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targaryenluvs · 4 months

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Can you make a fic with a dark coriolanus x reader

Post Lucy running away where he stays a peace keeper for some time and he helped reader avoid being picked for the games and he abuses his power as peace keeper against reader whom he helped and holds it over her head (she has no family but her friends are like family) and he does all types of fucked up stuff to her sexually and he fetishizes her for being a woc (reader is a woman of color) and he fetishizes her skin or something and he keeps saying all creepy stuff and he then marries her (after convincing her no one would want her after him) and parades her around and shows off to capitol ppl who also fetishize her and she becomes basically his property with a creepy nickname and you pick the ending

BROWN JEWEL

pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!poc!reader

summary: he was a lifeline and you’d grabbed on in hopes to avoid the reaping, but you were coriolanus’ obsession and he was not going to let you go.

warnings: obsession, abuse of power, nc touching, threats, forced marriage, fetishisation of skin color?? non-con (p in v), public sex, pregnancy, forced marriage, jealousy of infants? kisses, kinda stockholm/reader gives in

wordcount: 3.1k

a/n: audibly gasped reading this rq (i did change it around a bit since some of it i was unsure of how to write and if i felt comfy doing it) i went off track for sure

this was your last year for being involved with the reaping.

just tomorrow then you'd be in the clear for the rest of your life.

you had friends who relied on you, and their families which were practically your own. you’d been raised with them after your parents passed and you owed them your life. you were an amazing hunter and your game kept them going. you were skilled with hunting, medicine, literate because of your best friends mother. you helped them all in so many ways and you knew they needed you.

through your older years, you began to realise you weren’t exactly the same as your friends. their light skin and light eyes in contrast to your darker tones were always a reminder of your unshared bloodline. yet they never treated you any differently.

you had to live for them.

so it was how you ended up in the tree line by the peacekeepers barracks. hoping to bribe one into pulling your name from the bowl before it was placed infront of the justice building. what you didn’t expect was for a soldier to find you first.

“what’re you doing here?” he spoke from behind you as you stumbled to get up. “i... i wanted to talk to someone, to try and uhm, get them to do something for me.” he exuded confidence with his chin in the air and his grip on his gun. he obviously thought he was better than you. “what do you want me to do for you?” you sighed, “i was hoping, to get my name taken out of the reaping bowl.” he tilted his head, a smirk on his face and you wanted to peel your skin off with the way he was looking at you.

“come closer.” and you did, stepping into the moonlight. he found you to be gorgeous, glowing. “i’ll do it.” your eyes widened as you smiled, “thank you!” and he took a step closer to you, “but what will i get in return?”

and that’s when you should’ve run for the hills.

at the reaping ceremony, he coincidentally placed himself right next to your row. his stares were harsh on your back. your hands were sweating and you couldn’t think straight until that name was called, and it wasn’t yours.

“we’re safe.” your friend whispered into your ear as you smiled at her, “yeah, we are.” but for some reason you weren’t convinced. the peacekeeper was on you like a shadow ever since the day before. on the walk home he was following you and you knew it, but if you confronted him you had no clue what he’d do to you. so you felt it best to keep your head down, and get home. you didn’t expect for him to barge his way in.

“what’re you doing?” your voice was shaky and you could feel the perspiration on you, for someone reason this man made your body go haywire and you wanted to leave. “why? can’t i come see the pretty girl i saved?” your head was facing downwards as you began to mumble, “my names only in eight times, my odds were low anyways. a lot of people took tessera.” you heard him click his tongue, tutting and shaking his head in disagreement, “seven.”

he was right infront of you now, and as he bent down to whisper in your ear, you froze up, “i don’t do things for free y/n. when i want something from you, and i do, i will come to collect.” he held your face in his hand as you asked, “what’s your name?” he smiled, “coriolanus, but you can call me corio.” and he held you to it.

every time you saw him he’d be unbelievably smug.

even your friends noticed, “he keeps staring at you, that peacekeeper.” you were having a night out, your senses flooded with music and laughter. but not too far away was coriolanus, downing his beer. you shifted around before slyly looking his way. “it’s probably nothing. you know how these peacekeepers are. i think i’m going to head home.” you kissed her cheek before making your way out and to your home.

you were only a few minutes away when you took notice of the shadow behind you, lurking. “y/n.” you stopped in your tracks and turned his way. “corio.” he grinned at the nickname you used. his expression should've warned you, his words rung through your mind.

an intoxicated man was a dangerous one.

"when i want something from you, and i do, i will come to collect."

corio held you against the shabby wall as his hands held you in place. your pants swamped at your ankles as he rutted into you harshly. “stay quiet for me yeah?” your hands shoved at his chest but it seemed to be pointless.

“please, please corio not here.” coriolanus couldn’t bring himself to listen to you, and he sure as hell didn’t care if someone saw. what were they going to do? you were his, you needed to realise that. the quicker you did the easier it would be for you. your cries and protests went in one ear and out the other, “shh, i’ve got you. don’t worry.” he cooed, ignoring your pleas.

you felt humiliated, treated like trash. taken in an alleyway like a whore, as coriolanus continued on. your legs felt like jelly and your weight rested on the wall behind. his hands came up to lower your shirt, your breasts spilling out. “fuck, you’re made for me. all mine.” he groaned as he felt your walls tighten around his cock.

“come for me baby. come on.” you didn’t want to, you wanted to run away from him but your breath was laboured as your head lolled back. but even with that he wasn’t done with you. he wanted more. he wanted all of you and he wouldn’t stop until he’d had enough. you weren’t sure if he’d ever get his fill.

your cheeks burned as you walked back to your home, cum-stained panties and shame filling you to the brim. acquaintances walked past, you smiled and waved with fake kindness. your feet dragged along, your legs shaky and hands trembling. you wanted to drag the walk out as long as possible.

coriolanus could tell, but he couldn’t do anything yet. so he grit his teeth and walked with determination.

he’d punish you later.

and it was all you knew. almost every night corio crawled into your home, took you all over the house till dawn. and in return you were able to provide your family with everything they could want.

dana has a cold?

the medicine was at the front door hours later.

peter hurt himself at the mines?

a first aid kit was ready to be picked up by noon.

not a single person around you was hungry, sick or uncared for. all thanks to coriolanus. your friends were able to infer where all your resources came from, but you’d never asked for their aid.

you just wanted to help them, in any way you could.

what you didn’t anticipate was coriolanus in your home, tossing your nicest clothes into a suitcase. the jewellery he’d bought, shoes etc. “what’s going on? why are you packing my things?” he didn’t respond, he just kept packing, moving around the room and throwing in things he deemed important.

“we’re leaving, back to the capitol. you’re coming with me, now help me pack.” you grabbed his wrist in a moment of anger, forgetting your place. “let. go. now.” he demanded as you retracted your hand, “i’m sorry. but, you need to talk to me. i’m not going to the capitol corio, this is my home.” you should’ve known he was going to hate your words.

he grabbed your wrists, fingers digging in as you cried out in pain. “you are coming with me, otherwise i am more than happy to hurt you. all the supplies for your friends? gone. you know i won’t hesitate to hurt them. so if you want them to be taken care of, you’ll listen to me. now pack your things and shut up.” he spit out as you pulled away from him.

you didn’t even get to say goodbye.

the capitol scared you to no extent. the prying eyes, the excessive, almost wasteful, wealth and resources. you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. the people of panem viewed you to be a rare phenomenon. as if darker skin was unattainable. it was nothing like district 12, and you knew you’d never fully fit in. but corio wouldn’t let that be.

coriolanus thrived under dr gaul. overtime he’d been provided with an apartment and inheritance courtesy of the plinths and he was happy to indulge his sweet girl with whatever she could wish for.

the most expensive silks, finest jewels. you felt like a little porcelain doll, with multiple faces. you were bound to crack.

by the time coriolanus snow rose to be the president of panem, all the fight in your body was a distant memory, a shell of your former self. "you have everything you could ever wish for," according to your husband, "but you still think of them." his words were filled with disdain but held an ounce of truth.

your heart yearned for home. for peters terrible cooking. for dana’s flower crowns. nights out with your friends singing your heart out before sneaking out to the lake a certain covey had let slip on. a simple life.

but it all felt to be out of your grasp, far in the back of your mind.

presidential campaigns, parties, shopping, and super rich kids with nothing but fake friends. it was all your new normal. the residents of panem tolerated you for being the first lady of panem, admired you for your looks, and despised you for your background.

you’d never felt more alone.

you found solace in your children. ciron, your baby boy. only five years old but undeniably bright. he was ahead of most children his age in studies, able to remember so much in such a small mind. he was the spitting image of coriolanus. the old coriolanus. curly blonde hair, striking blue eyes. but his kindness, his care for others? that was all his mother. he was the perfect mix, and a huge mommy’s boy. the second he learned something knew he rambled on about it, only to you. he loved to play with your hair, curling it around his fingers.

“now we match mommy!” he smiled as you picked him up, resting him on your hip. “now i’m almost as pretty as you baby.” you teased as you attacked him with kisses on his face. he squirmed in your arms, small hands coming to cover his face. the noise seemed to wake caroline, her squeals and cries echoing through the home.

“shh, we have to be quiet okay?” ciron nodded as the two of you made your way to her nursery. it was caroline’s first birthday today, and coriolanus had spared no expense on your account. the celebration was to be held at your home, filled with people who couldn’t care less. but you just wanted to give her what you never had. a party at the presidents house was rare, and a lot of the hadn’t seen you in a while.

caroline was all you. darker skin than ciron, olive like. brown eyes and dark hair.

during your pregnancy with ciron, coriolanus showed you off to the people. you were regularly seen out and about, at parties, shopping, walking etc. coriolanus took any opportunity to parade you about to the people of panem. something out of their reach but so sweet, so beautiful. you despised it, being seen as nothing more than his property.

“she’s a fine girl you have coriolanus.” grandma’am spoke as she pinched your cheeks, “just have to take the district out of her.” as if you were an animal to be dissected.

“are there any more of her type?” the man joked as coriolanus’s hand tightened on your waist.

you’d always loved yourself, your hair, your skin color, your body. but it all seemed to be under coriolanus’s ownership the second you’d allowed him to take you to the captiol. no one cared about you. no one bothered to help. they just admired and touched when they could.

so you’d plead with him, begging him to let you rest for the remainder of your pregnancy. he surprisingly agreed, letting you confine yourself to your shared room.

and with cirons birth, you felt hope. his wide eyes, consuming all he could with his sight, his tiny fingers wrapping around your finger. your heart swelled with joy at his face, your saving grace.

coriolanus wanted to pry him from your fingers. for the next few weeks your attention was purely on the boy and coriolanus began to feel neglected. he was already traumatised from his own mothers passing, his sister taking her life. with the announcement of your own pregnancy the thoughts poured in.

would the baby take you too?

would he be forced to listen to your screams?

would he have to raise the baby he despised?

he hadn’t even met your child yet and he'd already made his mind up. the baby was no good, an heir was needed of course but at the cost of his wife? would he pay the price?

your screams of agony and pain clawed at his throat. he felt sick, bile rising as he forced it down. coriolanus would not be seen as weak. but he couldn’t help himself, your hands clutched onto his as a lifeline. your pleas for aid, and coriolanus could do nothing. helpless.

the finest doctors in panem, machinery and medicine yet it all seemed useless.

to you it was worth it, the second you held him in your arms. all the pain in the world if it meant you’d have him as the outcome. one of the nurses placed a pair of scissors in his hands, urging him to cut the cord as coriolanus masked his disgust.

snip!

tigris cooed over the baby as lethargy hung over you like a cloud. “isn’t he the sweetest coriolanus?” all he managed was a nod, his focus on you.

his strong wife, who’d given way to new life. your eyes were fluttering close as you murmured, “ciron.” the doctors and nurses gleefully agreed, “what a fine name!” the head doctor announced as he held him in his arms, a nurse taking him away to be cleaned.

and after all that, you were pregnant once more. another child for the happy family but another nuisance in his eyes between yourself and him.

all you ever cared about was the kids.

“has caroline eaten?”

“is ciron awake?”

“is his teacher here yet?”

“coriolanus, i think we need to take ciron shopping again. he’s growing so quickly!” he knew he should’ve been happy. but all he wanted was for you to be his again. you were always too tired for him, already asleep with ciron by your side, taking his place.

or you were breastfeeding caroline, meaning that he was sure he wasn’t going to get to feel you up that night. too sore, too tired, not in the mood. he couldn’t catch a break.

you’d decided to have caroline and ciron match. baby blue, how sweet!

it’d only been about an hour in and you’d had enough. these people never really moved on. the same comments about how special you were, how lucky you were. compliments stuffed down your throat you were sure you’d gag.

you grounded yourself with caroline, clutching onto her as coriolanus made the rounds. “anna!” you shouted out to one of your servers. “yes, mrs snow?” you refrained from rolling your eyes at the last name, “bring the cake out, now please.” she wasn’t sure, “mr snow said-” you smiled at her, “caroline’s getting fussy, better if we blow the candles out now so i can feed her and get her to bed.” she scurried away to get everything in order as coriolanus found you.

“sweetheart. you can’t hide the birthday girl at her party.” you chuckled, “i know, i know. she’s getting tired, we’re going to have to get the candles out early. cirons already sleepy too, he worked really hard today. i’m so proud of him.” you beamed as coriolanus took a sip from his glass, “oh did he?” he sneered. you were about to reply but the cake being carried out took your attention. “look sweetie! it’s your cake!” caroline lifted her head from your shoulder as you pointed at it.

“come on corio.” he downed his drink before following along. maybe if he was nice you’d fuck him tonight.

the four of you were a picture perfect family, cameras shuttered as everyone sang for caroline. she rested on your side as ciron stood in front of coriolanus, his hands resting on his sons shoulders. a smile plastered on his face. “happy birthday to you!” you bent down with caroline to blow the candles out as everyone cheered.

for once, you felt happy.

you sat infront of caroline’s crib, rocking it side to side. it was around 12 now, the party packed up, ciron in bed sleeping soundly, and coriolanus in his study. it’d been a while since you and coriolanus had been together. your pregnancy with caroline was risky according to doctors and you were told to take it easy. it’d been at least two months since his last time with you, and god he needed release.

once you figured she was asleep you made your way to corios study. “corio? you busy?” you peaked your head through the door to find corio writing away. “come in.” you closed the door behind you as he rolled back in his seat, patting his lap as you plopped down.

“you want something?” you rested your head in the crook of neck, roses infiltrating your senses. “m’ tired, wanna sleep with you.” coriolanus was taken aback for once, in his eyes you’d deprived him of your presence for so long and here you were wanting for him. coriolanus would have to settle for now. he caressed your cheek, “alright, come on.” his arm lifted your legs and you interlaced your fingers behind his neck.

over your time with coriolanus you’d learned to like things about him, since there was no point in you hating him anymore. his voice in the night, whispering to you. his soft hands washing your hair. when he was relaxed, the two of you would bask in eachothers presence, reading silently. baths together, his hands raking through your hair, trailing over your body with care. and as the two of you slept together, in a tight embrace, coriolanus felt at ease.

his brown jewel, all to himself.

#hunger games x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #yandere coriolanus snow

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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I saw a new argument yesterday that I've actually never seen before.

That because Lucien didn't go insane enough over Elain in the way Cassian and Rhys did, his bond with her is weak compared to the others. That I was pathetic for shipping a pair when the female was about to "fuck" someone in the same house her Mate was in and he didn't even do anything. That I'm delusional for shipping a couple when the female is in love with another Male. That Mated males aren't supposed to be able to stay away from their Females.

I honestly couldn't do anything but laugh at this point because, what?!

Before we even get into actual Canon, SJM has specifically stated she doesn't like toxic Males as her love interests. I'm not here to debate whether Rhys is in fact toxic because maybe to certain individuals he's not what they'd consider healthy or feminist. I personally understand Rhys' actions throughout the series so I get that she wrote him in her vision of "flawed but healthy yet not toxic".

One of the things about these Mating Bonds is that instinct drives them to do things out of character but SJM is trying to show that despite how some Mated males of the past have acted, Rhys and Co. are trying to be better than that because they recognize its not an appropriate way to treat the Female.

For the females, it is usually easier to ignore, but the males … It can drive them mad. It is their burden to fight through, but some believe they are entitled to the female.

On the continent, there are territories that believe the females literally belong to their mate. But not here

Above, we're told that certain Mate behaviors will not be tolerated in the NC. That while some Males have gone insane and some Males have treated the female like property, that's not behavior they condone. Just a recap. Insanity in Mated Males is NOT a good thing that we want for anyone because it can drive them to looking at the Female as a possession rather than a person.

Let's look at Rhysand's Mating Bond pre acceptance:

I think transforming you into Fae made the bond lock into place permanently. I’d known it existed, but it hit me then—hit me so strong that I panicked. I knew if I stayed a second longer, I’d damn the consequences and take you with me.

“I landed at the Night Court, right as Mor was waiting for me, and I was so frantic, so … unhinged, that I told her everything. I hadn’t seen her in fifty years, and my first words to her were, ‘She’s my mate.’ And for three months … for three months I tried to convince myself that you were better off without me

I hadn’t heard from Rhys in the three months I’d been here.

I heard you were going to marry him, and I told myself you were happy. I should let you be happy, even if it killed me. Even if you were my mate, you’d earned that happiness.

Rhys knew about the bond yet he was able to keep his distance from Feyre AND was willing to allow her to marry Tamlin if that's what made her happy. Of course it killed him and yes, he planned on getting drunk the day of her wedding but nothing indicates he was being driven insane. And yes he panicked when the bond snapped into place but the difference is, externally he was able to control himself around Feyre. He was frantic when he returned to the NC but again, he still kept his distance.

Here's Cassian’s Mating Bond before acceptance:

He knew about the drinking, about the males. He told himself he didn’t care. He told himself he didn’t want to know who the bastard was who had taken her maidenhead. Told himself he didn’t want to know if the males meant anything

Since Winter Solstice, they’d exchanged only a handful of words. Most had been at the barge party last month. After months and months of nothing, of barely seeing her at all, that had been it.

Cassian added, “Kick out the sorry bastard, get washed, and I’ll bring you some tea.”

Cassian always suspected the bond existed between he and Nesta. Yet he was still able to go months of not seeing her without being driven mad and he was fully aware of her liasons with other Males. In fact, he came upon her while a Male was still within her home after they actually had sex and he did nothing indicating whether he was suffering.

Feysand accepted Mating Bond:

“When a couple accepts the mating bond, it’s … overwhelming. Males get so volatile that it can be dangerous for them to be in public, anyway. I’ve seen males of reason and education shatter a room because another male looked too long in their mate’s direction, too soon after they’d been mated.” Rhys said softly, knowing what haunted me, “I’d like to believe I have more restraint than the average male, but … Be patient with me, Feyre, if I’m a little on edge.”

The savage, wild snarl that ripped out of Rhys was like nothing I’d heard,

Rhys exploded. Wings and muscles and snapping teeth, and they were rolling through the mud, fists flying, and— And Cassian had known exactly what he was saying and doing, I realized as he kicked Rhys off him, as Rhys didn’t touch that power that could have flattened these mountains. He’d seen the edge in Rhys’s eyes and known he had to dull it before we could go any further. Rhys had known, too. Which was why we’d winnowed here first—and not Velaris.

Rhys warns Feyre how some Mates with an accepted bond can be which worries her because of her memories of Tamlin. But the worst we see of him? Working off his edge with his friend who provoked him for this specific reason.

Nessian Accepted Mating Bond

He glanced toward the mantel—the small wooden clock in its center, then lurched upright. “Shit.” Nesta frowned. “You have somewhere to be?”. “Snowball fight. I’ll be late.”

“After the fight, I need to do a comprehensive inspection of the legions in Illyria for a few days. I’ll be back after that.”

Three days passed with no word from Cassian.

Cassian forced himself to stay away from Nesta because he knew she wasn't really ready to face the reality of the accepted bond. Of course he was bothered by it and wanted nothing more than to stay by her side but the fact is, he was not driven mad or insane. He was fully able to put his instincts aside to do what was best for Nesta.

Lucien’s Mating Bond before acceptance:

Lucien was shaking his head, panting, and whirled to us. “Get her back,” he snarled at Tamlin over the ranting of the king.

Lucien breathed, “Where is he keeping her?” “I don’t know. Rhysand has a hundred places where they could be, but I doubt he’d use any of them to hide Elain, knowing that I’m aware of them.” “Tell me anyway. List all of them.” “You’ll die the moment you set foot in his territory.” “I survived well enough when I found you.”

“I’m going with you,” he said again, face splattered with blood as bright as his hair. “I’m getting my mate back.”

The thoughts flowed through his head, one after another. His heart was a raging, thunderous beat, and he didn’t dare move from his position a mere five feet away. Touch her, smell her, taste her— The instincts were a running river. He fisted his hands at his sides.

But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—

But Lucien had remained, and found ways to keep busy, often gone for days or weeks at a time.

His russet eye flashed with simmering rage. An uncontrollable instinct—for a mate to eliminate any threat. But he remained sitting. Even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair.

Obviously we don't have an accepted Elucien Mating Bond so I can't do an after comparison. However the before is probably as extreme a reaction as we've seen from any of the Males (Rhys had a similar one when he was "unhinged" upon his return to the NC). Lucien was actually shaking, panting, and snarling. And though he quickly got himself under control, once they returned to Spring, his focus was on how to get to Elain while playing whatever game he knew Feyre had up her sleeve. He was trying to map out places she could be and was willing to risk his own safety to make sure she was safe.

Then when he meets Elain for the first time, we're witnesses to how he's physically fighting against the bond. Then again when he scents where Azriel had taken Elain and again later in the series at the mention of Graysen.

Yes Lucien is doing what's best for Elain by giving her time and distance but that doesn't change the fact that canonically he is suffering from the effects of the bond, more so than we've seen any of the other Males suffer so far in the series. No he hasn't gone "insane" (which is a ridiculous argument in the first place because there's no way SJM would write that of her Heros) but he's still doing his best to fight against the instincts that are driving him to act in a way that he knows wouldn't be right.

As far as Solstice. Who knows whether he was even awake but.

Elain and Az didn't even kiss so what would he have put a stop to in the first place? There's a big difference between a first kiss and sex so who even knows where things would have progressed to. Also Elain is in love? Where? At most Elain has a crush. And regardless, Feyre was ENGAGED to another Male yet she and Rhysand still ended up together. How can someone vilify you for shipping any couple in this series (even ones who are currently at odds) based on everything that's previously happened in it?

Based on canon throughout the entire series, every single lead Male has had to witness or acknowledge the female they wanted being physical with other Males. Is someone honestly insulting Lucien for not attacking Azriel for nearly kissing Elain?

The entire point of these romance novels is that the Males are willing to sacrifice their needs for whatever is best for the Female. As much as it bothers them, they are still willing to give the Female freedom to explore her new world and decide what she wants. And if that means another Male along the way before finally finding her way back to him than so be it. Because SJM obviously finds that sexy in a Male lead.

I will never not be incredulous over someone arguing against Lucien for things that both Rhys and Cassian have also done in their journey's to their Mates (or even Elain compared to Feyre and Nesta for that matter). At this point you'd think they'd be getting worried at the similarities that exist between the Mated males and the Archeron sisters journey's.

On one end of the argument we have that Lucien is overly possessive. On the other he's not possessive enough. The reality is that Lucien’s behavior is exactly right. There's just enough instinct and angst to make his reactions to Elain sexy while also respecting her boundaries and allowing her the freedom to figure out what she wants. Even if that includes a temporary crush or fling with another Male, it won't matter in the end because I'm certain his patience will be rewarded in exactly the same way both Rhys and Cassian's were.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #elain and lucien #lucien x elain #mating bond

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platonic-activity · 17 days

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Ignis Fatuus

Foolish Flame

Rating: PG, NC-17 in some chapters (eventually)

Category: Novel, X-Files Fanfic, Diverging universe

Spoilers: Up to Amor Fati

Read on AO3

This day is one of the different days. She knows the feeling of floating into consciousness with that weighty pull slowing her awakening. She feels cold and hears the machines beeping. She has been in this room before. Last time she had awoken to stitches holding together a slash on her stomach. She's relieved that she doesn’t feel them this time but when she shifts her body in the bed she feels the pain lower. On her knees. She gasps and her eyes water. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

She wants to draw her knees to her chest and curl up on her side. She is desperate for it. A long time ago she would have. If she were scared she would curl around her stuffed blue whale and it would feel better. She would hear Fox thumping his basketball in the room next door and she would know she was safe.

If she could just curl up maybe she could feel safe again but her knees ache and so she lays flat under the thin blankets feeling unprotected. She used to fear the darkness under her bed but now she fears every corner of this bright room that she cannot escape. She trembles, closes her eyes, and lets out a soft whimper. She doesn’t want them to know she is awake. She keeps her eyes tightly shut as tears seep down her temples and into her hair.

____________

Scully arrives home for the third time since returning to DC from Chicago having made up her mind to inhabit the space for more than the time it takes to shower, change, and run out again. She drops two grocery bags onto the kitchen table before moving into her bedroom to change into comfortable clothes. It is only midday but she has no intention of leaving again.

Earlier she had taken Mulder home from the hospital in good spirits. The doctors had told him to start taking walks around his neighborhood. He passed his motor and reflexes exam and his cognitive health appeared to be in good condition. They had canceled his first post-surgical appointment due to the unexpected hospitalization and instructed him to get some light exercise. He had one more appointment before he would be cleared to drive.

He was no longer experiencing the symptoms that had manifested from the artifact and she found herself reluctant to leave him. She had stayed at his apartment for a couple of hours before leaving him to rest. She smiles thinking about their conversation and moves about her bedroom, pulling out her running pants and thick socks. She had filled him in on her experience in Africa. She had already told him the most important parts but sitting on his couch today she had relaxed against him and told him about the rest. The way the camp was set up, the sound of the cicadas, and how bright the stars were. About the 5-mile drive to the nearest town that took over an hour because they had to stop and let the air out of the tires multiple times to get over the deep sand that had blown off the beach into the road. The last time she had spent so little time with him was their brief separation early in their partnership and she was realizing how much she missed him.

She was also worried. As much as she didn’t trust or like Diana Fowely, she was painfully aware that he had trusted her and thought of her as a friend… maybe even more than a friend, although Scully didn’t want to dwell on that possibility. She knew that they had a romantic relationship in the past but she wasn't certain if that had begun again since her retune. Her name hadn’t come up since Scully had informed him of her death just three short weeks ago. She wonders if he will go to her funeral if she will even have one. Should she ask? Offer to go with him as a supportive friend? The thought makes her stomach sour and she admonishes herself. The woman was dead and her last act had been to lead Scully straight to him. She needed to figure out a way to move forward.

Finally dressed and ready to fix herself dinner and settle in with a book she noticed the light blinking on her answering machine. It wouldn’t be Frohike, he would know not to leave a message. With trepidation, she pushed the button and moved to put her groceries away.

The first message was her mom asking her if she would be joining her for Sunday brunch. A fairly typical message for a Saturday afternoon. The next message was from the District Attorney’s office in Chicago informing her that they would need to meet with her for trial prep. She paused half inside the open door of her fridge with fresh eggs and milk in her hands staring into the living room at the machine. This was the opportunity she needed. She would insist on going back to Chicago even if the meeting could be done over the phone and she would get a better DNA sample while she was there.

_______________

Sunday was shaping up to be like every other day of the past three weeks. Mulder woke up in the same clothes he had worn to the hospital two nights prior and he found that it didn’t even bother him. The fact that it should bother him did cross his mind briefly. His day would include a walk around his block and many hours of trying not to bother Scully. Three more weeks until he could be cleared for work. Two more until he could drive. None of this was helpful when he was still so exhausted that he often slept for hours in the middle of each day.

He had finally finished showering and changed into Jeans and a black T-shirt. It would feel a lot better to at least dress like he had a chance of going anywhere important today. That and he thought Scully might check in on him. Just as that thought entered his mind he heard a knock on the door.

He opened the door to a very different Scully than he had been used to seeing the past few weeks. She was pink-faced from the chilly morning and dressed casually in loose black linen pants and a very tight black and white striped long-sleeve shirt… and sandals… She was also wearing a beautiful smile and wind-whipped hair. She was not wearing any makeup. He had seen dressed down Scully with no makeup many times while working in the field and he had glimpsed happy relaxed Scully from time to time but he couldn’t remember a time when he had both in front of him at once. He smiled back.

“Hi!” She said slightly winded, handing him a cup of coffee and a bakery bag before brushing past him into his apartment.

“Hi yourself.” He said as he followed her to the couch. She sat down and popped her feet up onto his coffee table as he sat down. She had painted her toenails a dark pink color. He settled into the couch and took a drink of the coffee. Had he ever seen her bare feet before?

“Your toes are pink,” he said brilliantly as he pursued the contents of the bag she had given him. Chocolate croissant. Perfect. When he finally looked at her she was giving him a playful closed lip smile, her eyes twinkling.

“It’s nail polish, Mulder,” She said with a small giggle. He had definitely not seen this Scully before. She was gazing up at him through her lashes, which wasn’t abnormal given their height difference but the combination of that look, that smile and giggle and the tight shirt he found it difficult to locate thought in his own head. He could see the faint design of the lace on her bra through the soft cotton of her shirt. Holy shit. What were they talking about? Nail polish… He turned and took a huge bite of his pastry.

“You don’t paint your nails” he mumbled around his food turning to look forward.

She cleared her throat. “I do paint my toenails.” She said wiggling them in her sandals. “Ever since the night after my first gross anatomy lab. My roommate and I were watching TV with our feet propped up like this and she pointed out that our feet looked like our corpse's feet they were so pale. Now, I am so used to painting my toes my feet look lifeless to me if I don’t”

Mulder chuckled at that. “Scully, I hate to break it to you but corpses often have painted toenails.” She elbowed him playfully.

“Are you here to give me a check-up or just bring me breakfast?” he said after a moment of companionable chewing. She sat up straight and looked at him seriously.

“Mulder…”

“Yeah?” He looked at her confused.

She held his gaze for a moment. “Mulder, it’s October 13th.”

He thought for a moment. Her pointed look turned bewildered. “Mulder it’s your birthday.”

He smiled and leaned his head back on the couch. “Do not be alarmed, Scully it has been a year since the last time I had one of those.” He said smartly.

She smiled warmly at him. “Happy Birthday.” She said softly. “Listen I know that you can’t exert yourself much but I wondered if maybe it was time to get you out of this apartment for something other than a hospital visit.”

“What are you thinking?” He said with a mix of hope and trepidation. On one hand, he felt like a trapped animal but on the other hand, he knew he would be conking out for a solid hour come 2 pm.

“I thought maybe we could go for a drive. The weather is nice. Might be one of the last over 60-degree days of the year. If you get tired you can put the seat back and take a nap.”

He had to admit it sounded like a good plan.

“First stop is my mom’s house. I have something I need to pick up if we want to have a good time today.”

____________

45 minutes later they were pulling into the driveway of her mother’s house in Annapolis. He hadn’t pressed her about this item she needed to pick up but he had been mulling it over and he hadn’t come up with any decent guesses. Their ride to Annapolis had been almost free of traffic and with the window cracked the fresh air was already improving his mood. Scully pulled the car in about halfway and told him to get out before pulling all the way forward and to the right. She was parking the car like it was staying here. Even more puzzling.

“My mom is having brunch with some friends from church in the district so she isn’t home. Otherwise, we would be here for hours. If you think it’s bad when I fuss over you…” She trailed off as she moved towards the garage at the end of the driveway and pulled out her spare keys.

“Scully, what could you possibly need from your mom's garage?” He asked as she unlocked the door and lifted it.

“A car,” She said as she moved into the garage towards a car with a large grey cover draped over it. She turned towards him with a grin. “Help me out?” She asked motioning towards the front of the car. They both grabbed the cover on opposite sides and lifted it towards the back of the garage. Once it was in a pile and the dust had settled Mulder saw why they needed to make this stop.

In front of him sat a shining cobalt blue Mustang in perfect condition. He was speechless.

“What, you thought I was going to take you on a drive in my Honda for your 38th birthday?” She said, with her hands on her hips and that grin on her face again.

“Scully, what…”

“1964. First year of the Mustang. We got it at a police auction when I was 15. It is in much better shape now than it was when I got it, but I had it running before I turned 16.” She was looking proudly at the car. He couldn’t blame her. The car was stunning.

“Well, let’s go,” she said hopping into the driver’s seat He followed suit and the engine roared to life. It sounded and felt powerful as she pulled onto the street hitting the garage button as they sped away. He took in the interior. The car appeared to be almost completely original except for the radio.

“You don’t happen to have some music befitting of this beast do you?”

“Glove box,” She said. “Nothing in there newer than 1970.”

He looked through the dozen or so tapes. She had a few tempting options. The Rolling Stones, The Beetles Abbey Road, The Kinks. He deliberated for a bit, lamenting the lack of any Elvis in her collection, before popping a tape into the cassette player. Soon they were speeding across the Memorial Bay Bridge towards the Eastern Shore listening to The Zombies. She was wearing sunglasses and her hair was blowing back away from her face.

“To take you in the sun, to promised lands, to show you every one…” She sang along slightly but adorably off-key. If he had known she was going to sing along he would have picked Jefferson Airplane he thought ruefully.

“Scully, you said this is a ‘64?” He asked, gazing at her.

“Yeah…” She answered catching his look, a blush creeped slightly up her neck.

He smiled. “Shoulda painted it red.”

He would be hard-pressed to think of a better way to spend his birthday than this. It’s the time of the season for loving

______________

Frohoke called her cell as she parted from her TSA escort past airport security.

“Make it fast, my flight boards in 15 minutes.”

“I wanted to bring you up to speed on our little project. The DNA sample yielded very little. She is a secreter…”

“So is nearly 80% of the population.”

Frohike signed, “You see our problem. There is more. CPS records are not digitized in full, you know that, but in Illinois, only the past 5 years' worth of records are digitized at all. Anna’s records are old enough that they may never come out of the paper phase.”

“So we have no more to go on than her fingerprint search?”

“Not nothing.” Frohike paused. “We know a bit more about her arrest history. I told you she was detained twice but released. One was drug-related. She was a passenger in a car that when searched turned up enough coke to get the driver put away for 10 years on intent to sell. Anna was held for the night until she sobered up.

Scully steadied herself rubbing her fingers across her forehead. She knew a headache was coming on after this phone call. “What was the second detention for?”

“She was brought in because of domestic violence. More specifically, her boyfriend was brought it when a neighbor called in a disturbance, and the second officer at the scene brought her in for her safety. She was hospitalized for a week following this incident.”

She took a shaky breath. Frohike was quiet.

“We don’t have any ethical reason to look into her medical records.” Scully said once she composed herself. “If she is who we think she is… it would be a huge violation of her privacy.”

“Agreed.”

Scully felt her head pounding. “Frohike, I gotta go. Thanks for the information.” She said attempting to keep the emotion out of her voice.

“Sure thing. I'll send over the address for the location of the CPS records. You should do some digging while you are in Chicago.”

She closed her phone and moved toward the gate. Was it just two days ago that she had woken Mulder up from a nap on the beach? He had been warmed by the sun in his black shirt and when he looked up at her she had felt that nagging stomach-flipping sensation she had been getting more and more around him. She had considered waking him with a kiss on his cheek but instead brushed her fingers through his choppy post-surgery hair. The look he gave her made her lose her nerve and the moment was over. Thinking back on it now she was certain that if she had just remained close to him in that moment he would have kissed her. It had felt like they were on the precipice of something for months and the feeling had only intensified since Africa. She was keeping this huge secret from him and she felt a rush of guilt at each new piece of information she learned and did not share with him.

She needed to determine Anna's true identity as soon as possible.

#ignis fatuus #x files fanfic #fanfiction #xfiles #scully #mulder #fanfic #Mulder and Scully #samantha fic

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neon-prison · 2 years

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"Goro, please. You're like twelve kinds of fucked up right now," Vee bracketed Takemura against the wall, a barrier between him and the filthy chaos of Jig Jig street. The ensuing protest died unspoken as he almost lost balance when she let go of his shoulder to rummage around for a sedative. He stared blearily at the Maxdoc, wrestling against more restraint than Vee thought he had. "It'll make you feel better," She reassured him, holding the inhaler with veteran certainty.

Senses clouded from too much melancholy and drink, Takemura's shoulders sagged in defeat- too far gone to bother putting up a convincing fight. Allowing him a small measure of control, Vee let him guide the inhaler to his lips with a fumbling hand. Two measured puffs and the effect was almost instantaneous, lines of tension easing from his forehead. His eyes regained a little bit of coherency, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, shit's gonna wear off soon." Vee wrapped an arm around his waist, hauling him unsteadily towards the main street and away from Wakako's Pachinko parlor. The fixer had been kind enough to call Vee instead of having one of her Tygers bodily haul the ex-corpo out the door. Vee often played stupid games but toying with Wakako's patience was not one of them.

Fumbling at her holo, Vee called a cab. She had no idea where Takemura was staying and frankly, she wasn't too comfortable leaving a weepy, overly poetic ex-bodyguard and wanted man out of sight and drunk off his tits. Guess it was her place then. God she hoped the Maxdoc held up long enough to keep him from hurling in the cab.

Vee sighed, letting Takemura lean against a barricade. He was trying to get his bearings, movements unsure and sluggish. "It was...good to have a taste of home again," An almost shameful confession, wrested from a vulnerable, fresh and alcohol-stung wound.

Yeah, Vee could understand that. Her own time in Atlanta was spent wiling the hours between gigs pining for familiar streets. NC was a shithole, sure, but it was her shithole. She belonged there, shaped perfectly into chaos of the city like a puzzle. A pang squeezed her chest at the thought that Takemura might never see his home again, that he might have to carve out a new place for himself in a city he hated. Both their lives ended on the top floor of Konpeki Plaza that day but Vee hadn't considered that her end might just be more merciful than his.

Bumping her shoulder against Takemura as a subtle invitation, Vee let him lean against her as they waited.

#goro takemura #Cyberpunk 2077 #Vee Muses #Neon_Shorts #In character musings #Vee #Takemura mentioned he missed the sounds of the Pachinko parlor #Also poor man just misses his home T_T

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babyrowann · 2 years

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i saw a post saying that elain and az aren’t endgame because they don’t have that “spark” that other sjm couples have. they then proceeded to explain what that “spark” meant to them which was basically just arguing (or banter as some call that), conflict, and challenging each other. they said that elain and az were too nice to each other if anything which proves that there is nothing there. except…. having the feysand, nessian, or rowaelin dynamic of “there is so much tension because i can’t stand you but you bring out something in me” is not the only way to have a romance??? let me just bring out two of the BEST couples to explain why both dynamics work, and why one isn’t better than the other. will and tessa and jem and tessa from the infernal devices. both ships have an entirely different dynamic, and yet, the romance between wessa was not negated by the differences in the relationship dynamic in jessa (and vice versa).

will and tessa challenged each other, verbally sparred, had BANTER, and conflict. and i shipped them so much and they loved each other.

jem and tessa were NICE, gentle, they built a relationship on the quiet moments and they came together almost too easily. and i shipped them and they loved each other.

just because one of these ships had what people see as a “spark” and the other didn’t, did not change the fact that not only did jem and tessa love each other, but they also ended up together!! sometimes a gentle and kind relationship is one of the most beautiful and i don’t think that az and elain reflecting this is any reason why they wouldn’t or shouldn’t be together (and this is coming from a die hard wessa and rowaelin girl). not every romance has to be the same carbon copy of each other. it’s ok to have one that is gentle and quiet! in fact, it’s getting boring to read about the same kind of couple in every fantasy book nowadays. this isn’t to say one dynamic is better than the others, but i wouldn’t take this as a sign against elriel. also imo, elain brings out this sensitive and vulnerable side to az that we don’t see often (he’s so great with ladies yet he blushes around elain? following the sound of her laughter? being given the push to get over mor?! standing up against rhys 😳), and az brings out more from elain (someone who encourages her passions instead of placating them by staying up until 3 am to listen to her speak about her garden, giving her a comfortable presence to let herself feel like she isn’t alone in the nc, making her feel confident enough to flirt and crack jokes around him).

#elriel #elain archeron

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neon-pink-witch · 1 year

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some light hearted johnny/(your)v questions for you!

which apartment do they like the most in NC?

has v altered any of their habits to benefit johnny i.e. picked up smoking?

how comforting is johnny when v's in a bad spot? and what is johnny's love language?

Firat off I'm so sorry this took so long so answer. Going to be answering these with Victrena in mind because Seven is technically not a "V" if that makes sense?

V and Johnny stay mostly in Watson. I have Seven and Victrena in the same universe so both the Japantown apartment and Copro Plaza apartments are already taken by Seven and Molly respectively. For V the Watson apartment is familiar. Everything around them is changing and falling apart but goddamn if that Megabuilding shit hole one thing that stays the same. V does enjoy the Northside apartment because the bed is right by the door through. Easy to just fall right into even if the place does smell a bit like mildew.

Yes! And I'm so happy to talk about this! V was a corpo bitch starting out and she never really shock that off when it came to fashion. High heels, skirts and tight dresses that really did not look like something a merc would wear. Longer hair but still a very feminine style. She also didn't smoke. After getting her brainworm, V slowly loses interest in those things. Its a slow process but over time her dresses and skirts and high heels started getting dust on them in favor of more masculine clothing. Darker colors, long pants, boots seem to be more of their favor now. She does still dress feminine but not at all like before. Feminine now means tiny shorts that barely cover her ass and cut off tank tops. Maybe its the Relic slowly rewriting her brain to better suit Johnny? Maybe they are just finally feeling more comfortable to dress in things that aren't designer. V isn't totally sure but at this point? She doesn't question it. She did end take up smoking but that was just to stop Johnny from whining about while her fashion choices just kind of happened without an input from either of them.

The thing about V is she's a softie at heart. She's way more sensitive than she lets which sucks given her line of work. Comforting her can be tricky at first because it takes a bit for her to let her guard down and open up about the problem. Luckily for Johnny, he's in their head so in a way, he gets to skip that part. Johnny does his best to comfort V and he'd like to think he's good at it. Sometimes she just wants held or someone to talk to. Its just a matter of breaking through that shell and getting her talk if that's what she needs. If she's not wanting to through, Johnny just hangs out and tries to remind that her that she's not alone and that he's here. That whole "asshole rockstart" thing got tiring about 50 years back and V is extremely happy that they went from Johnny bashing her face into a window to Johnny petting her hair to help her sleep.

Now this was the question I really had to think about because I don't really understand how love languages work. If I'm understanding them I would say maybe acts of service? This is a Soft!Johnny who learned from his past and has picked up V's sensitive side as well. He hates seeing her sad and does his best to cheer her up in his own way. Like I said I don't really understand love languages even after looking it up but I feel as though for this Johnny, acts of service probably fit the best.

#phantom bitch ask #cyberpunk 2077 #victrena marie #johnny silverhand #v x johnny #cyberpunk 2077 v

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hislittleraincloud · 5 months

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Chapter Seven: More Than One String to Her Woe, Part 1 Review/DISCUSSION

Insight into the story happens here.

This was long...it was 13 pages plain on Google Dicks, I think it's now 20.

Purple is Afterburn Canon quoted.

Pink is Wednesday Addict's observations/questions/etc.

NC-17

>> Words of honor : truancy, jutting

Your “Words of Honor” amuse me, since they seem so simple to me. But then I have to remember that my biggest fans aren't from Anglocentric countries. 💀

>> I was going to state "cats aren't a problem" but then my cat came harassing me. But they are cute? So it's fair.

I love cats, but I also have two very old dogs that need to be watched all the time. I can’t bring them up there because the cat would hate it, and so would my old boy, since he doesn’t like cats (they bully him because he's weird). He won’t eat them, he’ll just bark until the cows come home. And my neighbor dumping her shit out on me completely disrupted the flow of my creativity, which I’m still trying to get back, BTW.

Speaking of cats, Morella makes a rather surprise appearance in the next upload. She’s kind of important…. 😺👹

> Maybe if you're nice to me I'll write a scene just for you. <

>> Yeah, well working on it! : joy: But I don't know how many tor happy points I have collected so far nor how much happy points a scene/fic is!

Too many happy points, but it seems like we're pretty much on the same page anyway. Weird how you're kind of a mind reader. A PSYCHIC. 💀

>>Now.... we established she is wealthy...could she zombie revive him like crackstone? Would only need a couple of victims.

I’ve thought about that, but I don’t think zombie dick would be very fun to fuck. …🦠🤢🦠🤢🦠🤢

I HAVE thought of a crossover with another show I like, which could change things in terms of what to do when he dies…which might be a better option rather than zombified Donovan.

>>One young Detective has alerted us of tire tracks matching the tireburns left behind by the car that ran over our mayor. There. Easy.

He’d have to make a report with specifics/can’t say “one young detective”. She can’t be known to be involved at all, given police protocol.

>>Slurp.

Yes, but was it fudge flavored?

>>Ha, I quite like her, nice and direct also loyal AF

Lou-Anne Walker is here to stay. She has unfinished business.

> She's brilliant like that.<

>>She is, I suppose that happens when you learn and study and fuck each waking moment instead of mindlessly scrolling tiktac or reading fanfiction...wait... ..

Wait, you can learn things from reading fan fiction too! So long as the author knows what they’re doing. I could have bored the living crap out of my readers with an extended Nepenthes lesson because like Wednesday, I too have a parent who is a botanist (I learned of pitcher plants when I was a kid), but I didn’t want to drag down the comedic scene with easily forgotten details.

>The rain had come down just as hard<

>>Is there a rain kink? Because that is unexpectedly hot. Like the scene she had with Xavier in Ep3…

You will be happy to know that the “big scene” between Wednesday and Donovan in Chapter 8 (“Come on, Addams. Gates took my son away. Don’t let her take you from me, too.”) happens in a serious downpour. Also, as you were publishing your comments, I was publishing Winter 2023, which mentions her desire to smell the rain during the smutty part. She is a pluviophile, as are Gomez, Morticia, and Pugsley.

>>A real gesture would have been to let him explore her ladyparts for a couple minutes undisturbed and describe them to us!

Perhaps that’s coming (ha ha) soon, though in his mind, she’s got little moth wings (which has been used in the text to describe part of her parts).

>that she was fucking the town's sheriff<

>>Curious thought is that she may have gotten the smell another way, say, being detained / searched by him, or spending time with him discussing the case, assuming sex right away seemed like a leap.

The scents of sex are much different than just normal scents, and werewolves have the same type of receptors that dogs have. They can smell things the same way dogs can, and can tell the difference between someone having just shaken someone’s well-lotioned hand (like with Xavier and Thing) and two bodies all up in each others’ orifices. Sex has a specific scent (genital fluids, sweat, pheromones). And with the way Wenovan’s been going at it…it’s strong in Enid’s nose.

>dirty AO3 fan fiction<

>>YOU DID NOT also, bruh Enid how is this helping your grades again?

I did. Tee hee.

>>Ness does care enid, you are just not smart enough to realize not all people are like yourself. I myself like to keep my room neat and tidy….

Enid’s collection IS pretty fkn scary. She has far too many plushies, FFS.

But Afterburn Wednesday’s would, actually, decorate in a similar manner as Yoko (they have similar tastes). It’s just that she brought nothing with her because of her escape plans...she didn’t think she was staying, so why bring any prized items besides her weed kit and utility garter (I consider her inherited ashtray and coaster part of her weed kit). The larger items could be shipped back home easily after her escape (cello, gramophone, typewriter).

>>We love coach Vlad in this house right? He's like the only competent teacher.

Yes, and he totally knew that Bianca would nick the little arrogant newbie’s face good. His side eye when she proposed no masks/tips was hilarious. I feel like he was irritated that his best fencer was being attacked for no reason (as he said quite decisively that it was a clean strike and Rowan had no reason to be a little bitch).

Gates is competent at what she does too. She's just an evil twunt 🤣

>>That's a curious question, do you have the answer to it? (Enid wondering about Wednesday killing Donovan with sex)

No, cardiac arrests during sex aren’t prosecuted as manslaughter or murder. For prosecution to happen, the act must be something that the partner is doing (like bludgeoning or strangling someone during the act of sex), and then it’s not the sex that killed them, it was the instrument and the person wielding it (e.g. the opening scene of Basic Instinct).

>>Yoko is just great. That's all.

I like Yoko too.

> I mean, in this case, seems like 'Lucy' can hold her own.<

>> Big one. Also including some of the gray face comments you keep getting. This I think sums up my way of thinking perfectly "in this case", these situations really are case by case.

A good lot of the cases are terrible and unfit, due to the naive and ignorant nature of the adolescent. But brain development differs immensely (more on that in a minute, given something you wrote).

>> Example given : How do we feel about a 10 year Boy with a 52 year old Male teacher ?. I would hope we agree about "wrong" but now, where is the line ? 12 ? 14 ? 16 ? 18 ?

A 10-year-old boy with anyone is pedophilia (unless they’re peer experimenting, which used to happen pretty freely since kids get curious…of course now they have the internet), and with a 52-year-old male teacher? Lock that MF up.

My line is sixteen, and people can be mad about that all they want. Age of Consent was sixteen in my state and it wasn’t a problem back then. Like I might've mentioned in my Tumblr, it’s my body, my rules, and once I turned sixteen I no longer had to worry about people going after any of my partners. You can tell that I’ve trained AB Wednesday to stand firm to the same mantra.

>> Mental maturity/puberty/Who is the aggressor and countless others play a significant role in determining that line. Example given: If Principal Weems would be attempting to seduce Eugene. That I would consider pedophilia.

Yes. Eugene is barely pubescent (he’s got peach fuzz on his upper lip, so he’s getting there). He also seems like a freshman. “Beems” (Bee Boy + Weems) seems like a really freaky pairing…Eugene would have to go through puberty first, but then that just reinforces your point.

>> People love to hide behind the law as the be all and end all, but don't consider that the age of consent in most places is 14+ and some places even allow marriage before sex. In Cyprus and Malta, the minimum age of sexual consent is above the age at which children can get married with the consent of a public authority and/or the parents.

Activists are wanting to force the age of consent from 16 to 18 in a lot of places in the U.S. I don't think there's any state in the union left that has 14 as the threshold. I didn't think there were many Euro countries that were still at 14, either (which to me is too young, but w.e., Europe 💀). The whole marriage thing is wild too, but when you think about hundreds of years ago when noble people wed, they would often marry off their children at an early age but the marriage wouldn't be able to be consummated until the girl reached a certain age.

One thing a lot of Euro countries have over us is comprehensive sex ed for kids, though now I'm seeing some shitballs become influenced by the prudish Americans (see: sour reactions under posts about Evanna Lynch’s relationship w the dude who played Young James Potter…she was 16 when they started dating, I think he was 21 or something).

>>Besides. Even Adult couples, where one partner is, say, 23 - An adult by every type of classification, and the other 61 I see people calling pedophile - like, that word does not mean what you think it does.

People have watered down that word so much that it's meaningless when people throw it at me. Pedophilia is the literal attraction to pre-pubescent children (generally the age range is 6 to 12 years old). If people need the labels, then use the labels correctly:

An infantophile/nepiophile is someone who is attracted to babies/toddlers up to ~5 years old. (🚩🚨🤢 SNS for judging! 🤢🚨🚩)

A pedophile is someone who is attracted to pre-pubescent children, with a general age range ~6 to 12 years old. (🚩🚨🤢 Again, SNS for judging!🤢🚨🚩)

A hebephile is someone who is attracted to those just entering puberty (~11- to 14-year-olds …*repeat alarms/red flags here*). Humbert Humbert of the novel Lolita was a hebephile.

An ephebophile is someone who is attracted to late/finished pubescent adolescents (~15- to 19-year-olds). Would it be fair to call Donovan an ephebophile? Was he attracted to 15 to 19 year olds before Wednesday came into his life? (The answer is very clearly, no.)

A teleiophile is someone who is attracted to adults and sexually mature teenagers. Normally the masses are teleiophiles.

A mesophile is someone who is attracted to those who are middle-aged. Afterburn Wednesday is a mesophile.

A gerontophile is someone who is attracted to elderly people. To each their own, but the general masses who get married to their soulmates and grow old together eventually become gerontophiles. 🍋🤭🍋

>> The word they are searching for is "Oh wow that's quite an age gap, iam lucky it does not concern me in the slightest" Same with the word "child", while…Take this quote: The World Health Organization (WHO) defines an adolescent as any person between ages 10 and 19.

Yes, there are some good points there.

>> Also : The brain finishes developing and maturing in the mid-to-late 20s.

The prefrontal cortex ‘finishes’ by around 25, but that is an average and that whole study wasn't read for what it meant. The researchers examined several factors that influence brain development in adolescents and thus someone like Afterburn Wednesday would've been able to mature faster than other average people, so I'll just leave it here.

Ignore what they say about cannabis because that doesn't work the exact same in the Afterburn Universe. It has less of an effect on outcasts in terms of health detriment.

>> If those people see a happy married couple aged 82 and 91 that have been together for 65 years they want that too, then they do the math and realize they married at 17 and 26, and then proceed to lose their shit.

People are generally bad at mathing.

>They must be<

>> Frankly too large tends to overboost a guys ego. I know of a man who got a 10 inch monster who treats his partners like condoms. Was it worth it? Only they know. // Also id like to point out lesbians are a thing. They seem quite content without a male appendage present.

When I was 14, I had a 15yo boyfriend who had one of those monsters. It was huge and he didn't know what to do with it. He was a dumbass though (a Kent-level dumbass), and a huge reason why I then stuck to way older men.

Lesbians aren't always content without a male appendage, that's why there's a multitude of phallic toys made just for them, like the double-ended strap-on. …Actually now that I think about it, I don't know any lesbians IRL who DON'T have a strap-on. Some vaginas just crave dick (but not the dickheads behind them), it's literally shaped to accommodate them (or other phallic items 🥒🍌🍆 😂).

Yoko is like that. She's 90% lesbo but likes actual dick every once in a while, hence her admission to Bianca about being with Xavier. Yeah, that makes her a little bisexual.

>To her, he was perfect.<

>> He is quite a catch I must admit.

The language I used mirrors Donovan’s thoughts from the previous chapter: “To him, she was normal. She was his normal.”

>was hiding a pain so great that <

>> A Man who knows who the monster is and isn't doing anything about it, endangering her, Enid, Xavier, and injuring Eugene. I see no way where she will receive this news in a good way.

It's his son. When Donovan tells Tyler “More than you could ever know” after he answers the question, “Did you ever even love her?��, Donovan is basically confessing: “I loved her so goddamn much that I don't want to lose your sorry, stupid, murdering ass either because you're all I have left of her, but I don't know what to do and am unsure of what I should do or how to approach it”. We're not sure exactly what’s motivating N/C Don to avoid moving on Tyler but again…it's his son, and people can become blinded by their love even for their dangerous children. This is something that Thing actually goes over in Chapter 8.

AB Donovan has clear motivation: it's his son and (( SPOILER, I can't say 😭)). Francie’s Hyde wrecked the family (and Donovan) in ways that haven't been revealed yet. Bruh has severe PTSD.

>"Tall black, two sugars,"<

>> We have the joke about eating my way past this story but I will say I can't stand black coffee

“Tall black, two sugars” is what Donovan orders when he goes to the Weathervane (N/C, Episode 6, right after Wednesday blows off Tyler). She was getting his drink for herself. Hence why Tyler was looking at her funny while making it.

>Keeps me in business.<

>> Gonna be affected hard then by kinbots death. Maybe Wednesday can step up.

I've written parts of Valerie’s funeral already. 🫠

>casually slipping it into her bag.<

>> Did.. she just shoplift?

Yep, she pulled a Winona (Ryder 🤣). She's not an angel, and sometimes her intrusive thoughts take over her impulses. And this day in particular she isn't always thinking about anything but Donovan and Enid.

>with a ten and a quarter on the<

>> I may either be overreading this, or not understanding it, the book costs 3, she stole one, and pays 10.25, but accepts the change unlike the coffeshop exchange where she told him to keep the change? Like. Am I dumb? If its 3 flat, why put down 10 and 0.25?.

There's 6% sales tax that applies to books in Vermont. In order to get $7 back (and not $6 and a whole bunch of change), she gave her the quarter, because the total would be $3.18. If there were local Jericho taxes, it would be 7% (because the max local is 1%), which would've made the book $3.21.

The one she stole, she didn't see the price of (it was a $25 book 💩). She might not have taken it if she’d seen the price. But, she will make up for it eventually.

>favorite Rice books<

>> I admit I am not fact checking anything regarding the books/authors, but I will say your effort to include them in your lore is appreciated, even if I just read it as white noise (white text?) it makes the world feel alive in a way that only a very small number of stories manage to.

You should pick up a copy of Belinda, it's an easy read. 🙂

>what her family's net worth was.<

>> Also worth mentioning, interestingly your Wednesday is one of the very few that are willing to use her parents money, usually she's more of an "I don't need their help, I will be a successful author by myself" type of Wednesday, what made you decide to go that route ?, Wednesday accepting and using her parents' wealth?

Afterburn Wednesday is a lot more practical than N/C Wednesday (it's ironic that I'm saying this right now, given what Afterburn Wednesday’s been doing since the end of S1 events). Afterburn Wednesday was against ‘writing what you know’ because she thought it to be reserved for the imagination impaired, but since her life was becoming a twisted mystery, she leaned into it; the same goes for her money. Why not lean into it since it's there and she's stuck there; if she didn't use her money, it would put her at a great disadvantage over the other spoiled rich kids, and since everything is a competition, she’d want to come out on top there, too (the Addamses and the Tanakas are rich af). Gomez spoils her with an allowance, but she just hoards it, which is what she thought she might live off of after she ran away.

>Lucas's shenanigans with<

>> Violent assault is not shenanigans is it ?, All 4 of them should have been sent off for rehabilitation

True.

>More like crapcore,<

>> Frankly, that's rude, I would love to have one of those, handmade too, it looked so fucking comfy

She hated it in canon, so. AB W hates it too. LOL And that actually makes her an elitist snob.

>the girl with Enid's face pleaded

>> Ha, that's a funny twist to the faceless.

https://www.japanpowered.com/folklore-and-urban-legends/noppera-bo-the-faceless-ghost

🫠

> rude and offensive question.<

>> It is a fair question, if Wednesday one of the smarter people does not know its not common knowledge. So it's fair.

All Nevermore students are provided a Student Handbook where the various outcasts are listed/described for their knowledge (and it's gone over during orientation, which she didn't have BUT she got the handbook and was told to read it, which she merely skimmed/didn't bother with the outcasts guide…because she didn't think she was staying, and then once she did decide to stay, she just completely forgot about the handbook 💀).

Also, since Mishizu is Japanese, she considers it extra rude…especially since Wednesday is supposed to be one of the smart ones. It's just more emphasis on how Wednesday is an outcast amongst outcasts.

>The thud of the impact on her thigh<

>> hit me baby one more time.

I really needed me some Thornhill action there. I still cackle every time I envision this part/Wednesday goes flying out of the frame and into the tall weeds.

>up my rectal cavity.<

>> I mean so far said cavity has been very underused, description and usage wise. Please, no hot coals however.

I have a surprise for Donovan, but I just need to place it properly. It's quite possible it won't show up until After the Burn.

>"Weems isn't going to report <

>> I am sure Weems wouldn't report it either way, given the Addams forture funding nevermore…crossing the Addams seems unwise in your story.

While that's true, Weems has ulterior motives for keeping Wednesday where she is. Weems, Chancellor. Her parents.

>she hated doing that when Thing was around.<

>> Why? iam sure he could be handy. Don't hit me.

💥👊🏻👊🏻👊🏻👊🏻👊🏻💥

He’s FAMILY, like Enid said, and Wednesday isn't into incest yet. What?

Besides, in the Afterburn Universe, Thingclair is a thing. They practically had a full on affair in N/C. Little dude’s SEEN HER NAKED AND HELD HER HAND 😭✨

>I need that in poster size," she demanded<

>> So do i !

In my extras (multimedia, AI, etc.) I'm looking to create some of Donovan’s photographs, so. Particularly the one in question, but also the ones with Wednesday. Just have to find a good AI program and figure out the prompt.

>just…classlessness.<

>> I mean given the amount of men (and women somehow) that cannot even name all parts of the female genitalia correctly would suggest some additional visual education is needed.

Yeah, but Donovan doesn't want to get into that kind of trouble. Pics of her mothwings would probably land him with CSAM charges, regardless of how tastefully or educationally they were done.

American society is a prudish as Hell society right now. He’d be lucky to get away with what he has (it's pics of her naked back/the curves of her ass, curves of her breasts, weed smoke rings/smoke, and a few semi-racy ones of her in just a white shirt and her black/white striped socks holding Ted…there's a set of them together, waist up and holding each other with a focus on the curves of their arms…all set against a dark grey background as she sat on an old/vintage bench). Luckily American society in the Afterburn Universe is a tiny bit more relaxed, but still.

>She felt empty,<

>> As I said, thing would have been very useful. Not a cock, but a handful can help.

RELATED. Or, at least, family. Thing, in his scene with Donovan in 8, explains his relationship to the Addamses a bit better.

>disgust as it started licking the ball<

>> OH god this is going to be good isn't it?>> Oh god, if she could hear me laughing my end would be upon me.

Wednesday Jr. is canon in Addams Family lore, so…why not? Anything to annoy our favorite easily-annoyed Moping Myrtle.

>replacing me with a dog."<

>> I am curious if it does actually hurt her.

Not really. She likes animals and has a special way with them. … 🫠 It hurts her in a different way though, which I’ll put directly in the text somewhere.

>wasn't wearing any underwear<

>> Oh god, she's really going for the kill right away.

Fuck yeah, she wanted that man to pound that 😺 hard, like the other teachers who did the same to less worthy girls.

>She used her toes<

>> She does like teasing with her toes and feet doesn't she?

…She does. ☺️

>Ryleigh had gone missing<

>> So she is using her parents money to make people disappear, neat

…She used brute force for that one. 💩

>Just how much older?"<

>> So iam not sure how to word this, I don't like that Wednesday/her family don't have a healthy relationship in your story but my god you fucking nailed their voices. The fact iam hearing their voices when iam reading the family interactions.

Only going by N/Canon. 🤷🏽‍♂️ She just doesn't have a great relationship with Morticia. But thank you re: their voices.

>Only if he is a gravedigger. Is he?" <

>> I mean he is kind of digging his own grave with his alcoholism, does that count?

Yes, it does. But it's not what kills him.

>Your father would never allow it."<

>> Interestingly, she always did feel more of a daddy's girl to me with Gomez being willing to do anything for her and her being quite fond of him too, where as she's remaining cloddish with her mother.

She is very much a Daddy’s Girl BUT…men don't know what's in a woman’s heart. At least, that's how Wednesday feels at the moment when she realizes she needs to talk to an experienced woman about her problems…someone who would understand what it's like to be a horny teenaged girl in the midst of a shit ton of drama.

> offense registry desperate?<

>> I have issues believing that they can't just send her some of her more complex toys with outcast amazon, they have the money to do that, or just outright send lurch, money is such a cheat code.

She's in immediate need, even Outcast Amazon can't ship that fast. …Well, maybe it can, but that's not the point. 😭🤣

>"He's a cop."<

>> She 100% knows its Donovan doesn't she?

Yanno…I think she might strongly suspect it. Morticia isn't dumb, after she woke up from her fainting spell her brain raced back to Parents’ Weekend to see if she’d missed any signs. There were N/C signs right in front of us.

>All the girls were giggling.<

>> That's a flashback to our Sex ed…

I don't even remember the sex ed we got, but it was basic and terrible. I already knew everything they were teaching.

>"Plant looks plenty 'excited' too<

>> You see at least that's a funny joke worth laughing at

Xavier is class clown, obvs.

>there was nothing she could do about it<

>> Nothing some silver dagger coated with garlic won't fix…

Oh, now. That's no way to treat Yoko or Wenaka. Wednesday will get a mouthful in with Yoko near the end of Chapter 7. 👹

>I could make that move for you if you want."<

>> That is actually really nice of him, take him up on the offer and your problem will be solved Wednesday.

Xavier’s powers are really weird re: making things come to life. I'm sure if his powers involuntarily made the Hyde painting scratch him, he could make her penis plant drawing at least tickle her clit.

>but it sure would be fun<

>> Iam so sad there is no Xavier/Wednesday in your story, their back and forth is just great, ignore me iam just thirsty.

Gotta go by canon. There's a good amount of Xavierday angst though.

>become permanent was<

>> I like that she's admitting to herself that it's an unfounded fear.

Unfounded fears are still fears, especially to the attachment impaired.

>BAM! Enid nearly jumped... She pulled her close, their lips almost touching. Her eyes volleyed from hers to her lips for too long a moment before they locked eyes and she sneered.<

>> That sentence was surprisingly hard to understand, Ness was making eye contact with Enid, then looking at enids lips, remaking eye contact, did I get that right?.

Yes.

>> Also, I totally want a toxic Wednesday/Enid relation now because that scene was charged…

>of a bitch does one have to be<

>> Curious how you will make those 2 reconcile honestly. Given the end hug and your choice of pain by declaring cannon holy but also adding extra bad blood via Enid spilling her secret.

There will be scenes towards the end of 7 and beginning of 8 that will ‘fix’ it so that it remains canon, but the toxicity will still be there. Ajax will be bound to Wednesday’s will for a while. 👹👹👹👹👹

>"I'm sorry Donovan, but it's the best <

>> Digging for info regarding Tyler?

Maybe.

>and it was making Wednesday a tad nervous.<

>> Would be quite the plot twist if they disown her and suddenly she is just Wednesday.

Won't be happening in this story. They're a family, even as dysfunctional as Wednesday and Morticia are.

>and I are nothing alike.<

>> They both like taxiderming for one, I bet if she had mentioned that Wednesday would hold her in (slightly) higher regard.

… 🙃

>close to being similar to Morticia<

>> It really depends what Wednesday we are considering. N/C Wednesday is like Morticia in a lot of ways.

-They are both..

Yes, that's why it irritates AB Wens so much. The last thing she wants to be is like her mother. She has huge issues around that, some are intuitive rather than direct observation.

>How fascinating—and somewhat terrifying<

>> That line has me laughing, Wednesday, the menace, fucking old men to death.

It has US laughing, but in Kinbott’s mind she doesn't know about Donovan, so she probably assumes that Wednesday is an unrepentant slut…which she is, but for Donovan.

>but it cost her a head tilt<

>> Her Microexpresions are *everything*, from the little smile she gave Donovan right at the start of the show

Or the way her mouth opened in irritance when Kinbott mentioned the relationship between Viper and her mother. Or the way her brows relaxed in surprise after Weems told her point blank that she knew she was having visions. Ortega was really good with those.

>uh, healthy everyday functioning."<

>> Like drawing a penisplant in class ?, also Kudos to her for being open, when I researched it the first hit was "hypersexuality is a problem that needs medication"

The penis drawing was bound to happen regardless of what AB/W was up to. And hypersexuality doesn't necessarily need medication. It's clinical sex addiction, and that's treated with meds, group therapy, regular therapy…NONE of which Wednesday would be interested in, especially since she's otherwise functional.

>I suspect that your peers bore you?"<

>> God is that relatable, but turns out its a lonely existence because in the eyes of most adults you will always be "just a child" no matter how well you can hold a conversation with them.

You hit the nail on the head right there. Such loneliness is explored in Winter 2023.

>"Well, as a mandated reporter, if you were — "<

>> It's funny isn't it, everything you say stays in this room, unless I feel like I should share it because I think it's wrong

It's not just that she would think it wrong, it’s that if a crime is involved, she is obligated to inform the courts. But there is no crime that she knows of right now, since Wednesday is 16 in this scene. And there will be even less of a means to ‘punish’ anyone for the relationship once Spring Break 2023 rolls around (which is part of After the Burn).

>Who I sleep with is my business<

>and its K-9 unit<

>> Ohm. I do not wanna pop up one anymore watchlists than I already am, but iam fairly confident beastiality stays illegal no matter your age, so talking about sleeping with the police dogs might not be the best idea?

It was hyperbole, since of course she wouldn't. But if she did, she's a billionairess, and money makes the immorality disappear. Speaking of money…

>And, as a wealthy heiress<

>> Honestly, it feels it would be good for her character to get disowned, because as funny as murder threats are for us as readers, in the world…

That's the beauty of it being a fictional world. 🙂 She can get away with it and not get disowned. Gomez would never do that to his little girl. 🥹

>Kinbott. " I'm his whore. "Ravens<

>> Oh my, I wish she said the middle part too, that would have been amazing.

I don't feel like canon Wends would have done that (even though I contemplated it). She's selective as to what she will share/say and when, especially since it's Valerie.

>eyes had welled with tears as she<

>> Are we implying Wednesday is an actress in universe too?

She's a pretty decent actress when she needs to be. A master manipulator.

>Stalker-level obsessed<

>> Since we know Enid is harmless, id say its cute.

🤣 Well, yeah. I guess, since it's Enid.

>I will pay you for your tutoring. <

>> Iam glad, given she stole his last batch

In the Afterburn Universe, weed is legal for medical purposes and non-medical dispensaries also exist. Outcasts have slightly different rules around it (obvs, since it's integrated into the school). It's still illegal and frowned upon for normie teens to possess (which I think is what drives some of the resentment).

>he was smitten with her the<

>> I mean, who isn't, also... #stonedraven please? I beg of you.

Honestly, if Afterburn Wednesday were to sleep with anyone other than Donovan, it would probably be Ajax (sorry Waviers…Afterburn Wednesday is just not attracted to him/it's the same way that it is in N/Canon). I feel like she’d be able to get her dom on with him. Though she’d be curious about Kent’s big 🍆, I think he’s TOO sweet/dumb af for her. Then there's Eugene…but he’s far from ripening.

…Oh shit I just got another idea…it would make Wednesday a Super Bitch though. …👹

> him during fencing <

>> Her behind is fine yes, but her moves? Hello? That flip is glorious.

I'm sure the flip would be nothing without those glutes.

>open shirted, braless front<

>> Um? Don't tell me she's about to seduce him ?

👹👹👹

>she already eaten it? <

>> She IS the poisoned apple.

🏆

>in personal cruelty<

>> Took me a while but...she's totally doing this to fuck with Enid doesn't she? Ugh.

👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹

>Her eyebrows raised. "Including Xavier?<

>> Interesting if that's for her personal knowledge or if she will use that against him at some point…

Why else would a manipulative narcissist be interested in such information? 👹

>He blushed. He was, at least, charming<

>> He is a dork but he's adorable

We love Ajax in this house. 💖✨

> from a different time," he said, fairly quickly. <

>> I feel humiliated by the fact he knew that and I didn't.

The word has Greek roots, and that's the only reason why he was so quick. Most anything else, he’s straight up stoner/couldn't tell you much.

> to his crush was how much he bottomed for both Nightshade boys<

>> Oh god poor Ajax is getting more than he bargained for.

HE SURE IS. Anyone who encounters her is in that kind of danger.

>derive pleasure from their eyes and ears<

>> This has to be discussed, however, because it can go both ways, as in

Afterburn Wednesday is traditionally monogamous. But here, she is still without Donovan and is in Manipulator Mode. She’ll keep to her rules, though for the Tyler kiss (🤢) she’ll be so desperate to know the truth that she’ll fall right into Manipulator Mode again.

They discuss cheating in the audio excerpt from Part 2 (which is in Winter 2023), and obvs Donovan thinks she was cheating on him with Tyler.

>"Whaaa…way…wait, you don't like Enid?"<

>> While I trust your author skills, it feels like you're digging yourself a grave... Enid will be back next episode…

Trust in my author skills, and the fact that I'm still dealing with the Afterburn versions of these little fuckers...they have qualities not present in N/C.

>So I'm going to ask one last time: What do you need from me, Ajax?<

>> No iam not squealing, you are.

I need to dump some more of this Wenjax action in the next upload, huh.

>new pet gorgon<

>> Urgh while it's hot to read, I don't like Ajax getting exploited, he doesn't even get a taste in return…

He’ll be fine. …I think. 👹

>Ugh, poor Enid.<

>> Ness is so judgmental, why does Ajax finishing quickly indicate poor Enid?

When she says that, she's actually sorry for Enid. Sorry that Enid has a dude who does finish too quickly. Probably sorry that Enid (likely) won't have someone like Donovan.

Also, wet dreams don't count towards any judgements…they're things that are completely out of one's control.

>cruel and start laughing<

>> Have to say her behaviour here is making her quite unlikeable

She was never meant to be perfect. Her big character flaw is manipulating people to get what she wants (and while she gets away with it with Donovan sometimes, from the first car ride to the cabin you can see that she doesn't get away with manipulating him all the time, which I think is part of what draws her to him…that he WON'T let her do it all the time is seen as both strength and a challenge that she admires…everyone else is weak-willed). She doesn't really ✨care✨ about anyone besides herself and Donovan. Everyone else she just tolerates.

Plus, since these thoughts are centered around sex, she's amused because she now feels justified in her preferences.

>you're always fire whenever<

>> While her uniform is part of the excitement, that big brain of hers is the real appeal

Brains and beauty. Do you think he steals glances at her from across the room during CPlants? 👹

> "Hi Enid," she sang quietly.<

>> Oh god she is fucking evil. And apparently iam too because I can't help but smirk.

She is quite evil when someone pisses her off. But now she has a pet, and she’ll be using him in the next upload/part (urgh, it's coming so slowly 😭).

>"It's on the house. So's the weed<

>> I feel genuinely bad for him, he's such a nice guy that while a bit airheaded got the heart in the right spot.

I think this result is what Wednesday was looking for. It was a highly manipulative scene and a contrast to how she is with Donovan.

>letting the cash drop to the floor<

>> And then she does this type of disrespect like...why... Enid hurt you not Ajax.

Wasn't meant as disrespect. It's a power thing. He shouldn't have rejected her cash. Now he has to pick it up from the floor. He needs to do what he’s told…hence him ‘kissing her ring’ (she wasn't wearing any, so the gesture was symbolic). In actuality, neither really need the money.

>quarter pill of ecstasy.<

>> Not been there, but it feels risky needing drugs to be able to orgasm, could form an addiction no?

It's not necessarily ‘to be able to’ orgasm, it just makes it easier. It puts you in the mood. Opens everything up, makes things feel intensely better.

>his firm hand kneading at the muscles of her neck<

>> Anyhow...moving on from our Gorgon abuse... This is hot AF, but I have a massage kink so it does work extra for me.

They both have a style that’s brimming with sensuality. I think maybe Addams brings that out in him/his inner sculptor (not really sculpting, but he’s good at woodworking…sanding things, carving things). I'll get into that more in-text.

>> Still love the fact he calls her "Addams" also you have a typo there, the correct term is "sweet art".

He’ll always call her Addams, and she’ll clap back with Galpin when she wants. Both that and ‘sweet ‘art’ exist in the short Winter 2023.

>dragging her erection along his…. <

>> That is one of the most erotic things I have read in a while, ugh just so sensual AND hot.

She knows what she wants and how things work. 🫠💦💦💦✨

>onto her pillow and bedspread.<

>> Leave it to me to ask this in the middle of a sex scene but...why isn't she using towels to keep her bed dry? She can't very well switch out her bedding every single day can she?

She's high and doesn't care.

…Now that I think about it, she should've been masturbating on Enid’s bed, for that wet reason. THAT would've been such a bitch move. Alas…hindsight.

>when he stretched his hands around her waist.<

>> Would her waist not be larger when she's full of air ?, also that is still tiny.

Take a very deep breath in and take a look at your stomach.

>peaceful ending with the man she adored<

>> Despite ness acting like a cunt towards the end of this chapter, this is what we are rooting for #happyend.

She's our cunt, though. 🥰

>I'm Belinda.<

>> Wow, what an ending to this behemoth chapter.

🫠💖✨

Apologies for the delay in the review, I was quite busy and had to catch up with other fanfictions as well. Now, what a chapter wow, not the most smut in it but the world and character building you do is amazing.

Why are you apologizing for a delay in review? 😭 I'm just ecstatic that I get such a thorough review at all. And thank you, I try.

Also, I agree with a fellow commenter who is of the opinion that the smut in this story is its own character, however, said character still needs a description of how they look like!

In all its detail including every landmark.

I would write more but I need to sleep 😭

#writing wednesday #satisfying afterburn #satisfying afterburn chapter 7 #satisfying afterburn wednesday #wednesday #wednesday addams #sheriff galpin #ajax petropolus #enid sinclair #yoko tanaka #mishizu herz #chapter 7 part 1 #chapter 7 part 1 discussion

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navalcriminalimagines · 3 years

Text

This may be inspired by Paul Mendelson’s (Mendelssohn?) personality (and kink) 👀

Summary: You’re a NCIS Special Agent and you’re married to SVU’s ADA Rafael Barba.

Also, I’m not giving info about whether it takes place on NYC or in DC… let’s just pretend SVU and NCIS are in the same city - wherever you want it to be.

Pairing: Rafael Barba x Reader

Warnings: possible bombing?

My wife’s a federal agent

“How did the search go?” Rafael Barba nonchalantly asked the squad as he walked up to them, his briefcase in one hand and burning hot coffee in the other. He quickly put the cup down, and walked behind Olivia to grab a handful of snacks. He ate while the squad gave him the latest news. They had been on his nerves to get this warrant, it better to be good.

“Well—“ Carisi started and Rafael instantly tensed. Not a good start. “Technically, we haven’t found anything for our case, but—“

“You’ve been on my ass for the past two days for—anything?” Rafael snapped, looking at Carisi because he was the one talking. He needed to control that, the new detective must feel like he hates his guts. “Be nicer to him, Rafi. From what you tell me, the guy admires you.” You had told him. God, you’re too good for this world.

“But we did find something. We’re not sure what to do with it, though.” Rafael turned to look at Olivia, intrigued. What the hell did they find? And why the fuck was it confusing Liv? She’s been doing this for so many years, nothing should surprise her. “It’s not linked to our case. Come on,” The Lieutenant walked past him and Rafael followed. The rest of the squad followed the movement and for a moment, Rafael felt like they were a bunch of ducklings following their mama. He sighed with the slightest smile at this thought, knowing it would make you laugh.

Liv took him - well, them - to the unused interrogation room. She turned on the lights and a big wood box was in the middle. He stared at it for a moment. “Okay— I give up?” He said-asked, looking to his friend for answers.

“Guns. Bunch of them, Navy property.”

Navy. You. That was all he could think about now. Could he go back a few hours ago, when he woke up with you in his arms? All he wanted to do was to stay in bed all day like you’ve been promising each other for weeks, but you both had intense jobs. You couldn’t just appreciate a day off just the two of you together. Rafael sees you as much as possible, but he can’t help this feeling of missing you. He loves you more than anything, loves being married to you beyond words, but when was the last time it was just you and him? No cases, no duty calls, no unexpected flights to the most dangerous places in the world. You’re dedicated to your job and he loves that in you, no doubt. Sometimes he just wishes you would just be his wife, his Y/N, and not Special Agent Y/N L/N. Why haven’t you taken his name after the wedding anyway?

Oh right, your boss’s rules. What is it again? Never get involved with a lawyer so something? Rafael’s so glad you're a rule breaker at heart.

“Barba?” Liv’s voice tore him away from his thoughts. He cleared his throat before talking.

“Have you called anyone? NCIS?”

“NC—what?” Amaro spoke up.

“Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Are you a real cop, Amaro?”

“What is it? A federal agency?”

“Yeah. They take care of anything Navy related.”

“We already called the FBI.” Liv confessed and Rafael sighed again. He fished for his phone in his pocket.

“Cancel them.” He ordered while entering his latest texts and called your number. You answered by the time he reached the restroom.

“Rafi, love! Is everything okay?” Of course you sounded worried. You and him had so sort of understanding and rules. Being dedicated to your jobs, and yours being unstable, you could go on for hours and hours without giving each other news. He knows that you’d keep him updated when something comes up at work. Just like last month when you had to go on a ship for days. When you called, he knew what it meant. Some days are harder than others, but it does work this way. Especially since your marriage is quite a secret.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine cariño, no worries. I’m actually not calling my wife but rather Special Agent L/N.” He smiled because he loves that. It sounds so right, and even more when he thinks that Special Agent L/N is all his. “Well, I really think Special Agent Barba would sound better, though.” He added.

You chuckled, “Why don’t you become ADA L/N?”

“Hey,” he interjected, “I wanted both of us to use both names, remember?” He reminded you.

“I know, love.” You smiled through the phone. “I’d love to, but for—“

“For my safety, I know.” He finished your sentence, not because he was pissed or anything but he knew this argument all too well. You even broke up after two years of dating after he was in danger because of your job. Worst weeks of his life, but after two years with you, there was no way he was going to give up. He’d been like a dog with a bone until you caved in. “I don't want anything to happen to you because of me.” You cried. It actually was the first time he saw you crying.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. ‘Cause being without you is worse.” He proposed shortly after that.

“Long story short, we have a huge box here. Guns apparently and Navy’s property. SVU called the FBI and I told them to cancel and I’m calling you instead.”

“I—Stay on the line,” you told him and he heard you calling out your boss. You probably had your phone against your chest while you told him what it was about. “Honey?” You were back.

“Sí?”

“Did your squad have it checked before bringing it in?”

“Check for what? A bomb?” A nervous giggle got out of his throat when he said that.

“Yes, Rafi. Did they?” He could hear the urge in your voice. And noises, meaning you were probably activating yourself.

“I don’t—I don’t think so.” He breathed out. “Should we evacuate?”

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

“Yes. I need you to get everyone out of the building. Without incident, that’d be great. No one stays. And you get out of here as fast as you can, Rafael. Am I clear?”

Rafael saw you on the job only once; when you guys met. It was before he joined SVU, an old friend was in trouble with NCIS and Rafael stuck his nose in it. You, your boss, no one liked it one bit. But the man can be stubborn, and he quickly realized you could be even more stubborn and being sexy while doing so. He needed to have you.

But this was different. A potential bomb was a few feets away from him. Not only him but so many other people. Cops, civilians, criminals. And some people that he realized he actually cared about. “Rafael, my love. I’m gonna stay with you on the phone, okay? We’re on our way. But please, start evacuating.”

He swallowed thickly. “O—okay. I’m gonna get Liv.”

While he was rushing to Olivia’s office, he heard you in his ear again. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Te quiero, mi amor.”

“Te quiero,” he whispered before focusing on the squad. “We—we need to evacuate. Right now.” He said. He hoped he sounded confident and not so scared but he probably failed.

“What?” They all looked at him, confused but somehow they started to move.

“NCIS is on their way. This is not a fucking drill, we need to move! They won’t listen unless you tell them, Liv!”

Olivia nodded and the panic started. This had never happened to the 16th precinct before. There was a whole drill prepared, her officers were supposed to know what to do but somehow, some of them froze when the word ‘bomb’ left Barba’s mouth. “Everybody out! Now!” She ordered and people rushed outside, causing some incident on their way. When Rafael saw a lady on the floor, he helped her get up, and showed her the closest way out. Most officers tried to keep this under control but you can hardly control’s panic.

“We’re just five minutes away, Raf. How’s it going?” You asked.

“Almost all cleared.” He was panting.

“Good, that’s good. Where are you?”

“Looking for Liv. I lost sight of her—“

“She’s probably already out, Rafi. Get out of there!”

“I can’t—“

“Rafael! I’m serious!”

But he didn’t listen. He spotted Olivia in her office and rushed to her. “Liv, what the hell are you doing?” He asked, out of breath from the panic.

“Saving as much as possible, Rafa. Go!” She ordered him but he didn’t listen.

“I’m not going without you! Venga!”

He wasn’t sure what Olivia was doing with her files, it was worrying even more than he already was. He could hear your voice through the phone even if he wasn’t holding it against his ear. You were probably pissed at him and scared as hell, but he couldn’t leave without Olivia. And he wasn’t staying there another minute, so he walked up to her, grabbed her wrist - not caring about being gentle - and bragged her out of the precinct.

Once outside, he saw the squad. “Damn you both!” Fin yelled at them, obviously scared they wouldn’t get out. They knew it all was just prevention, but it didn’t mean they weren’t frightened. A bomb could explode any second for all they knew.

When Rafael put his phone against his ear and asked where you were at, there was no answer. He looked at his phone and the phone call had ended. Before he could ask himself anything, he felt a hand on his shoulder and then arms around his neck. You. He inhaled deeply, taking your scent in. He could finally breathe again, now that you were here.

You briefly held his face in your hands, looking deep in his eyes. You pressed your lips against his, way too quickly, he barely had time to return it and you started to walk away. “We’ll talk about what just happened later.” You said.

Before he could say anything, you were walking into the precinct with your team. You were in a building, where a bomb could explode. You could not make it out of here alive. Rafael’s heart started to pound so hard in his chest, he thought it might stop.

#law and order svu #rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #ncis #rafael barba x reader #svu fic #ncis x svu #ncis x svu crossover #more ncis next time #rafael barba x you #rafael barba fic

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mcgnagallsarmy · 2 years

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My favourite Spuffy fics by character

Stories featuring Angel:

Choices by lafillesauvage [NC-17]

After the big showdown in L.A., the Powers That Be decide to make each of their three Champions (Buffy, Angel, and Spike) a deal, which they may or may not choose to accept. This story follows what happened after they made those choices, how their lives played out in the years that followed, and how Buffy and Spike eventually found their way back to each other.

The Cyrano Factor by medievalchic [PG]

For Buffy's eighteenth birthday, Angel gives her a book of poetry. This is the story of a book that meant something and a message written inside that meant less than it appeared.

Inside Man by Holly [NC-17]

Spike had this perfect memory of them together—her holding his hand, looking at him with tears in her eyes, telling him she loved him. If a man had to die, that was the way to do it. But in their world, the dead don’t stay dead. A completely canon-compliant retelling of AtS Season 5, beginning with Harm’s Way.

Stories featuring Anya:

Boon by Soulburnt [R]

Buffy has been an amazingly effective Slayer. To honor that, the Powers That Be grant her a one-time boon. The only catch? Her friends get to pick it for her.

Fool me Once by Miss Marisol [NC-17]

Some weeks after Something Blue: When Tara helps Buffy find out the horrible truth - that Willow (with Xander's approval) has been dosing her with love potions, so that she thinks she loves Riley- she is furious. She is going to get her revenge on Willow and Xander in the most hurtful way she can think of – by dating someone they desperately wanted her to stay away from...

Started with a spin by Miss Marisol [NC-17]

An innocent 'Spin the Bottle' game leads to something unexpected. Shameless smut. Because why not.

Stories featuring Buffy (aka where the main focus is on Buffy’s POV):

For You To Be You by lafillesauvage [Adult Only]

Alternate ending for 7x13 The Killer in Me. What happened after Buffy and Spike returned to an empty Revello Drive following the chipectomy? Well, in this story, Buffy realises just how much she cares for Spike, which leads to some fluffy reconciliations involving chocolate ice cream and Walker, Texas Ranger. She also gets her period, and adult-only fun is had by all.

The Girl Who Courted Death by OffYourBird [NC-17]

Due to a misfortune of genetics, Buffy is never Called as a Slayer. Instead, she grows up in L.A. with a different set of challenges and trials, unaware of the supernatural world. That is, until a chance encounter with the Slayer of Slayers changes her life—and everything afterward—forever.

Someday by Sunalso [NC-17]

AU. The world is broken, but Buffy is given seven days to make it better. Does saving humanity mean letting go of the one thing she wants, or grabbing on to it with both hands?

Stories featuring Cordelia:

Are We Friends/Just a Summer Romance by slaymesoftly [NC-17]

Buffy finds herself alone for the summer, and Spike proves to be a welcome and unexpectedly entertaining companion and slaying partner. + A sequel to "Are We Friends?" in which Buffy and Spike deal with the consequences of their actions in that story. Turns out it wasn't as much of a one-off as Buffy thought it was going to be... Begins the following morning. Some minor Angel-bashing in here, but he comes through like a champ in the end. Definite Riley-bashing, just in case you care. :)

Big Bad Boyfriend by bewildered [NC-17]

Slayers don't get weepy when their One True Love rides off into the night for good. They get mad, and then they get even. Buffy's determined to kick off college by finding Mr. Normal, just like Angel wanted -- and then rubbing her new True Love in Angel's face. She's got the perfect normal guy all picked out, until an unexpected encounter at a party gives her a better idea. After all, who could make a worse Bad Boyfriend than Spike?

Found by CupcakeCute [PG-13]

Begins between TGIQ and Power Play, continues post-NFA. Buffy learns of Spike's resurrection from an unlikely source and immediately sets out to make things right as The Apocalypse breaks out in L.A. Spike/Buffy pairing, some Angel/Cordelia.

Stories featuring Dawn:

Time by flootzavut [G]

"I'm counting on you to protect her." "Till the end of the world. Even if that happens to be tonight."

Decades later, Spike has fulfilled his promise.

Until Then by Holly [NC-17]

Every Christmas, without fail, Spike finds himself drawn to Revello Drive. Every Christmas, without fail, Spike gets caught.

Wild and Wonderful by solstice [PG-13]

Dawn is nine and three quarters. She is resilient, strange and sharp as a tack. She's a credit to her big sis. But she's just been kidnapped by one of the most notorious vamps of all time - Drusilla. Things look bad. Enter Spike, her very unlikely hero. Spike's relationship with Drusilla has been on the rocks since the Acathala debacle and the morsel in the crate is her double-edged gift to him: a chance to make things right, and a chance to be really bad. Kill the girl and make it hurt. But for some reason he. just. can't. Instead, he tosses the niblet into the trunk of his Desoto and hits the road, leaving his one hundred year relationship in tatters, and grinding his reputation into the dust. Buckle your seat belts nice and tight. We're in for a bumpy ride.

Stories featuring Drusilla:

The Darkling by OffYourBird [NC-17]

When Buffy’s quest to get Spike returned to her is fulfilled in an unexpected way, she finds herself in a complicated relationship with an intrigued master vampire who isn’t the man she loves, but who might be someday… if she can convince him to step out of the dark.

Harnessing Sunlight by sandy_s [PG-13]

A few years post-NFA. The good guys did not prevail in the fight in L.A. The world is overrun by demons and the humans are underground. Spike and Buffy are on a mission for the future of mankind.

Lost Little Lamb by Sigyn [R]

Things go differently in the episode Halloween. Giles loses his fight with Ethan, and the Janus spell is never broken. Buffy the Vampire Slayer no longer exists, just a helpless young woman from 1775. But that’s… wrong. Even a vampire knows it. Can a vampire just take it upon himself to retrain a slayer as the slayer?

Stories featuring Ethan Rayne:

But Baby by Dusty [NC-17]

Buffy's ass ruins the rest of their lives. Or Spike does. Someone does.

Chaos Bomb by bewildered [NC-17]

Ethan Rayne had grand plans when he returned to Sunnydale in 1999, but when it came down to it, turning an ex-something-or-other into a demon really wasn’t grand enough for a wizard of his caliber. Not when he and Ripper could team up to unleash a little chaos on the government’s boys instead…

The Weight of a Dream by Eurydice [R]

Set two weeks after the S5 finale. After Buffy's sacrifice, everyone is grieving. But an old foe - and friend - has a plan to liven things up for those she left behind.

Stories featuring Faith:

A Different Kind of (Sunny)hell by OffYourBird [Adult Only]

Between juggling a New World Order, a bothersome Council, wayward magic, and – as always – some much with the confusing time travel, there is never a dull moment in Sunnydale for Liz and Elly. This is Season 6 as it exists in the Jumpverse.

Chiaroscuro by OffYourBird [NC-17]

At first, Buffy wasn’t even sure it was him. He was all the way across the gallery, far enough that he was reduced to chiaroscuro in motion—a shock of white hair swathed in rich black leather, his eyes dark and glittering and his skin nearly ivory in the bright gallery lights.

Let it Burn! by Axell [Adult Only]

Her eyes followed the blood. Summers blood. She counted the drops. Ten. Then it stopped. If Dawn dies, I’m through. I don’t want to live in a world if these are the choices. Slowly, her head rose up. Their eyes met. Green and amber. A look passed between them then a nod. Her own voice echoed into her mind. I’m counting on you. To avenge her. Us. He made a promise. Until dusk will swallow them all.

Stories featuring Giles:

Needlework by Holly [NC-17]

Dracula did a bit more than bite. Vamped and with nowhere to go, Buffy turns to her former enemy for help and finds a whole lot more.

To Save a Lady by slaymesoftly [NC-17]

Spike hasn’t had his little revelation about his feelings for Buffy, and she, of course, is clueless. Riley has had his surgery and begun his macho identity crisis. Riley has temporarily gone back to Iowa and Spike and Buffy have been working together all summer.

Unspoken by anaross [R]

"I've always envisioned him giving Buffy a garden that he could never go to in the daytime, to give her something alive for a change." - James Marsters.

Stories featuring Joyce:

A Boatload of Manly Responsiblity by Passion4Spike [NC-17]

When Buffy brings her mom and sister to Spike to protect from the hellgod, Glory, he sees a chink in her armor—she needs him, she trusts him... maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t hate him as much as she claims. Will that boatload of manly responsibility the Slayer’s dropped into his lap save Spike from a life of lonely desperation?

A Mother Knows Best by angelic_amy [PG-13]

Buffy hates Spike and Spike can’t stand Buffy. Right? Ever since Willow’s ‘my will be done’ spell, the vampire and slayer have been plagued with thoughts and dreams of their supposed mortal enemy. And neither of them know what to do about it. When Joyce Summers receives a mystery visit from someone in the know, and learns a little about the possible future, the slayer’s mother is set to work – playing matchmaker. Set in early season four, post Something Blue, and goes AU after that.

Ugly Sweater Day by Sunalso [NC-17]

Buffy needs a (pretend) boyfriend for an Ugly Sweater Party

Stories featuring Lorne:

Almost Paradise by Holly [NC-17]

When presented with the opportunity to magically alter the world she lives in, Buffy knows there are a lot of very good reasons why she shouldn't seize it, but figures things can't get worse. She's wrong.

Hunger by Sunalso [NC-17]

AU. Spike killed his third Slayer, but Dru was already dust. He's been lost, but when his supper turns out to be more than he bargained for, it leaves him hungry for something else instead. And Buffy? She's just hungry.

The Moon Calls My Name by sandy_s, stnia [PG-13]

Desperate to find out if Fred is still out there in the universe, Spike makes an impulsive decision to send a mystical message in a bottle. Someone else gets his message. (Set in Angel the Series, Season Five in a semi-AU universe after Illyria took over Fred’s body.)

Stories featuring Mayor Richard Wilkins III:

Beneath the Surface by The Danish Bird [NC-17]

Spike returns a little earlier to find his gem. The mayor decides that shooting Angel with a poison, which only Slayer blood can cure, is simply too risky for his Faith. And suddenly, Buffy finds herself locked up in a strange underground room in the company of her mortal enemy and the vampire who just broke her heart. But maybe it isn’t all bad. Maybe, this way, Angel will see that this idea about leaving for her own good is bad. Right? Spike, he just wants to get out, but if that’s out of the question, well then at least he’s going to try to have some fun! Starts out right after The Prom and before Graduation Day pt.I.

L'Amour by Holly [NC-17]

Graduation Day nears. Spike learns that some things are not better left unsaid, no matter how perfect the unlife is.

Off the Leash by Soulburnt [R]

Spike never has behaved the way Buffy expected... not even when he's a feral demon. Buffy wakes up weak, injured, in chains, and at the complete mercy of her mortal enemy. Yet instead of torturing and killing her, Spike frees her and tends her wounds. She can't ask him why, because he's nonverbal. She has no choice except to believe the unsouled, feral demon cares for her. The two of them form a bond, depending on each other to escape. By the time Buffy and Spike get free of the Mayor's clutches, everything between them has changed... as has everything Buffy thought she knew about demons.

Stories featuring Oz:

Compact by talesofstories [PG]

When Buffy decides the reason all her relationships have either blown up or never gotten off the ground is because every guy she's ever tried to date has been too stupid tall, she realizes there's only one person who will fit her dating qualifications: Spike. Now she's just gotta convince him of that too.

Death Wish by Sigyn [NC-17]

“World is what it is. We fight and we die. Wishing doesn't change that. You can believe in a better world. I have to live in this one.” Anyanka’s wish was broken, but the world it created continues. Now Buffy must join forces with rebel vampires to create a world they can all stand to live in. But can Spike, Drusilla and Angel actually work with a hardened slayer, who would just as soon see them all dust?

What a Way to Ride by Eurydice [PG-13]

When Oz goes missing, Buffy is forced to take a road trip with Spike to figure out what happened. Set after Something Blue but before Hush.

Stories featuring Riley:

At Ease by The Danish Bird [NC-17]

Even with her eyes closed, Buffy would recognise this place in a second, and for a moment she wondered if she truly had ended up in a hell dimension this time. One that had doomed her to an eternity of Doublemeat Palace workdays. Buffy felt her lips moving, heard her own voice speaking, and as she opened her eyes she decided that a hell dimension definitely wasn’t ruled out just yet. “Welcome to the Doublemeat Palace, how may I help – “ She stared into Riley’s scarred face as she completed her sentence. “– you.” Her mom, Sunnydale, her home, Spike – There are many things Buffy misses in her life, but if she had gotten the choice to revisit a day that had already passed, this would so not be it!

Dreamer by Gort [NC-17]

Buffy might dream of a normal college life but she got stuck with an annoying vampire instead. Spike’s found the Gem of Amara, but he won’t kill her and has taken to lurking around campus. Things go from bad to worse when they’re both captured by The Initiative and Maggie Walsh takes a special interest. Is Buffy crazy for relying on a vampire to help her put a stop to the professor’s genetic experiments, or is she discovering that normal might be overrated? Begins at Harsh Light of Day before going AU.

Naked by The Danish Bird [NC-17]

Her mom is out of the woods, her boyfriend is nice and attentive, the witches are working on some spell to confine Glory for a little while. Things should be looking up, really. But why has Riley slipped out of bed in the middle of the night? And why is Spike, of all annoying people, suddenly there, in her room, refusing to leave? And why are they suddenly stuck there together, on her bed? Buffy could really do with some witchy help right about now...and clothes, clothes would be of the good!

Stories featuring Spike (aka where the main focus is on Spike’s POV):

The Blue Eye of the Storm by MaggieLaFey [NC-17]

Instead of the Scythe, what Buffy finds under the vineyard is a portal to another dimension. Spike has followed her there, and it’s the two of them that will cross the portal… and remain trapped on the other side for far longer than they’d expected. What will happen when the two of them—plus a local guide—are away from the stress of Chez Summers? Will they find some peace in the eye of the storm?

Gestalt by OffYourBird [R]

A love story in pieces and parts.

Jump by Holly [NC-17]

Spike makes a deal to go back in time to stop Buffy from taking the dive off the Tower. Things don't go as planned.

Stories featuring Tara:

A Dream Forgotten by chaoz [PG-13]

It’s 2019. Buffy and Spike have been planning and awaiting their special moment for a while now. Only, Spike has no idea what the Slayer is talking about.

Grace by Soulburnt [NC-17]

In the aftermath of 'Dead Things,' Buffy fears that Spike has dusted. She doesn't think she can survive the world she's been pulled back into without him. When she finds he's alive, Buffy takes a chance at reclaiming her own life by sharing her time, words... and even her blood.

Let me go but hold me tight by Miss Marisol [R]

This time, heartbreak isn’t the right word, she thinks; it isn’t a breaking. Isn’t a something that comes about when your world gets turned on its head—it is simply a nothing. It’s a vacancy of everything good. She had once read that darkness doesn’t exist, that it is merely the absence of light, and she remembers that she hadn’t understood the meaning of this then - but now she does. Takes place during Anya's and Xander's wedding and goes AU from there. After Buffy breaks up with Spike, she realizes that she's made a terrible mistake...

Stories featuring Wesley:

Buffy Gets Her Man by Soulburnt [NC-17]

A newly-confident Slayer goes to Los Angeles to claim her newly-recorporealized vampire.

Finding His Sun by Loup Noir [NC-17]

Opens in the Angel episode Destiny, before going rapidly AU. In a flash of light, Spike was corporeal once more. No longer bound to Wolfram and Hart, and wanting nothing to do with the chaos around him, the newly corporeal vampire sets out to find his Slayer, with a little help from Fred. In the snowy countryside of Sweden, Spike and Buffy passionately reunite and make plans for their future. Meanwhile, Fred must deal with the fallout of her selfless actions at the hands of an irate Angel.

Having a Coke With You by resignedlybeneaththesky [NC-17]

“Buffy. Hi, it’s Wesley. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.” “I recognized the voice,” she found herself saying dumbly, and it made him laugh. “Yes, quite. Listen, I apologize for calling so late—or, early, I suppose—but there’s something that I feel I need to tell you, and it can’t wait.” Leaning up against the pillows, she had let out a sigh of exasperation. “Wes, we just brought the world back from the brink a few weeks ago. I’m still healing up, the gang is scattered, and we…we lost…” “I know,” he interrupted, though not unkindly. “But that’s the thing—it’s about Spike.” Buffy’s jaw dropped, like in all those stupid movies, but she couldn’t bring herself to make a sound. Her entire body felt frozen, except for her hands, which trembled so fiercely that the phone almost slipped from her grasp. “Wh-what?” “Spike is alive, Buffy. Er, well, it’s tremendously complicated, but he’s…here. At Wolfram & Hart."

Stories featuring Willow:

A Christmas Wish by all_choseny [PG-13]

On one lonely Christmas Eve, Buffy makes a wish to a stranger and is given a glimpse of what might have been with Spike.

Best Served Cold by Girlytek [NC-17]

Willow takes D’Hoffryn up on his offer at the end of Something Blue. Now Buffy has a new roommate. And a really big waterbed.

Safe by Dusty [NC-17]

Buffy and Spike are a couple, trapped in a creepy government internment camp for magical creatures. Set in Season 11. Can be read with or without comic knowledge.

Stories featuring Xander:

Delusions of Spander by EllieRose101 [PG]

“I am not having sex with Spike, but I'm starting to think that you might be!”

A one shot in which wires become comically crossed. Starts out during Season Five, Episode 18: Intervention.

Timelines,Schmimelines by bookishy [NC-17]

When Buffy’s sent back to her first year of college to retrieve an artifact for the future, she ends up on the day of the first inaugural Christmas Party at Casa del Xander. Or, time travel meets its greatest match, and that match is alcohol.

The Wind Beneath My Wings by slaymesoftly [R]

It's the night before Buffy's intended wedding to a Shanshued Angel, when the band plays a special song for her. It isn't long before Buffy tracks down the vampire who asked them to play it. Complications ensue... Takes place a few years after NFA.

#Buffy The Vampire Slayer #btvs #spuffy #ficrec #sunalsolove #lafillesauvage #tales-of-stories #robotgort #williamthebloodied

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openheart12 · 3 years

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Tales of the Heart

A/N: I was so stoked when I found out TC was filmed in NC because it’s finally good for something dihgjkdgjls I’m trying to keep this as gender neutral as I can since I don’t tend to write fics with real people because I try to respect them, but I had this idea and wanted to write it. I’m not completely sure how I feel about it yet though lol but it should be a couple parts!!

Summary: During filming for The Conjuring, reader is living their dream of being an actor. They didn’t think life could get much better, but then again, they never expected they would fall in love.

WC: 1,314

Pairing: GN reader x Vera

You were in Wilmington, North Carolina for the filming of The Conjuring that you were just casted in. It was a movie based on the paranormal investigator couple Ed and Lorraine Warren. The movie itself was actually based on one of their real life cases that you had spent hours researching on to prepare for your role, however minor it was.

Acting has been a dream of yours since you were little. The red carpet had always excited you and now you were just that much closer to achieving your dream.

It was late February and a cold chill was raising goose bumps on your arms. You were on the way to EUE/Screen Gems Studios where the first day of filming was taking place. You were told filming would take just a little over a month and you had planned accordingly, bringing almost your entire wardrobe, but it was better to be prepared than sorry.

At least that’s how you justified it.

This was your first time in the state and you were taking in your surroundings. The window was down, your hair blowing in the wind as you did some last minute research on your phone. You pulled up the first article you found;

The movie was based on the Perron family case, a family of seven who lived in Harrisville, Rhode Island. In January 1971, they moved into a farmhouse where they began to notice strange things happening. It started small, Carolyn, the mother, would notice that the broom went missing or seemed to move by itself, she’d hear something scraping against the kettle, and she’d find small piles of dirt in the center of the floor after cleaning it.

It wasn’t long before the children started to notice spirits around the house.

Carolyn researched the history of the house and discovered that it had been in the same family for eight generations and that many of them had died under mysterious and horrible circumstances.

She found a woman by the name of Bathsheba Sherman who lived on the property in the mid-1800s. She was rumored to have been a Satanist and there was evidence that she was involved in the death of a neighbor’s child, though no trial ever took place. She was buried in a nearby Baptist cemetery in downtown Harrisville.

The Perron’s believed it was Bathsheba’s spirit tormenting them.

The Warren’s made multiple trips to investigate. At one point, Lorraine conducted a seance to contact the spirits that were possessing the family. However, during the seance, Carolyn became possessed, speaking in tongues and rising from the ground in her chair. After the seance, Roger kicked the Warren’s out worried about his wife’s mental stability.

The family continued to live in the house until they were able to move in 1980, at which point the spirits were silenced and the hauntings ceased.

You let out an involuntary shudder. As excited as you were, you were also nervous. You didn’t think that a horror movie would be the start of your career, not that you were complaining.

The car pulled up in front of the studio and you got out, looking at the building standing before you. You thanked the driver and gave him the information of the hotel you would be staying at.

You straightened your shoulders and took a deep breath before making your way inside. The first thing you noticed was the noise and the chaos. There were hundreds of video equipment scattered around and more people than you’ve ever seen before cramped together. You weren’t exactly sure of what to do so you stood off to the side, in a private little corner.

You took in everything, from the people to the millions of lights that were already beginning to make your head hurt. And for a moment, just a moment, you began to doubt if you could do this or not.

“Hey, you okay?” A soft voice called out to you.

“I’m fine,” you replied, turning to look at the person and stopping in your tracks. The voice belonged to no one other than Vera Farmiga, the star of the movie you were here to film, your idol, and the woman you had a slight crush on. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a slight crush, but nonetheless, you stood there in shock.

“I’m Vera,” she said, offering her hand to you. You took it with a shaky hand. Her hand was so much softer than you expected.

“I’m Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she smiled and you returned it, still standing there completely awestruck. You had seen every single movie she’s been in, she was one of the big reasons you wanted to go into acting and standing in front of her, you were speechless.

“Vera?” A male voice called and the two of you turned your head to see James Wan, the director, walking towards you. Yet again, you were awestruck. You loved his directing and Saw was a favorite of yours. “I need you and Patrick to start getting ready. We’re going to start the opening scene of the Warren’s.”

“Okay, perfect. James, this is Y/N,” Vera introduced you and you gave a small smile.

“Hey,” you offered.

“Hey, you’re playing the student at the university, right?”

You nodded, surprised he remembered your role.

“I don’t think we’re going to film your scene today, so if you just want to hang out and get to know the other cast members, that’s fine,” he said before going back to work, leaving you and Vera alone again.

“Maybe we can get together for dinner later?” She asked and you swear you heard her voice waver just a bit, but you played it off as your ears playing tricks on you.

“That’d be great!” You exclaimed, a wide grin on your face.

“It’s a date,” she winked, walking away. A slight blush adjourned your cheeks and you felt very hot. The chilly air from earlier was now gone.

The rest of the day passed by rather quickly, you had stayed on set getting to know the gist of things and of course watching Vera.

She was captivating while in her element, doing what she loved. You were entranced by her beauty. You didn’t think that there were many people who could pull off clothes from the 70s quite like she did. She even caught you staring a couple times, smiling at you when she met your eyes.

You also saw Patrick Wilson, the other star and other half of the Warren couple. You noticed their chemistry right away and couldn’t help but think of how you wished it was you playing Vera’s significant other.

When filming finished for the day, you headed to your hotel room to get ready for your “date.” You were giddy with excitement and bouncing with nerves. A million questions were going through your head: what would you wear? What would you two talk about? Would it be awkward? Where were you going to go?

You weren’t familiar with the area and you didn’t know if she was or not. Dinner on the beach sounded nice to you, but maybe she didn’t like the beach or maybe she would change her mind. There were too many things unknown and your nerves were starting to get the better of you.

Just then a knock sounded at your door and you went to look through the peephole to find Vera outside. You opened it and she smiled, leaning in to give you a hug.

“You ready?” She asked.

“Ready,” you responded confidently. She held her hand out to you and you took it, heading downstairs to the waiting car. “Where are we going?” You asked once getting seated.

“You’ll see,” she smirked.

You smiled at the things you still had to learn about her as you got settled in for the drive.

#the conjuring universe #vera farmiga #vera farmiga x reader #vera x reader #lorraine warren #the conjuring

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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Hello!

Throughout the books I made a great observation about the dynamics of couples who stayed together, especially those who are partners.

Let's look at characters similar to Azriel in terms of violence: Braxian and Lídia.

They are characters who torture and who are violent. The people who are your companions are violent people. SJM talks about Ruhn and the tough stuff he'll do in prison. He talks about Danika who, even though she is the softest of them, is a warrior person who hid secrets and manipulated situations and people.

Violence didn't scare off endgame couples. Elide wasn't a warrior, but violence didn't scare her, on the contrary, she was born into it. Now let's look at Elain.

The violence of a part of the NC bothers her. Azriel tortures in this place and lets his dark side out.

I don't think Elain would judge Azriel's methods, but that doesn't mean she would embrace that side of him.

Lucien is another one who turns pale with violence, he feels uncomfortable. How do people not realize how well these two match?

SJM was keen to emphasize that Elain has a different strength than her sisters and is a silent dreamer. I see it differently than her sisters who are not afraid of violence.

What do you think SJM means that Elain is a different dreamer? and that her strength is different from her sisters?

This is such a valid point. It's not like SJM couples need to be carbon copies of one another but they need to be able to embrace the darkest part of their other half. Like you said, it's not enough to just be accepting of what the other person does but it needs to not clash with their personal beliefs. Elain might say, "I care for Az and understand why he needs to do this" at first, but there will be some point where he comes home bloody and talking about his day where Elain won't be able to stop herself from thinking, "I wish he didn't have to do this all the time" or "I wonder if he first tried another way to get the information from them." It's incredible how E/riels refuse to see the compatibility of Elucien. Or what's more likely is they do realize the compatibility of Elucien but try to create a Lucien that is less like canon Lucien and make canon Azriel more similar to canon Lucien so Elain and Az can be a better fit. As far as SJM saying Elain is a quiet dreamer I think it's her telling us that Elain has goals and thoughts for her future. She imagines the many things she'd like to do. Whereas Nesta and Feyre were more pragmatic about things ("this task right in front of me needs handled so I'm going to handle it"), I think Elain spends a lot of time in her mind making plans she'd like to someday achieve. Sometimes the problem with dreamers like Elain is they forget to start doing. I know she'll make a difference once she decides to take those steps forward but until she finds that courage to go after what she wants, her dreams aren't taking flight. And the different sort of strength SJM was talking about refers to (I think) Elain's optimistic nature and loving / kind ways. It really doesn't matter what's happened to Elain (death of her mother, death of her father, poverty, losing her fiance, being kidnapped twice), she has never let it really affect her love of those around her. She has never blamed anyone for the things that happened to her, she's never lashed out unreasonable, she takes some time to internalize things then finds a way to move forward again (even if it's just helping out in a garden). It's not easy to remain that way when the world keeps knocking you down. Most of the characters and people in real life turn hard, bitter, jaded. They lose sight of what is good and tend to focus on only the bad that happened to them. Elain's ability to not turn cold is an underappreciated strength.

#pro elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #anti e/riel

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bookofmirth · 2 years

Note

I think I just came to a realization that the only reason why elriel’s don’t want elain to leave NC or explore courts is because Azriel won’t follow her, in normal terms if Elain wanted to explore courts and leave NC won’t it make sense for azriel as her LI to follow her but I think we keep forgetting that just like elain who doesn’t thrive in darkness, azriel doesn’t thrive anywhere but the dark, it’s literally inside him and you can’t take it out of him and let’s be honest if it comes down to choosing between the NC/IC and Elain, we all know who Azriel will choose without a second thought, it’s facts. I kept on thinking this people love elain so much so why do they keep pushing for her to have a stagnant storyline, why do they push her to stay in NC where she doesn’t thrive, why do they want her not to explore around like she said she wanted to, why do they keep pushing for the dusk court theory, a court that convinently has dark in it and I don’t think it’s because they want her to stay with her sisters because I legit always see them talk about how they hate the way her sisters treat her like she’s unimportant and useless, it’s pretty clear that it’s a cover up and this just proves that no one can win in that ship including azriel or elain and that’s just sad.

the only reason why elriel’s don’t want elain to leave NC or explore courts is because Azriel won’t follow her

I love this ask because I can practically see you having a lightbulb moment 😂

But yes, you're exactly right. Absolutely, 100%, there are no legitimate reasons to be so pissed and take Elain leaving so damn personally except for the fact that people know that Azriel will never leave the Night Court. Azriel belongs in the Night Court, he grew up there, his friends and family are there, he has no personal connections to any other courts, he literally looks out of place in non-dark areas; if anyone was made for the Night Court (other than Rhys), it's Azriel. We can all agree on that.

So yep. Absolutely. The only reason that people get all up their butts about the possibility that Elain might end up elsewhere is because they know that realistically, Azriel wouldn't go with her. So then what happens? They reject canon and act as if Elain is experiencing a human rights violation at the mere suggestion she leave the Night Court.

This outrage at the possibility that Elain won't ultimately settle in the NC is completely based on who is going to fuck whom, and not on what is best for the characters, or what we know about their personalities. If I had a dollar for every time I typed the words "the characters as individuals" then...

This is also why people get sooooo mad about Cassian saying what he did about how poorly Elain looks in black and tried to make up that ridiculous idea that Elain did it on purpose. No 😂 She was genuinely trying to be a part of the Night Court and failed. Not because she isn't beautiful - Cassian made sure to clarify that - but because she doesn't fit.

But again, if there is something about Elain's character that implies her story is incompatible with Azriel's, they will dismiss it out of hand. Or get so personally offended by the idea that they pretend Elain is being torn away from her family by the simple statement of canon.

Nesta and Feyre are not nice to Elain. They don't know her or understand her. Nesta and Feyre are far more similar to one another than they are to Elain. At this point, they just tolerate Elain. And you know what? She deserves better than that. Elain deserves people who not only see and understand her, but who push her to be a better version of herself. Who don't allow her to shut down and isolate and just pretend that everything is okay.

Feyre, Rhys, Nesta, Cassian, Azriel, they all just let Elain be passive - sometimes enabling her to be so - and ignore her problems. Amren and Cassian may be the only ones who see that there is something else to Elain, but they aren't in a position to do anything about it because 1) they know that it's on Elain to change, and 2) they don't want to come between Elain and her sisters (a lesson Rhys would do well to learn). I love all of those characters, but Elain does not fit with them.

The fact that people argue tooth and nail about why Elain does indeed fit, trying to explain why she should continue smiling and pretending to be happy, is disingenuous af because they just want her to be there to make Az feel better about himself. "Az needs someone to choose him!" okay well why can't that be Gwyn? Why does it matter who chooses him, as long as he is chosen???

The thing is, they know. They know deep down that these being more character-driven books, that it's the character's personalities as individuals that comes first, and that sjm pairs them based on complementing personalities and paths. Not aesthetics. If Elain doesn't seem like she fits in with the Night Court - which she canonically doesn't - then they know exactly what that means for her and Az.

I still have never, not once, in the five years I've been in this fandom, seen an explanation of why Azriel and Elain are compatible based on their personalities. I have never, not once, seen an explanation of what their relationship would look like that doesn't serve as a self-insert fantasy about how happy Elain is going to make Azriel and how she will be the only one who will appreciate his big dick the way it should be appreciated. Or an explanation of how they would be mutually supportive other than the vague idea of "wouldn't it be neat if Elain rejected her bond and ChOsE Azriel?!" Yeah, I can see why that would be a neat idea, but maybe with different characters. Because these two are fundamentally incompatible. I know exactly what Azriel would get out of a relationship with Elain. I have no fucking clue what Elain would get out of it, other than some good dick.

But sure. We're the ones who hate Elain. 🙄

#i have many posts that are just about elain #as an individual #people who vague otherwise are lying #or can't read #or both #elain #azriel #antielriel #ask #anon #acotar #acotar fandom

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hansoulo · 3 years

Text

whisper scarcely breathing

part four of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse

Word Count: 6.1k

Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader

A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦

༓ series masterlist ༓

The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.

You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”

Did he, now?

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”

The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”

Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.

You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.

The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.

Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.

Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.

In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.

But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.

BF-18378-3263827

You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.

When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.

There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.

The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?

Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.

Boba Fett was not much of a talker.

Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.

And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.

The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.

It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.

You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.

One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.

“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”

Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.

He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”

Makes me want… want…

Want what, Princess?

Want you.

You can have me.

The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.

It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.

You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.

He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.

What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.

You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.

And yet…

You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.

And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.

Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.

Hello

are you busy?

In a way

how so

Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor

poor thing

Don’t get soft on me now

wasn’t talking about you

Very funny

I’m very, very sorry

Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit

… show me?

⫸———————————————— ⫷

BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS

SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM

Your damp hands tremored.

YES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.

You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.

But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.

You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.

You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.

And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.

The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.

Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.

Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.

In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.

The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.

“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.

Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.

His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.

He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”

A soft whimper left your throat.

Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.

The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.

“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.

Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver. “M’not.”

“And stubborn.”

You glared at him, but it held no real venom.

“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “—any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”

“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.

You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”

He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”

Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”

You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.

Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.

Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.

You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?

Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.

“Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”

“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.

He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”

“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.

Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.

It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”

Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”

You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.

Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.

But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.

Had been, anyway.

He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.

You were going to destroy him.

Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.

Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.

So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.

When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.

He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.

His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”

Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.

A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.

If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.

Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”

Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.

Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.

The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.

You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.

“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.

The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.

His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”

He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.

He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."

The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.

He liked being known by you.

⫸————————————————⫷

You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.

A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”

For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.

He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.

Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.

Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?

Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.

He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.

He was going to ruin you.

“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.

Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”

“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”

His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.

“Goodnight, princess.”

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dreaming about him.

He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.

In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.

Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.

Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.

You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.

But this was different.

When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.

All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.

“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.

“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.

“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.

You. Just you.

“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.

“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.

There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.

This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.

"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"

"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."

You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.

"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.

Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.

“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.

Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

You understood now.

Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting. “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.

You were dying.

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.

You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.

“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.

“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”

He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.

You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”

Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.

“D’you want to?”

Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.

You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”

Thank goodness for modern medicine.

⫸————————————————⫷

It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.

He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.

It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.

You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.

The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.

In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.

Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.

But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⫸————————————————⫷

The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.

“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.

A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.

Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.

He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”

Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.

But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett/reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x you #boba fett fic #boba fett oneshot #boba fett imagine

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nocturnal-milk-dud · 3 years

Text

Say It

Pairing: Obispo ‘Bishop’ Losa x Reader

Summary: Part 2 to Troubled Minds; “You stared out the window, thinking about the wall between you and Bishop. When had it gone up? Who had put it there?”

Rating: NC-17; +18

Warnings/notes: language; smoking; biting; implied oral (f receiving); slight cockwarming; some fluff; some angst; pregnancy; I wish I felt more confident writing these characters

Word count: 1579

“What else is on your mind?” you asked after Bishop explained about the club. He was sitting on the window seat, a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke drifting out into the fresh night air, moonlight catching on his skin. He turned to look at you, a curious look on his face, and you knew he was about to say there was nothing on his mind. But you knew there was something other than the club shit. You knew because the two of you weren’t sleeping. You knew because not long after he told you he loved you he was ready to have you all over again.

“I love the way you look after you’ve cum for me,” Bishop said, his voice low and husky at your ear. You turned your head to look at him, finding hunger still in his dark eyes. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, warm and soft.

“And you feel so warm, I could stay inside you forever.” Bishop went to move his hand, but you stopped him, eyes holding his as you slowly wrapped your lips around his thumb. You could feel Bishop harden inside you as you moved, tongue swirling slow, bringing your mouth back up to the tip, where you pinched his skin between your teeth.

“Then you won’t get to taste me,” you said.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Bishop said, and you turned your head, hiding the knowing smile in the crook of your arm. You got up from the bed and walked over to him.

“I know how you are when you’re stressed,” you said, running your finger over the line on the bridge of his nose. “You were different tonight.”

Bishop bit your upper arm before trailing kisses down to your chest. His hands were rough with your tits as he groped them, making you moan, and you curled your fingers in his hair as he took your nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. You couldn’t help but squirm slightly at the tickle of his beard against your skin.

“Tell me what you want,” Bishop said.

“I want to cum all over that beard.” You gasped as Bishop bit and tugged at your nipple and responded by tugging his hair. The two of you moaned as Bishop pulled out, and he carved out a path of open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, hands everywhere, caressing and gripping you wherever he could. You reached out, finding his right hand with your left as his lips traveled over your thigh, locking your fingers with his.

“I didn’t know what I was going to find when I walked through your door tonight,” Bishop said. “I didn’t wanna let you go, simple as that.” Bishop returned his attention to the world outside and you watched him for a moment. You didn’t believe him, knew there was more to it, but maybe he just needed time.

“Okay,” you said, returning to the bed where you laid with your back to him, blanket pulled up over your shoulder.

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

“Bishop seemed distracted last night,” Amy said. The two of you were sitting in a restaurant, a plate of pancakes sitting untouched in front of you.

“Yeah, club business,” you muttered, twirling your fork.

“Oh, so you didn’t…?” You sighed, letting the fork clatter, leaning back in your chair.

“I tried,” you said, throwing your hands up. “I tried to get us to talk about anything real. So that maybe I could…There’s just nothing easy about any of it. And then he was gone before I even woke up. So.”

“You’ve gotta tell him,” Amy said.

“You make it sound so easy, like it doesn’t have the power to destroy everything,” you said, pushing your plate away from you, suddenly feeling queasy.

“It’s not like you can keep it a secret forever.”

“Just send me to a nunnery or something.” The two of you were quiet. You stared out the window, thinking about the wall between you and Bishop. When had it gone up? Who had put it there?

“Do people still do that?” Amy asked. “The nunnery thing?”

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

Bishop didn’t want to leave you, especially after the events of the night before, but a new fear had come over him as he watched you turn away. He wanted to tell you everything, but the possibility of scaring you off caused the words to die on his tongue. After that, the uncertainty burrowed in his mind, clouding every soft, peaceful moment with you and he was out the door before the sun came up. If Bishop was distracted the night before, it was nothing compared to him during the day, hands worrying over his face, finger hovering over the call button by your name, eyes lingering on the picture of the two of you that was his background.

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

You repeated the words to yourself as you sat in your car in the restaurant parking lot. Your stomach was turning in on itself as you stared yourself down in the mirror, and you were grateful you had no appetite, the pancakes boxed up on the seat next to you.

“Just march right over there and tell him,” Amy said. “No matter how it goes, you’ll feel better in the end.”

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

The scrapyard and clubhouse looked deserted when you arrived, Chucky waving to you as you pulled in. You greeted him as he came up to meet you.

“Bishop around?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nope, but he should be back soon if you wanna stick around.”

“No, that’s okay,” you said, your resolve wavering. The clubhouse wasn’t the place for it. You’d find a better time, a better place, like never and nowhere. Your phone started to ring and you looked down to see the number for your doctor’s office.

“Would you mind getting me a pen and paper?” you asked Chucky, hoping to keep him occupied. “I’ll leave him a note.”

“Can doody,” Chucky said and you answered the phone as he left your side. You listened carefully as the nurse on the other end of the line explained the results of your bloodwork. Nerves already on edge at the sight of the phone number, you began to pace, fingers playing with your necklace. It was iron-deficiency anemia, you would need a supplement and more bloodwork. As she spoke, your hand moved to your belly.

“What does that mean for the baby?” You tried to hide the nervous hitch in your voice. The nurse gently explained the risks to you and the baby, but made it clear that those risks were higher if it was left untreated. You took a deep breath, thanking her before you hung up. When you turned around Chucky was standing behind you patiently waiting, pen and notepad in hand.

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

Bishop had hoped the ride would make him feel better, but when he and the others returned to the clubhouse there was a dull ache at the back of his head. He hooked his helmet on the handlebar and got to his feet, tucking his gloves in his back pocket as Chucky hurried over.

“Hey Chucky,” Bishop said, making his way toward the clubhouse, Taza and Coco falling in step beside him.

“Hey Obispo, I just wanted to say congratulations, man,” Chucky started, his energy palpable, “I can only imagine how excited you must be--knowing you’re gonna be a father--it’s a magical thing.” Bishop snapped to a halt, turning to face Chucky who was rambling on about family. Chucky grew quiet when he saw the look on Bishop’s face.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Taza and Coco shared a look.

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

You should have heard the motorcycle, especially with the way Bishop was tearing down the street. Maybe it was your music, though it wasn’t very loud. Maybe you were simply too distracted, mind going in ten directions at once as you spread lotion over your legs. You looked up, heart leaping into your throat at the sight of Bishop storming down the hallway.

“Obispo?” His name had barely left your lips before he pulled you into a tight embrace, his kiss taking your breath away. Bishop placed his hand on your stomach and that’s when you understood, breaking out of the kiss with a gasp, eyebrows turning up as you felt tears start to build. You covered Bishop’s hand with your own, his free hand cradling the back of your head.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bishop asked, his voice a mixture of awe and sadness that gripped your heart like a vice.

“I was afraid,” you whispered. “I didn’t know if you’d want this, I didn’t wanna lose you.”

“I do,” Bishop said, voice firm, “I do want this. It’s what I couldn’t tell you last night, I’m sorry.” Seeing the tears glistening in his eyes, you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck, and the two of you lingered that way, breathing in the moment, bathing in the relief.

“I didn’t even get to say the words,” you said with a sniff and a soft laugh. “I practiced them so much.” Bishop pulled away, a gentle smile on his face that crinkled the lines around his eyes, and placed both hands on your belly.

“Say it,” he said, and you took a shaky breath, tears springing to your eyes at the look of genuine happiness on his face.

“I’m pregnant, Obispo.” He brought you in for a kiss, laughter and tears on your lips.

taglist: @massivecolorspygiant @chibsytelford @redpoodlern @est1887 @yosoynicolexo

#bishop losa x reader #obispo bishop losa x reader #bishop losa #obispo bishop losa #michael irby #mayans mc #mayans mc fic

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