the recognition for something other than the fine marksman the ire had turn you into too. Now he was an aging man, ‘retired’ and you didn't know if it would be worth it if he wasn’t in the game. Yet the muscles in his arms and the coldness in his face suggested he was still ever bit the predator... one who had a disgustingly charming gravel voice and it set a shiver down your spine.

"Are you sure this isn't a conflict of interest, little one?" You heard Boba's voice emerge next to you.

"Being in the same persec as you is a conflict of interest but this is business as you well understand," you couldn't help but notice the annoyance seeping out over his company, although the sound of his voice was better then silence. You didn't bother look at him as you kept walking, "Also don't call me that, I'm not little nor a child," you added.

"Why take the commission?" He asked finally letting his curiosity get the best of him.

"It's you I have to thank for my talents whether it's through a paintbrush or a blaster." you said harshly still not bothering to look at him.

"You could just take the money and go-"

"We both know there's no honor in that, although I don’t think I would ever consider you honorable," your tempter starting getting the best of you, you finally stopped and stared at the T visor helmet forever engrained into your memory, "I am here because I have to prove to myself you are nothing then a man to not some assassin droid in the shadows without a thought or care."

You watched him stand still for a moment before putting his hands clasp behind his back, "You speak your mind without thought of the repercussions or hesitation, I respect that," he said starting to walk again, "I even admire it."

Your lip twitched but you followed after him in silence. You kept nonchalantly wiping your hands on your pants, feeling like an angry fool living in the past but you liked the praise from him sending goose bumps down you.!What the hell is wrong with me? It was a silent trek to the palace after that, thankful you didn't continue making a fool of yourself publicly speaking to him like that in view of those still up at this hour. The doors of the palace swung up, you walked in not bothering to wait for an invitation which was custom on Tatooine.

"Still want the furthest room or do you want to face that fear too," you could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Just point me to an available room and show me the location."

Boba lead you to a long hall way more adorned with fineries then the others. He pointed to the door on the left, "Yours," he pointed to the door on the right, "Mine. This way," he said turning back heading towards the throne room.

You scowled following after him realizing where he was taking you, "Of course it's the throne, how pretentious," you mumbled sarcastically taking out the sketch pad.

"Do you have a better idea?" Boba said stopping mid step turning to you, "you are the artist after all, where would you choose in my position."

"Each previous Daimyo has had his done on the throne using it as display of power and fear. If I wanted to prove my rule was different, I would do mine somewhere to show who I am underneath."

He nodded, "Have you ever seen the Tusken huts?"

You were taken back by the question, "Not up close, no."

"Wish to take the Rancor for a run or a speeder?" he asked.

"Rancor," you said stepping up to his obvious challenge to test your nerves further, "It's been a while since I've been on one."

"Let's see if he's awake. So you've ridden one before?" He asked calmly but intrigued.

"Once or twice," you said opting to give the least amount of information knowing he was digging.

Boba smiled knowing it could not be seen, "The riding boots your wearing covered with your pants suggest other wise," he said done playing coy that he didn't notice the little things, "one of your many talents I assume?"

"Perhaps," you trying to keep the irritation out of your voice glancing down at your foot wear that you didn't bother to change when you were done, "or perhaps I wear them because their comfortable and made to take a beating. Perfect for function, comfort and a sleek appearance."

"I'm sure they are, little one," he chuckled watching your face force smoothness on it. He couldn't deny he was interested in you in more ways then one, you were beautiful, complexed and smart but perhaps just as dangerous and unpredictable as he was at that age regretting putting your room so close to his if you had the urge in the dead of the night to unleash vengeance upon him, "How about a bargain?" he asked.

"What are you proposing?" you asked crossing your arms following him into the throne room looking down into the pit.

"Every day you get to ask me one personal question until the portrait is completed."

"What do you get out of it?" You asked because it sounded like you were getting the better end of the deal.

"Hopefully not feed to my rancor in the middle of the night," he said with laugh, the sound made you blink. It was warm and kind, rough like his voice but it reminded you of a shot of whiskey after a long day. He watched your face falter for a second after his laughter, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you enjoy rubbing my fathers fate in my face?" You said boldly, looking down at the sleeping rancor.

"No however I hoped it would prevent you from going down the same path."

"What path would that be?" You asked tartly looking back up at him feeling his eyes linger on you.

"One without the need to follow in his shoes"

You studied him as he studied you, "Funny," you mused.

"Indeed," Boba said realizing it was what set you on this path. He lightly tapping the bars to see if the Rancor would wake but it's soft snores he was out for the evening, "A speeder it is."

"Did you ever find him?" He ask heading towards the main doors.

"What was left of him to find."

"I'm sorry."

Those two words hit a nerve but also shocked you. Your mouth fell agape but you shut it not knowing what to say to the statement, the man who turned your life on it's head... apologizing? You followed him outside to the one speeder realizing you were going to have to share. You wandered if you both were thinking the same thing, how easy it would be to toss each other off.

"I'll ride in the front," he said giving you the upper hand waiting to see what you would do.

"I'm personally holding you accountable if I get hurt due to your driving, old man," you jested trying to hide the anxiousness of climbing on behind him having to hold his waist.

"Then you better hold on, little one. I'm not that old."

"Are you sure about-" you shut your mouth holding him tighter as he took off full speed towards the Dune Sea. You felt the chiseled muscle under his clothing, red subconsciously warmth spreading across your face. It made you sick that you had a reaction to him, the lingering smell of leather, blaster smoke and sweat didn't help. You tighten your jaw reminding yourself of the monster you were clinging too as he enjoyed riding the waves of the sand.

"Having fun?" He chuckled feeling your cheek burning into his back and your arms tighten around him as he took another bigger sand dune. It took a lot of self restraint not to move his hand to yours and tease you but knew you’d probably shoot him if he did.

"Extremely," you said sarcastically thanking the maker when he stopped so you could let go and hop off.

Boba watched you quickly take out your pad to engulfed in your work to notice the approaching Tusken's. The Tusken's recognized him, signing his name. He nodded to them in greeting and preceded to explain why they were out this late, that he would send them food as payment for the disturbance.

"They want to see," Boba said pointing at them.

His voice pulled you out of the composition of art to notice the raiders standing next to him. You gulped, you were not fan of the Tusken's for their violent nature towards outsiders and it didn’t help that the Daimyo was very comfortable around them. You carefully walked towards them showing them the sketch of the hut. They made a noise and you looked to Boba raising an eyebrow.

"Their impressed."

"Thank you," you said nodding your head, they handed you the pad back allowing you to walk back to the spot and continued your art.

"Tribe?" the Tusken signed looking between the two of you

"No, Business."

The Tusken nodded signal for him and his companions to leave. Boba walked over looking of your shoulder watching the hunt come together with the rough sketch of the Tusken in the foreground.

"Done?" He asked watching you look at the pad then up then back down.

"Yes."

"Let's get back to the palace, it's getting late and creatures should be waking up," he said climbing back into the speeder feeing your arms go around his waist again but this time he didn't feel your hands as sweaty against him.

When you both arrived at the palace, Fennec was waiting different sizes canvas. Boba picked a medium sized one, modest yet large enough to be noticed. Fennec kept her eyes on you the whole time.

"Do you want me to have guards outside?" she whispered wondering if you could be trusted.

"Just one discreetly at the top of the hall if it put your mind at ease."

She gave a small nod, "What you think of her?" she asked quietly watching you pull out your sketch pad looking over your work.

Boba just slightly turned his head not to make it obvious, "One of a kind."

Fennec rolled her eyes, "Friend or foe?" she corrected.

"Both," he admitted, "Good Night," he said to Fennec raising his voice back up from a whisper.

You cocked your head to see him heading back inside, you followed after him sketching out a simple speedy portrait of his face. You caught up to him and knocked on his helmet, he turned catching your wrist pulling it away.

"Helmet off," you said pulling your wrist back.

"So bossy, little one."

"So deaf, take it off old man," you said bringing your pencil back to the pad waiting,

He took it off, you examined the lines in his face quickly sketching them out. You were to distracted with the lines to notice his brown eyes boring into you. You were raptured in artist inspiration staring at him, your hands moving seamlessly across the paper noting every healed scar and various shades of brown to gold in his eyes. You finally looked down red creeping back into your face as you sketched his shoulders and the top of his armor.

He looked down at the paper stunned, "May I?" he asked holding out his hand. You stared at what was probably your best rough sketch but handed it to him. "It's absolutely marvelous," he said examining it closing looking at ever scar and remembering the cause to each one, "Your marvelous," he unintentionally whispered.

"I know," you said grabbing the sketch back and walking towards the hall with the bedrooms, flushed and angry. You noticed the bags that you tucked away at the Cantina you were going to go back to retrieve were sitting the end of the bed waiting. You groaned tossing your art bag on the bed and setting the pad on a big wooden ornate vanity. You unpacked the essential clothing you needed and various toiletries. Your head was swimming and knew you couldn't sleep, you grabbed your toilets stepping into the hall. Your face flicked up when you heard footsteps, a single guard walking a catwalk above.

"Where's the bathroom?" You asked watching him walk to the end of the hall and point at a door. He spoke a language you didn't understand, "Thank you! I think,” you called.

You opened the door, staring at Boba in a towel around his waist water still trickling down his pecs and abs. You quickly pulled the door shut, "That didn't just happen."

Your hand quickly shot up to your eyes when you heard the door immediately open "I'm sorry he doesn't speak basic," you said trying to defend yourself.

"Unfortunately it did. Dank Farrik! Next time I'm going to shoot you in the knee cap! I could have still been in the crinking shower!" He called up the guard who was laughing suddenly stilled. He noticed your hand over your eyes, "I'm not that bad to look at," he laughed, "I was just leaving," he said stepping around you, "I'll have them come in and fix the other one tomorrow promptly."

You uncovered your eyes for a moment watching his muscular back as he headed towards his room before quickly getting into the bathroom and shutting the door realizing there wasn't a lock on it. I seriously can't believe that happened. You turned the water up to match how hot your face was. You discarded your clothing, neatly putting them on the what looked to be hand carved precious stone counter. You ran your hand across it, still cool. Maker that had to cost which ever Daimyo a fortune. You shook your head and stepped into the shower hoping the heat would wash away the embarrassment. After spending a fair amount of time scolding yourself clearing your head you stepped out and noticed a couple of credits with a note on your clothing.

"It didn't happen -Fett."

You stared at the forty thousand credits your mouth fell open. I need the money but no way I can accept this much, I'll just slip part of it into his room or something. You quickly got dressed and peaked your head out the door to see if he was there, you breathed out in relief. You groaned the moment you got to your room noticing the small fruit assortment on your bed. I don't know if I'm more embarrassed or he is. You moved the fruit to the vanity and crawled into bed, you laid awake into the night before finally prying yourself up deciding fresh air might help you get situated with your temporary reality. You tucked your blaster in your waist band and found your way to a balcony overlooking the city.

"You too?" you heard Boba's voice behind you.

"Yeah. Are any of the cantinas still open this late?"

"One, you want to go?" he asked.

"I need a drink... or five if I'm going to be sleeping in the room across from you," you admitted.

"Likewise."

Both of you quietly walked into your rooms and changed. You dawned a form fitting dress with a side holster and boots with hidden knife pockets. You opened the door and found him waiting with holding his helmet.

He did his best to keep a straight face over the entire, "Expecting company?" He said pointy looking at the blaster as an excuse to look at your figure before looking back up at you.

"Always except the unexpected, that's how you stay alive in this line a work," you said as you started walking.

"Which is our problem," he said following after you.

"Another bargain perhaps?"

"You don't trust me and I don't trust you, I could simply move into lodging like I wanted too or we could drag the other bed into the others room so we can at least hear it coming," your throat dried up, “because I can’t think of a reason why I would want to trust you. You can only out run your past so long before it catches up.”

"What ever your comfort with, little one-" Boba stopped looking at your dress and then speedier.

"Dank Farrik," you mumbled motioning him to get on, hiking up your dress an indecent amount throwing your leg over it, "Why can't they just make flattering dresses with pants?" mumbled uncomfortably exposed to him.

"You now have plenty enough to get some tailored to your design," he suggested.

"I can't accept all of them for something so little, not even for this predicament," you said, "Got a problem or something that my skills can be used for?"

"I'm sure I can think of something."

He let you get off the speeder first to adjust your dress before getting off himself. You both kept each other arms lengths apart. Heat rose to your face thinking about how close his back had been between your legs. You did not and would not like this man. Eyes on the prize, finish this commission and get the creds then get hell away from this monster. No Boba Fett is a man, this commission is to prove that. He's not the boogie man, at least not any more.

He opened a door letting you go in first, the cantina nearly empty except for a few stragglers. He watched them eye you then back at him with a nod of respect. You walked up to the bar hoping he wasn't going to follow you. You noticed him hovering the door and you smirked.

You slide in the stool seat, "Whiskey, double," you told the bar droid, who dropped a shot glass in front of you and poured it. You slammed it back and tapped for another.

"I'd hate to see you on a bad day," Boba laughed joining her after eyeing everyone again to see if any one was going to make a move. Given most of the men in here were older then him he was pretty confident that no one going to given she also came in here with the Daimyo.

"This?" You said lifting the third shot, "is barely the appetizer for today."

"The same, sir?" The droid asked him.

"Yes."

Both of you sat in silence, while Boba caught up on the shots. He watched you down a couple more, the tipsiness finally started to show. The warm glow of alcohol spread across your face, wondering if you always looked just as a beautiful regardless.

"Might want to slow down, little one," he said eyeing her twitch trying to focus, "You don't look like it would be a fair fight." He watched her pull out a blaster and bull-eye a painting on the wall. He tossed some credits to the droid as an apology, "How did you get so good?" He asked wondering if the circumstances were different he if he could convince you to stay.

"Practicing praying one day I would get a chance to kill you and everyone else associated with my father," you admitted, "I looked for you in every shadow praying and our paths would cross.. then you fell into the Sarlacc a few orbitals ago. I realized if I could not kill you... I could kill the idea of you and prove you don't have to have Fett running in your veins to be good." You felt the few horrified gawking stares at the disrespect and contempt laced words coming out of your mouth. The whiskey had loosened your lips a little further then you intended, "That that counts as your one personal question of the day."

"I do also get one personal question?" He asked taking his last shot knowing he was going to have to drive both of you back.

"It's only fair," you said sliding the shot glass back to the droid, "done." You said cutting yourself off knowing your mouth was only going to get worse. "I may have had to many." You admitted.

You stared into Boba's eyes, counting the shades but the slight double vision made it difficult, "five or six" you muttered pulling your eyes away, "color shades in your eyes. Can't tell right now."

"You're drunk," he laughed, "let's go home, little one."

"Stop calling me that, old man."

Boba scooped you up and put you over his arm like a nap sack, "That's enough out of you." He tried setting you down realizing you were asleep. He carefully set you in his lap holding you with a vice grip as he drove one handed back to the palace. He saw Fennec doing her patrol and shook his head carrying you inside and setting you on his bed. He looked at you debating if he wanted to have Fennec come in and change you but doubted she'd be there right when you woke up to explain. He carefully pulled off the blaster and set it besides you. He grabbed a bantha hide and curled up on his armoire couch, looking at you more time wondering the type of person you were under all of that hurt.

You felt the sun shining in your eyes, Wait my room is opposite of the sun, you took in your surroundings the various artwork on the walls and target practice posters. Fett’s room? You looked over and saw the closet still open with several flight suits. Your head was pounding but you got up feeling for your blaster finding it laying next to you. At least I’m still in my dress. You scurried back to your room munching down some of the fruit arrangement and black melon which helped. You opted for pants discarding all of the dresses back into your bags, Never again. You tapped on the refresher door when there was no reply you opened the door and quickly did your business. Leaving the refresher you found Fennec standing outside your bedroom door.

“Good morning,” you offered opening the door letting her in.

“All of the supplies are in a work room for you, along with food, one hall over with the blue door.”

“Thank you,” you said still trying to dry your hair, “You guys wouldn’t happen to have a shooting range or something?” You asked noticing the rifle slung on her back.

“Two halls over down the stairs behind the orange door.”

“Thank you again,” you said putting the towel around your shoulders.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“No. I don’t know why either of you would need me for anything but if I’m not in this room or the work room, you’ll probably find me in the range.”

She nodded quietly backing out of the room, Friend or Foe? rung through her head. The exchange had been minimal but she didn’t see a gundark waiting to strike which alarmed her further. I’m a good judge of character, but I still can’t answer that question.

Fennec found Boba sitting on the throne, “How was your patrol?”

“A couple hooligans needed a stern talking too, that’s all.”

“She’s awake. She’s been informed the supplies have arrived and where her work room is, inquiring if we hand a range and I told her where to find it.”

“Good.”

“Is something on your mind Boba?” Fennec said noticing the short answers.

“Thinking about something she said. Wondering if my past has caught to me and if this is my undoing.”

“I can get more guards-”

“That won’t stop someone on our level. She no longer seems to want revenge, old man,” he said shaking his head “I want to know what she really wants with the commission.”

“Have you tried asking?” she suggested half heartedly.

“No but that would be my personal question of the day,” he muttered getting up to head to the work room, “summon me when our guest arrive.”

Fennec arched an eyebrow but nodded. You had various sketch pads out using them to sketch quick ideas how the portrait should look using various compositions with shadow and foreground and background ideas along with one or two the rancor was in too.

“Come see what you think” you asked hearing the door open, you looked back to see you were correct that it was him.

“That one.”

“Consider it yours.” You smirked throwing the sentence back at him, tearing the other ones out and set them to the side to dispose of later, “Is there something I can help you with?” you noticing him not leaving.

“What do you have so much riding on this commission?” He asked.

“Pride.”

“That isn’t much an answer.”

“Does it count as your personal question of the day?”

“No.”

“Than that’s the answer you’re going to have to live with,” you said eying him taking a seat.

You don’t know how long it had been until Fennec stuck her head in, “Daiymo, they have arrived.”

Boba excused himself to leave you to your art. The next few days where like that. Quiet. Every day his chair got a little closer until he was sitting next to you. Time to time he would stop to ask you questions about art, your favorite things to draw and other various things about you biding time for you to ask him question. It was a nice little routine as much as you despised him it became to comfortable. You eventually took to sleeping during day and working on the piece during the night as an excuse not to have to see him. You missed the company but every morning Fennec joined you at the range. It was small talk mostly but it helped dull the loneliness. Fennec left earlier this morning to go take care of an errand, leaving you alone in this big palace. Given some of the guards didn’t speak beside your only reprieve was the animal in the pit. You found your way to the Rancor kneeling before it, offering it a large slab of meat staying in routine of the past couple days. You smiled as the Rancor finally accepted your status as below him.

“Where is she? She’s not in her room or painting,” you heard Boba say concerned, stifling your laughter.

“She hasn’t left the palace-” Fennec said looking down hearing you.

“Someone’s losing their touch, old man. You know I ride yet you didn’t look down?” You huffed disappointment, finally getting to scratch the Rancor’s cheek, “I don’t recommend putting leash on me however, I bite.”

“I can’t even pet him,” Fennec said staring, “and I live here,” she muttered.

“Rancor respond to a social hierarchy and as I have no interest in staying, I made sure he knew he was the boss of me. Unlike me, Fennec you scream predator which is why he doesn’t respond to you. You have to be both hunter and prey,” you said standing up and wiping the dirt off your butt, “being a one sided blade only gets you so far, it’s those who are two that survive.”

Boba looked at you noticing how seamless the Mandalorian philosophy rolled off your tongue with such an easy explanation. Boba eyes trailed after you pinning. He was use to every woman throwing themselves at him having his selection of whatever fascinated him that evening. Even as Daimyo women fanned over his power and wealth having to let down several mothers trying to sell off their daughters to him.

“Well, I got my painting in for the evening so I had to wait for that to dry. I’m going to go the Cantina before going to bed,” you stared at the paint you missed on your foreheads and elbows, “after I apparently shower. Again,” you groaned walking off grumbling about paint and how it always ends up in weird places.

“You like her don’t you?” Fennec asked smiling watching his eyes trail after her, “Old man,” she said wiggling her eyebrows, “You’ve killed people for less.”

“She… reminds me of another time. I think I’ll accompany her discreetly. No need to follow.”

You shower daring to wear a flowing dresses with two discreet slide slits that overlapped to hide the thigh holsters, “At least I can ride a speeder in this.” You found Boba standing outside the door waiting. His molten gazing temporarily holding you in place, “I figured I’d give you a ride.”

“I am quite capable of getting there on my own,” you said inserting your independence staring back at him.

“You are… quiet the capable woman,” he said noting the heighten chemistry today, “but I need the speeder today.”

You looked at this features feeling sick about how in depth you studied every scar, crease, shape of his nose and the depths of his skin, “Fine, let’s go,” you said looking away first, “but I’m driving, can’t risk crashing in this dress,” you said doing the best to ignore the tension that has been slowly building since you met him and the playful banter he allowed you to get away with. Just awhile longer.

He waved his arm forward, “Lead the way.”

“You haven’t asked your question today,” you asked glancing him.

“I’m sure it will come to me before you go to bed. You haven’t either.”

“I’ll let you know when I have one,” you said tossing your legs over the speeder realizing this was the worse idea you ever had but you didn’t want to have to explain changing your mind. You felt him climb on, you took a quick silent intake of air when you felt his cod piece nuzzled up to your ass. He gently wrapped his arms around you placing each hand on your hip. You bit your lip and turned on the speeder taking it near full speed to the bustling cantina. Boba was like the sun of Tatooine pressing against your back and his gloves pressing you where felt like heaven wishing you could take them for your self. Getting off the speedier for a split second you could feel the cod piece rub against your ass. I need some company because that isn’t happening.

“Take this,” he said tossing you a device, “Call me when your ready to get picked up,” although I don’t intend to let you be here alone. Boba took the speeder around giving it the appearance that he left before letting himself inside through the side door. His eyes spotting you at the counter with a shot in hand. You took himself to an empty booth a distance away tucking away his helmet and covering his armor to blend in. The droid brought him over a drink when he saw a man slide into the stool next to you. Boba blinked because the man was about his age. Anger starting boiling over when he saw him put hand on your leg watching you light up and smile at him.

“What is a goddess like you doing in a temple like this at this hour?” the man asked.

You smiled at the comment, “Hopefully enjoying some company for a bit,” you dared, watching him put his hand on your leg.

“I don’t mind keeping you company,” he said ordering to drinks.

He’s no Boba Fett, but he’s still cute to look at. You mentally scolded yourself for thinking such thing. Both of you chatted the conversation coming easy, there was no playing coy or calculated responses it made you miss having company because Fennec and Boba weren’t quiet conversationalist. You felt eyes at the back of your neck, you scowled for a second realizing it was probably Fennec keeping an eye on you or someone under here.

“What is it?” He asked concerned.

“Oh it’s nothing, I lost my train of thought.”

Boba watched every action his jaw setting tighter and tighter. He watched as the man leaned in kissed her. Boba’s gripping on the shot glass caused it to break. Your head turned again and you saw broken glass but not the person sitting in the shadows. Just a coincidence. Right as you started to lean back in you saw him pulling his hand away from your drink and a whipcord shoot out dragging him to the dark booth.

“Bantha Fodder,” you heard the growl from a familiar gravel sounding man, watching him step out in the shadows.

“Caraya’s Soul Fett! For kriff’s sake,” your blood ran cold for a moment staring at the helmet the man wired on the ground before taking out the blaster and shooting the man, “I get it he was going to drug me, but did you really have to stalk me? I could have handled it on my way,” you said putting the blaster away and getting in his face. You stuck your finger on his chest and gave him a small push, “I don’t need to be babysat let alone by you of all people.”

Boba looked down shot him again watching him disintegrate into dust, “You were saying?”

“I guess we’re even now,” you huffed pulling your finger off him watching retract the wire and putting his arms in front him. “I’m going to a different cantina, this time don’t follow me.”

You tossed a couple creds down on the table and leaving hearing his foot steps behind you and the heat from his gaze boring into the back of your back. You whirled around to find him standing there with his hands still in front him.

“I said don’t follow me,” you watched him talk a few steps towards you standing face to face, face to helmet.

“I am the Daimyo, I go where I want.”

“That is exactly why I don’t want you here! No one will talk to me or even look at me when your around. You know what it’s like to sit in silence alone for hours! I hate it.”

“Why don’t you talk to me?” he taking off his helmet, stepping forward pinning you in place with his gaze.

You saw the dilation in his eyes and his uneven breathing, “That’s why.” Feeling heat rush through you and your legs stared feeling like jello under his gaze. You could felt the heat go to your head, your mind emptying but conflicted if you want to kiss him or kiss him your knuckles. You knew your eyes had the same hazy expression thinking about when you found him in the towel, the water and muscle. You weakly stepped back ripping your eyes off of him, dizzily turning around trying to your legs under you. “This is business,” you said finally getting them moving, “Get a concubine or something,” you snipped, “isn’t that what Daimyo’s do.”

“I don’t want one” you heard him whisper.

“I don’t want you too either,” you gritted out not hearing foot steps behind you.

#boba fett!sh #boba fett smut #boba fett x you #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett #boba fett x reader #book of boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fic #boba fett x reader smut #star wars fan fiction #star wars smut #starwars smut #starwars mandalorian #book of boba fett smut #the book of boba fett #the book of boba fett fanfic #book of boba fett fanfic

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ifbrd · 7 months

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This is probably a little bit of a hot take, but hear me out:

Wakko is actually the most confident of all three Warner siblings.

I understand why Wakko being the least confident is a more common interpretation. I mean consider how you think each kid would react if individually pulled aside and told the harshest criticisms of themselves, specifically about aspects of themselves that mean a a lot to them. How do you think each kid would react in that scenario? For me, I see Dot getting annoyed and walking away at best, and going full on homicidal at worst. Yakko, for me kinda depends on if we’re talking the original or the reboot. The original I can see him having a similar reaction to Dot, but less extreme and more based on wit and outsmarting, in the reboot I can see him having to fight back an anxiety attack. Wakko however, idk about the rest of you, but I see him getting teary eyed and upset. So it does make sense that Yakko and Dot would be perceived as the confident ones who simply get back at whomever gave the criticisms and then moving on, while Wakko seems more likely to break down a little from it. But to me, it’s this exact thing that could demonstrate the opposite, that Wakko is very confident in himself, while his siblings might be feeling more insecure.

Consider this, regardless of how confident you are, receiving harsh criticisms, or being told someone doesn’t like you or whatever will still sting a bit. It’s normal to be upset by something like that, and it must be worse when you’re a child star like the Warners are. Being confident overall doesn’t make you immune to being insecure, especially when you’re a kid still figuring out who you are. Wakko seems to be the one most in tune with his emotions, the one most likely to express the emotions he feels at any given time. If Wakko feels upset because he’s feeling insecure, he has his reaction, he lets himself be upset, and then he gets over it. He seems more insecure because he’s getting upset, but he’s just being honest and letting himself be a person with emotions.

Meanwhile, Yakko and Dot seem to exude confidence. Someone insults them and they seem to know the insulter is wrong and get their revenge and call it a day. But I’m here to argue that these behaviors of Yakko and Dot aren’t confidence, they’re a show, a self defense mechanism, a mask of confidence to hide insecurity. Personally, with the reboot, particularly episodes like the Halloween special, I don’t think I need explain this interpretation for Yakko, but I do feel compelled to argue this interpretation for Dot. Dot is great and she knows it, and she’ll likely angrily mallet your face flat if you dare to suggest otherwise. Not to get all Dr. Scratchansniff on everyone, but anger is considered a secondary emotion. We feel anger to give us energy to deal with something, something that another emotion has deemed important. Go from feeling terrified to angry? That’s your emotions trying to get you to act in a way that protects you from the threat. So if Dot’s gut reaction to someone thinking lesser of her than she thinks of herself is to get angry, it’s likely because there’s another underlying emotion there, likely feeling threatened or insecure. Same argument goes for Yakko, though it seems clear from the Halloween special of the reboot that his underlying emotion is probably anxiety.

Basically what I’m getting at is Wakko does the healthy thing, let’s himself feel the emotions, and then he moves on, whereas Yakko and Dot don’t express what they’re feeling, put up veils of “everything is fine this person is just dumb and I’m gonna make sure they know that,” and then move on without actually having taken care of or properly addressed their hurt.

And honestly, Wakko being more secure with himself actually makes a lot sense considering the roles each of them play in their dynamic. Yakko is the oldest, he’s the leader, he’s expected to know what to do next, so he needs to be confident, even if it’s all an act. Dot is the only girl, she has to be the representation for girls and women, and she’s clearly is a feminist who wants to inspire, but how can she do that if she’s not confident? How can she inspire women, and especially young girls, to be confident if she is not perfectly confident herself? And then there’s Wakko. Wakko’s job is to show up and be goofy and silly. He’s not the oldest having to make decisions, and he’s not representing an entire group of people. Wakko might even have some middle child syndrome going on (suggested by Yakko in the Survey Ladies episode of the original), which might be frustrating at times, but also means he can easily fade into the background and not many people care. He can sit back and do what he wants and everyone’s just kinda like “there’s Wakko being Wakko”

So yeah, I think between their roles and Wakko’s healthier way of dealing with things, I think Wakko is chill and sure of himself, while Yakko and Dot are likely overcompensating in their confidence.

#Animaniacs #yakko wakko and dot #Yakko Warner #Wakko Warner #dot Warner #also I think Wakko is aware that he’s more confident than his siblings #which is why I’m the be like me song he stated he’ll always stand up for his ‘mates’#a line wakko sung while his siblings were being teased #idk just random idea I had and I wanted to share with everyone #Wakko needs more love

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simlit · 1 year

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Chosen of the Sun | | portal // eighty-three

| @sani-sims

QUEST PROGRESS: A Feminine Touch | Åse, Eira and Eve must invite Kyrie on a date. 3/3 dates completed

next / previous / beginning

KYRIE: Ah, it’s starting. EVE: They’re so beautiful. What is the dance about? KYRIE: The dance is meant to represent a different time. A delicate world, before elves, before all of us. When spirits walked the forests. Without words, without hate and fear, and they danced and sang songs and were utterly free. EVE: It sounds peaceful. KYRIE: It sounds like make believe. EVE: What a wonderful performance. Thank you, for giving me the opportunity to see it. KYRIE: It’s the least I could do. I’m sure some peace and quiet is a good enough reprieve after a trial, but I think you should be better rewarded for your successes. EVE: Then, so should you. I can’t imagine it’s easy being in your position. KYRIE: Well, someone must, I suppose. EVE: That’s right, you said you never wanted to lead the trials. But you never told me about… Well, you never told me that difficult story. KYRIE: Another time, perhaps. I don’t want to ruin a perfectly good night. EVE: You needn’t feel compelled to tell me, Your Grace. Only, I wish I could do more to help you. KYRIE: I’d like to tell you. In fact, maybe there’s no one better to tell. But… I know what’s to come, and adding my burdens onto you, or anyone else here is something I simply can’t abide. However, I would ask of you one favor. EVE: Of course, what is it? KYRIE: Perhaps you’d call me by my name. Titles are so formal. EVE: Your name? Well, if you’d prefer. KYRIE: I can hardly imagine you addressing anyone so casually. EVE: Really? Do you think me so strict? KYRIE: Strict? No, I think you very proper. Completely different. EVE: Well then, I will have to do something that entirely surprises you. KYRIE: Oh, I think you’re full of surprises. EVE: Though, maybe you’d prefer someone— something more exciting? KYRIE: Someone more exciting? EVE: I… KYRIE: No, Eve. I like you perfectly the way you are.

#ts4 #ts4 screenshots #ts4 story #sims story #ts4 bachelor challenge #chosen of the sun #oc: kyrie loren #cc: eve ravenclaw-silvermoon

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i-was-bored-so-this-happened · 2 months

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Greensleeves Chapter Six: Figure It Out

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Warnings: None Wordcount: 4.9k

Astarion tries to get the measure of Xaph. The party find a githyanki woman in a cage. Gale feels compelled to share important information. Shadowheart is unimpressed with the lot of them

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

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Astarion is early to rise, quick to wake, as always. A single delicious ray of sun slants yellow light across his white shirt. The novelty has yet to wear off. It would be on his face if he weren’t half-in-half-out of his new tent. This must be what snakes feel like when they emerge from their burrows, find a hot stone and refuse to move further until they’re practically burning. He cannot allow himself that sort of luxury. It could be suspicious. Roughly a third of the tieflings are still sleeping when he rises to his feet. Shadowheart is sitting in the same position he’d last seen her, as though she hasn’t moved all night, and Gale is stretched out almost starfish-style like he has all the space in the world. He’s lucky that the tiefling girl has already vacated her bedroll and packed it up. She strikes Astarion as a child who would have no qualms kicking a grown-up awake. While he’s thinking of the tieflings though, isn’t that where Xaph had slept? She’s nowhere to be seen. Nor is the Blade of Frontiers, or the children. Not his concern. His concern is that all these bodies being so close is getting to him. He picks his way through them, taking the shortest route. This puts him next to the ramshackle training ground where they’d found Wyll yesterday. And this is where he finds Wyll again. Wyll, Xaph, and the children. Xaph is standing behind a tiefling who looks to be around twenty human years. Her hands are on his shoulders as she assesses his stance,

“Your balance is off.” She knocks his feet further apart with one of her own. A well-practiced move, Astarion notes. He’ll have to remember that. She manoeuvres the tiefling into a better position that secures him to the ground and covers his ribs. “Try again.”

“Step. Parry. Strike.” The tiefling’s hit lands true, sinking into the target dummy’s side, where the soft flesh of a waist would be. Xaph’s hands hit his shoulders again as she smiles. She keeps her mouth closed when she smiles, but her sharp eye-teeth push against her lip.

“Good! Good, Guex,” an unfortunate name with an unpleasant sound, “Word to the wise, don’t shout out your moves. Gives the game away.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you,” The young tiefling leans forward and reaches for something behind the dummy, “Here. I found this on the road. Suppose you’ll put it to better use than I would.” A battleaxe. The silly besotted thing is giving her a battleaxe for showing him how to hit an inanimate object. They really are strange creatures. Still, Xaph thanks him. Or at least, Astarion thinks she does. He doesn’t understand the word she says, but it seems grateful. Guex returns to his practice, and Xaph hops down from the wooden platform to put her new prize away.

“Astarion!” She sounds…happy? “Good morning!” Not dwelling on her cool rebuff of him last night, clearly. Her shirt is too big for her, and the laces have come undone in the night. She has those ridges on her sternum that most tieflings do, he can see the first few disappearing beneath the fabric. She moves between the sleeping tieflings with none of Astarion’s careful care, but the several who do wake simply roll back over again. She sets the battleaxe by her pack and returns to his side. Her eyes search his, but only for a brief moment before she settles her gaze on the children. “They’re not fighters.”

“That’s abundantly clear, my dear.”

“Figured I should at least,” her shoulders shrug as she folds her arms, “Try to help prepare them, I guess.”

“And you’re a good fighter, would you say?” Astarion asks, mimicking the gesture. Mirroring is always a good tactic. Makes them feel in sync.

“Did we not kill goblins yesterday?” Xaph asks, wincing as a child trips.

“I recall I had to kill several for you.” Astarion points out, goading her. Her head turns to him with a snap. Just like he wanted.

“One. One goblin.” Xaph corrects. It’s a sore point. Good.

“Not to mention I had you on your back before I even knew your name.” He dares to edge just that little bit closer, without breaching the bubble of personal space enforced by horns. Xaph’s lips part in indignation, and her tongue is shockingly pink against navy-blue skin.

“What is it the patriars do, when they’re offended and they feel melodramatic?” Xaph asks, but he can sense she doesn’t really want an answer. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see her arms unfolding. She’s wearing gloves, soft woollen ones with the fingers cut off, and she pulls one of these off. It smacks into his shoulder, not with any real noise or impact. A challenge. To a duel. He’s already won.

“Oh? Daggers or swords?” Both are readily available.

“Quarterstaffs.” Xaph decides, pulling two out of a nearby barrel that’s full of the stout pieces of wood.

“Sticks.” Astarion protests.

“And a sword is a pointy stick.” Xaph counters.

“Not my weapon.”

“Or mine,” with a flick of the wrist the quarterstaff turns smoothly in her hand before she offers it to Astarion, “Makes it fair.”

“You could fool me.” Astarion says, but he takes the stick. She turns her back on him. Draws a mark in the ground with her staff, then walks twenty paces and makes another mark. She connects the lines in a wide circle. Stands as far away from him as she can, and holds out the staff. It becomes an extension of her, perfectly lined up with her arm up until the slight bend of her elbow. Astarion mirrors the pose, and they begin to walk.

Gale wakes to a lot more sound. Wood against wood, insult against quip, the giggling of children. He’s almost entirely alone in the sleeping quarters of the tieflings, and picks himself up quickly in hopes that no one’s payed enough attention to him to notice. He’s in luck. Many of the tieflings have returned to the packing up of their lives. Another squad seems to have been sent to petition Kagha. A small group, mostly children and young adults, are clustered around the wooden training ground. Voices that are quickly becoming familiar to him rise above their heads. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he moves towards the sound and finds Shadowheart. She’s already in her armour, her hair meticulous - she must have redone it this morning.

“What’s happening?”

“I’m just glad they’ve stopped circling like jackals,” Shadowheart jerks her chin towards the sound of wood hitting flesh, “Though I’m not sure what the point of the exercise is.”

Xaph and Astarion are at the centre of a large circle drawn in the dirt, whacking each other with lengths of wood. No, wait, quarterstaffs, much like Gale’s own. Still simply pieces of wood, in most respects. Waiting more, he sees that it’s less them trying to brain each other and more something else. A tricky real-time puzzle each of them is trying to solve first. Wyll, standing with the children’s teacher, looks to be torn between refereeing the duel and pulling the pair apart. Xaph is barefoot and her sleeves are rolled so Gale can see every muscle in her arms as she moves with the staff. Her fingers twist one after another after another to keep the staff turning, turning, turning, fast enough to shield her from Astarion’s blows. Astarion, whose eyebrows keep pinching and his nose keeps twitching until he feints, side-steps, striking at just the opportune moment when Xaph switches hands and elbowing her side in that place that makes her double over.

“Cheat.”

“Stickler.”

Xaph recovers well and smacks her staff into Astarion’s back as soon as she has the opportunity, which makes him stumble and allows her to kick in his knees. Or at least try to. He’s got a good grip on his own staff, and uses it to bat her foot away as he turns. Before Gale can really process, they’re locked together, a knot of sticks and arms, until one of them kicks the other and they tip too far over for either of them to recover. The wooden planks shake underfoot at the impact of their combined body weight. Some of the tiefling children cheer, and some of them groan. A small girl with a strip of fabric tied around her head to obscure one of her eyes slinks through them collecting pieces of gold. Xaph rolls away from Astarion once she’s caught her breath and settles on her knees, chest heaving. She’s smiling. When she stands she offers Astarion a hand, but he gets to his feet on his own. He does however concede to a businesslike handshake.

The tieflings start to disperse, Xaph reaching out to ruffle a little boy’s hair as he passes. Astarion pushes his staff into Xaph’s hand with something of a smirk, as though he’d won. A child shouts to her and she obliges him, starting to spin the staffs. One in each hand. Much slower than she had been with one, but the movements are fluid enough that after a minute or so she can swap hands without too much of a hiccup. The child is herded back to his own target practice and Xaph deposits the quarterstaffs in their barrel. Her tail is moving again, and Gale can’t think of a better word for it than wagging, quick swipes back and forth. In dogs that indicates happiness, and it seems to be the same of tieflings.

“Are you quite done?” Shadowheart asks, eyebrows raised and arms folded.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying to grab some fun where she can, Shadowheart.” Xaph says, linking her hands and pushing them up into the air to stretch.

“Believe me, I can,” Shadowheart deadpans, “We need to move on.” She casts a sidelong glance at Gale, still in his sleep clothes. Everyone in the party is still in sleep clothes but her.

“You’re right.” Xaph nods, “Aradin and his mates left in the night, apparently. Pricks,” some of her knuckles crack and pop as she works her fingers, “But if we run into them, they can show us the way to the goblin camp,” her eyes slide away from Shadowheart when she sees Arabella picking up the battleaxe Guex had given her, “Muzz-”

***

Irritation is rankling Shadowheart’s features further than ever before. The party had managed to gather themselves quickly, that wasn’t the issue, but Wyll had been late to the gate and brought news that turned Shadowheart’s lips in disgust. A couple of tieflings had come across a githyanki caught in a goblin trap, and Xaph was convinced it was the woman who had helped them to crash the nautiloid. Even if it isn’t her, she’d pointed out, it’s hardly right to leave her there. Shadowheart and Astarion had been outvoted. The party, now with Wyll, were moving in the opposite direction from where they needed to go.

“It’s not far.” Wyll had assured them, and it wasn’t, but it wasn’t the distance that was the issue.

There she was. The gith woman. Suspended in a crude wooden cage with a face like thunder. If looks could kill, there would be no survivors.

“Zorru was right. Yellow as a toad, and twice as ugly.” There’s one of the tieflings, deep in conversation with another. Shadowheart vaguely recollects the name Zorru as someone she’d been introduced to last night.

“The thing’s dangerous,” the other tiefling reasons, “Leave it for the goblins to kill.”

“Damays!” Wyll strides forward without hesitation. The woman startles, but the man rests a hand on her arm to calm her and waves at Wyll.

“The Blade of Frontiers,” he replies, though he doesn’t move to meet the party, “Have you ever killed a gith?”

Shadowheart can’t keep her attention on the idle conversation Wyll entertains, not when Xaph’s head twitches violently and her horn rings against the blade of the battleaxe now strapped to her back. She’d managed to coax it out of Arabella’s sticky fingers with only minor bribery. The worm situated at the base of Shadowheart’s skull corkscrews, then pushes forward. Yearning for contact. She follows Xaph’s line of sight up to the cage, to where the githyanki has speared the ranger with her gaze.

Get me down. Speech. No, not quite. The githyanki’s lips haven’t moved, yet her words echo in Shadowheart’s skull. In Xaph’s. Their worms have connected again. They can recognise one another. Communicate. And the gith has already mastered the art. Xaph’s voice, as thin as thread, pushes through the mental link.

I will. Just wait.

“Remember how keen she was to leave me to die on that nautiloid? We can’t trust her.” Shadowheart doesn’t even try to test the mental link. She doesn’t want anyone in her head. Besides, from here it’s unlikely the gith will be able to hear what she’s saying.

“But she didn’t,” Xaph says firmly. She and Shadowheart have butted heads too many times to be entirely at ease with, but neither one of them risks escalating disagreements, “And she’s infected. Like us.” As if any of them need the reminder. Shadowheart has neither the time nor the space for sympathy. It’s not a muscle she has cause to exercise. When no one replies, Xaph moves forward to join Wyll and the tieflings.

“What did I tell you about rangers and strays?” Astarion asks, his words as light and carefree as a seed flying on the wind, “And there’s no accounting for taste. She did pick you and the wizard, after all.”

“Ours was a mutual agreement, unlike your death threats,” Shadowheart hisses back, “And she saved my life. I owe her.”

“As do I,” Gale adds. It’s perhaps the shortest sentence he’s uttered over the course of their acquaintance, “Though I think she’s a better judge of character than you give her credit for, Astarion.” Ah. He wasn’t done.

“Nonsense. She’s been living up in the mountains for gods know how long and she talks to pigs.” Astarion waves a dismissive hand.

“Why linger, then? You seem confident in your ability to handle yourself out here in the wilds.”

“Oh, because I want to watch the shitshow, darling.”

Between them, Xaph and Wyll manage to convince the tieflings that the gith is no threat and to return to the grove. The party huddle together again, and Xaph cups her hands around her mouth to call to the woman in the cage,

“Are you alright?”

“Release me. Or enjoy a future as ghaik.” The word is harsh and guttural and she is very good at being threatening.

“What…what’s that?” Xaph asks.

“Mind flayers. The atrocities we are becoming.”

“Ah. Right.”

It doesn’t take long to find the rope that is keeping the wooden cage suspended in the air, but the githyanki is less than grateful when she’s released.

“The tadpole hasn’t yet scrambled all your senses. Auspicious,” her voice is low and full of gravel, as it had been on the nautiloid, and Xaph suspects it must always sound like this, “But the longer we wait, the more it consumes.”

“You're welcome,” Xaph says, hands on hips, “Are you injured?”

“My people possess the cure for this infection. I must find a creche. You will join me.”

“A creche?” Xaph repeats. She knows the word, but she associates it with young animals being cared for by a community of elders. Probably not exactly what this woman means.

“Careful,” Shadowheart warns under her breath, “She obviously sees your kindness as weakness. Don’t let her take advantage.”

“A creche is many things. A hatchery. A training grounds. A shelter. Githyanki protocol is clear: when infected with a ghaik tadpole, we must report to a ghustil for purification.” Xaph has not met many githyanki before, and those she has come across have been watched from a distance rather than met, but she knows they’re a strictly militaristic people and that comes across in this gith’s choice of words.

“Alright. Journey with us. We can keep an eye out for a creche.” Xaph tells her.

“This isn’t wise.” Shadowheart says, but that is her only complaint. She can’t deny that the githyanki is a fierce warrior and a survivor, she had proved as much on the nautiloid, and she seems to know the most about mind flayers in the group. Besides Gale, maybe, but his knowledge is more theoretical whereas the githyanki have been battling illithid for centuries.

“You have made an ally from Creche K’liir. Few know such fortune. Call me Lae’zel.”

“Xaph, of the Sunset Mountains. Gale of Waterdeep,” Xaph indicates each member of her group, “Astarion and Wyll of Baldur’s Gate, and you know Shadowhea-”

“It matters not what crevice of this place you crawled out of.”

“Well met indeed.” Wyll remarks, and the distinct indifference does not pass the party’s notice. It’s the furthest from jovial they’ve heard him yet.

“I’ll trust your judgement, but I won’t trust her,” Shadowheart tells Xaph. She agrees with Gale and does trust Xaph, to an extent, but that doesn’t mean she has to make friends, “Not until I get the measure of her.” Xaph nods to indicate her acceptance of this.

“You’ve a sharp tongue, elf. Would that your mind proved its equal.” Lae’zel pokes.

“Half-elf. I suppose the finer details are lost on a creature like you.” Shadowheat pokes back. No one steps in, not yet. Some of them aren’t sure about the githyanki either, some of them think it’s better to let Shadowheart get this out now rather than let it boil over. The gith lets it pass, at least.

“The horned ones mentioned a camp. One there - this Zorru - has seen githyanki,” Xaph glances at Wyll, because she recognizes the name Zorru and can see he does too, “A creche must be near. We will ask this Zorru where he has seen my kin.”

“Back to the grove then, I suppose.” Astarion sighs.

“Better to go now than have to travel back once further afield.” Gale tells him. Shadowheart can tell that the group has made up their mind without her, so she doesn’t protest when they turn back to the grove.

The tiefling on guard at the gate is a little confused when the party she’d let out only a few hours before return with an extra member.

“Couldn’t get enough of us, mad-meph?” she calls, leaning over the ramparts. She’d taken over for the young tiefling who’d died yesterday. Kanon. His sister had spent most of last night crying, and none of them had wanted to approach her. This tiefling woman seems in good spirits, if a little forced, “Or did you bring us more goblins?”

“Mragreshem,” Xaph calls back, “We found a githyanki, she wants to talk to Zorru.”

“Githyanki? One of them killed Yul.”

“She’s with us. She causes trouble, I’ll deal with it.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Lae’zel mutters, but the tiefling doesn’t hear this and cranks the mechanism that opens the gates with a shout that Zorru should be near the barn. That is where they find him, only minorly waylaid by concerned tieflings wondering why they’re back so soon and some casting wary glances at Lae’zel. She doesn’t notice this, or doesn’t care, and strides purposefully a half-step ahead of the others though she doesn’t know where she’s going. She could have found Zorru by herself, because the second he sees her he starts trembling.

“My friend’s blood not enough? Come to split me open too?” He asks, trying to fake bravado and failing, a defensive hand already in front of him.

“In Creche K’liir, a formal greeting begins with a bow.” Lae’zel’s voice is level and firm. An order.

“Lae’zel!”

“I hate to say I told you so-” Shadowheart starts.

“No you don’t.” Astarion argues.

“-but I did tell you.”

“Show some sympathy, Lae’zel. These people are terrified of more than you.” Xaph tells her.

“Has the tadpole ravaged your senses? Sympathy will not lead us to purity.” Lae’zel snaps, fists forming at her sides.

“Enough,” Xaph’s voice is as tight as her bowstring. Lae’zel is about to learn the lesson of don’t badmouth tieflings that Shadowheart and Kagha had yesterday, “Stand down. I won’t tell you again. He owes you no such respect.” Lae’zel makes a harsh sound between her teeth, tchk, but she steps back. Outnumbered. “Zorru?” the tiefling is still watching the githyanki, his eyes fixed on the sword pommel he can see at her shoulder, “Zorru, look at me,” he does, the familiar sight of horns making him relax a bit. An argument breaks out somewhere to the left…is that a goblin? “She won’t hurt you. I won’t let her. Damays told us you saw some githyanki. All we want to know is where,” she turns her head aside to ask Shadowheart for the map, “Can you show us?” Zorru nods, “Thank you. What’s going on in there?” Xaph points to where the distressed voices had come from.

“Arka caught a goblin.”

“Arka?”

“Kanon’s sister.” Zorru answers. Xaph says something in Infernal, and it seems to put him at ease. She presses a hand to his shoulder as she turns away from him to speak to her companions.

“Have him mark the location on the map,” she says, “And Shadowheart? Don’t let her hurt him. And don’t hurt her,” her eyes skip to Astarion, “No one hurt anyone, blanket statement. Wyll?”

“Got it.” Wyll nods. He seems the most trustworthy to keep the peace at the moment. Besides perhaps Gale, but Xaph asks him to accompany her so she isn’t going into this next situation both blind and alone. She leads him towards the angry voices, hidden behind a wooden fence and gate. Inside is a makeshift prison. An iron gate sealing off a crack in the rocks forms a cell, and a metal cage sits in the centre of the chamber. Sure enough, a goblin is jeering from behind those bars. Two tieflings stand outside the cage. One is holding a crossbow, and must be Arka.

“Y’aint gonna shoot me,” the goblin’s voice croaks, “Yer ‘ands are shaking.”

“Put it down,” the unarmed tiefling says, clearly repeating himself, “She can’t fight back.”

“That’s the point.” Arka growls, teeth bared as she readjusts the crossbow. Her stance is good, but her fingers are trembling. Her face still bears streaks from tears. “Get out of the way.”

“She didn’t kill your brother, Arka. You’re better than this.” Rage. Dangerous fuel for revenge.

“Shoot before you lose your nerve, tiefling,” the goblin taunts, “If you ever had it to begin with.” And she will. Xaph can see it in her eyes, burning gold against yellow skin. She passes Gale the bow she’s still holding, which he takes automatically, and she steps forward. Between the crossbow bolt and the goblin. The goblin sneers further, saying that an Absolute has sent her a protector. Xaph doesn’t pay attention to her. She isn’t the threat.

“Arka-”

“You. Out of the way!”

“I’m sorry about your brother. I’m sorry we couldn’t save him. But this is not the way to deal with it.”

“How dare you.” Arka’s tail whips to the side, sharp enough that Gale can imagine a snap noise, but he only sees it out of the corner of his eye as he watches Xaph. Her face is set, her feet rooted. Her own tail resolutely still.

“Would he want you to do this?” Xaph asks. For how hard and sharp she’d been with Lae’zel, for how firm her stance is now, her voice is soft. Sympathy. It may not lead them to purification from the tadpole, but perhaps to peace of mind and quieting of the heart. Gale could do with some of that. Xaph might be the best of his newfound companions to confide in. The one he knows the most, at least, not that he knows much. But she seems a good person, and that’s more than he can say for Astarion or Lae’zel. Arka has faltered. Her grip on the crossbow is loosening. Xaph holds out her hands, entreating the tiefling to surrender her weapon.

“Damn you. Damn it.” Arka drops the crossbow into Xaph’s waiting hands and wraps her arms tight around herself as fresh tears fall down her face. The other tiefling puts an arm over her shoulders, and mouths something at Xaph that must be grateful. Gale has to learn more Infernal if he’s going to be travelling with tieflings. “Why do you care if a goblin lives or dies?”

“Because she’s not a practice target. She’s a person.” Compassion rolls of Xaph in waves, practically visible. Maybe Astarion was onto something when he was complaining about strays. Not many would stand in front of a crossbow for a goblin.

“Can’t say I understand that. Not sure I want to.” Arka says, but her voice has shrunk. Rage within grief is possibly the strongest form of anger, but it tends to pass quickly. In flashes.

“Arka. Let’s go.” The other tiefling pulls at her shoulders until she turns and leaves with him. The stern expression on Xaph’s face flickers, but doesn’t drop. She looks to Gale, as though looking for approval of her decision to save the goblin.

“You did the right thing. Revenge has a habit of eating people alive.” He tells her. She sighs and swallows as she schools her expression and takes her bow back from him. Then, she faces the goblin.

“Ain’t sure why you protected me,” the goblin sniffs and wipes her nose on the length of her arm, “Don’t care, neither. It’s too late to make friends, worgmeat. My tribe’s coming. They’re gonna burn this pretty place for the glory of the Absolute,” that’s the second mention of Absolute, “And ‘ang ya by yer guts.” Well. Goblins aren’t exactly known for their charm.

“Who is the Absolute you’re so fond of? Your god?” Xaph asks. The goblin has that tone to her voice, that of a fresh fanatic.

“Goddess. We’re burnin’ her name across the face of the world, we are. The Absolute is gold from the sky, she is. The blessin’ in the storm an’ the storm itself.” Yes, these words carry a cadence Gale is intimately familiar with.

“I’ve no interest in blessings from gods,” Xaph’s arms fold with her words, “I’m interested in why your people are attacking this grove.”

“Get me out of ‘ere, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“I saved your life. I think I’ve filled my quota of favours for you. You’re at the mercy of the druids now.” Xaph turns her back as the goblin starts to spit insults and slurs of such a derogatory nature that Gale has to commend her for how small a reaction she has, little more than a twitch of the tail. As they leave the makeshift prison, Gale recalls a particularly entertaining memory,

“Believe it or not, but I witnessed a similar back at the Yawning Portal. Of course, an establishment like that invites all sorts of outlandish entertainments.” He cuts himself off when Xaph holds up a hand.

“Forgive me, Gale, but perhaps we can save anecdotes for later. We have slightly more pressing issues.” She tells him, and she’s gentle enough that he only takes a slight offence. They do indeed have more pressing issues. He has more pressing issues, but their other companions are in sight. If he’s going to confide in Xaph he has to do it now or wait until they make camp.

“Xaph,” he stops, and she pauses a few steps later when she realises he isn’t following her anymore, “Spare me a moment, if you please. I’ve something to discuss with you,” she opens her mouth and he knows what she’s going to say, “Not the Yawning Portal story.” She drifts back to him, and he’s grateful they’re out of earshot of their other companions. “Ever since you were kind enough to free me from that stone, I’ve seen you demonstrate remarkable guile and courage.”

“You don’t need to-”

“Please.” Xaph closes her mouth. “You’re defending your people. You saved that child, Arabella. You just stood in front of a crossbow to prevent a murder. In short, I’ve grown to trust you.” Xaph’s eyes narrow, just a little, trying to discern any underlying meaning, and her head tilts to the side when she finds none.

“I appreciate the sentiment, and I return it, but the flattery’s more than enough.” She tells him. Compliments have a habit of making her squirm.

“I was being quite sincere, I assure you. The reason I make a point of it is that there’s something, well, rather important I need to tell you,” he casts his eye about the grove, full of people, “Not here.” Xaph worries at her lip, at the corner where they join, for a moment.

“I understand,” she says slowly, deliberately, “We have to move on, but we can’t walk through the day. We’ll have to take a break. Find fresh water or boil some from the river. You could help me, see if you can find any more edible plants.” He understands the offer. A window of time out in the wilderness when the others are busy, tired, when it will be easy to separate themselves from the group. Privacy. Gale lets out a sigh of a breath and inclines his head in a mock bow,

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do for you now?” Xaph asks, and he almost smiles. Compassion. Sympathy. For how much longer will she look at him with such softness?

“Your trust is more than enough, for the moment.”

#rae's writing #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 oc #rae's ocs #xaph [tav]#greensleeves #astarion #shadowheart #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #lae'zel

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