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daughter-lilith · 9 days

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❅In Every Life❅

Halsin x Fem!Reader | Modern AU, Parallel Universes Part 1

Summary: Another day on modern Earth as you finally wind down for the late night in your quiet home. All is as it should be. All is normal as you prepare for bed. That is, until a tall, hulking man with pointed ears shows up at your doorstep claiming to be your lost love from another time and realm. But he’s a stranger. A stranger who forever changes everything you thought you knew about your life.

Explicit 18+ (In future Parts)

CW (For whole story): Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Tension, Oral, P in V, Shifting, Pain, Love, Halsin is Emotional!

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: After 10...11-ish years, BG3 has finally ended my fanfic hiatus. After years of focusing on original novels, I’m honestly so excited to get back into this genre!

For anyone who prefers to read on ao3, you can click here. And for those who prefer third-person POV (what I write most), I have an alternate upload also on ao3.

Lastly, this is technically a 1–2-chapter novella that I'm breaking into about 4-5 parts so it's easier on the eyes. So, apologies in advance if there are any awkward breaks between parts.

You patted the lightweight cream over your face, gently massaging it across your cheeks and up to your forehead until it was evenly spread. Smiling at yourself, you took in your appearance one last time for the night, comfortably dressed in nothing but a fitted tank top and black underwear. You had just finished some extra late-night gaming with friends, and you sighed, remembering that you probably should’ve used that time to write instead. Maybe you should’ve used any free time to write, rather than getting lost in other simple pleasures. The third book of your romantasy series wasn’t going to finish itself, and the deadline was fast approaching. Soon, your publishers will be expecting an update.

Turning off the bathroom light and exiting, you put those thoughts aside for now. Right now, you needed sleep, not to fill your head with worry. ‘I’ll get back on track tomorrow’, you thought to yourself. Your townhome was quiet, save for the distant churning sounds of the dishwasher downstairs. Your bedroom emitted a low light from the TV, though the volume was muted. You walked barefoot across the plush carpet, toward your phone that was placed on the small table next to your bed. 3:03 a.m.: the bright numbers flashed at you. You plugged it into its charger, then laid on your queen-sized mattress.

Grabbing the remote, you shut the TV off, which left your room almost fully dark were it not for the soft, orange glow emanating from the salt lamp near the TV. Snuggling under the covers, you exhaled a breath, closed your eyes, and gradually awaited the sweet lull of sleep. A few minutes had passed maybe, you weren’t sure, your consciousness was dangling on the edge of dreams yet still linked to your waking reality. A sound filled your ears, a familiar rumble that shook you out of your near-slumber, eyes fluttering open.

Your eyes landed on the light emitting from your phone, the screen completely illuminated. You usually left your phone on vibrate just in case of anything, but it wasn’t typically a disturbance. And you didn’t normally get messages at this time, except for the occasional random notification from someone who likely lived in a later time zone. Still, as the screen darkened once again, you closed your eyes, not worrying about it. You were a decent sleeper, and once you had fully slipped under, the chance of a quick notification waking you was quite slim. But not even a minute later, another vibration of the same pattern. Your eyes flicked open again, followed by an annoyed sigh as you relented and reached for your phone.

You squinted as the brightness already felt overwhelming despite not having fallen asleep yet. 3:12 a.m. You looked over the screen, noting the blue icon of your security camera followed by the text: ‘a person detected in your front yard’. Then another notification directly beneath it: ‘a person detected at your front door’. You lifted a brow in curiosity. It wasn’t unusual for random things to trigger your camera; a neighbor walking about, even at this hour, or perhaps your neighbor’s cat who strolled the streets at the most random hours. Maybe even someone driving off. Either way, you decided you were going to snooze the alerts but not before checking first.

Unlocking your phone with the print of your thumb, you tapped the first notification. Immediately, your stomach twisted and a heaviness filled your chest. The beat of your heart rapidly accelerated, and you could hear it echoing in your head, a panicked thumping. It wasn’t your neighbor’s cat, or someone walking by, or even movement from a car… Through the camera’s night vision, a man stood directly in front of your door, his head angled down so you couldn’t see his face. He had one arm- one huge, muscular arm- leaning against the doorframe like he was dealing with an internal battle to remain standing. Or as though he had the weight of the world on his rather broad shoulders and looked to your door for comfort. His other arm rested uneasily near his side, it looked like his fingers were tapping against his leg, unable to keep still.

Those expansive shoulders flexed in his position, tensed. And he was tall, almost filling up the entire field of view were it not for the height the camera was set up at. Dark hair, maybe a dark brown, you couldn’t quite tell in this light, was half tied up in a bun, the rest of it pooling at his collarbones. But despite his massive frame, what stood out the most to you were his ears. They seemed a normal size for his head, but the top of them curved into a tall upward point. ‘Elf ears?’ you silently questioned, confusion merging with your heightening anxiety. Surely, they had to be a prosthetic or molding, they had to be, and yet they blended with the bottom part of his ears so well.

You were sitting straight up now, the uneasiness in your belly increasing. What do you do? It was rational to call the cops, you knew this, but how soon would they get there? Do you try and scare him off? Threaten him? You lived alone, but he didn’t know that.

A new wave of panic surged as you tried to remember if you had locked your door. Of course you did, you always did. But what if- what if this was the one stupid night that it slipped your mind? What if— your thoughts were halted when you noticed the stranger lifting his head.

You gasped as he stared at the door for a single moment before his eyes roved up towards the camera. He started tilting his head as he looked intently at the camera, studying it, until his head paused, almost like he knew he was being watched.

You were frozen as you took in his gaze, so intense, so focused. The front door light was on, and paired with the night vision, you could tell he had bright eyes. And those eyes seemed to steal your breath, pulling you in even through the camera. There was so much depth behind his eyes: strength, power, kindness even. But another emotion burned brighter than the rest, a sense of…desperation- if you could call it that. A hopeful desperation, maybe. But for what?

As he looked at you, or so it felt like, you found yourself completely captured by him. The mere sight of him seemed to slow the nervous hammering of your heart, and you took this strange moment to take in more of his features. Apart from his ever-enthralling stare, he also seemed tired, like it had been days since he last rested, like he was too stressed to even get the chance. Four, very precise scars swiped across the right side of his face, from his forehead, cutting across his brow. Whatever injured him, it luckily missed his eye, only continuing to the bottom part of his lip and chin. And on the left side, a curving pattern of tattoos swirled along his face, from the top of his forehead to his chin, and maybe even to his neck but it was difficult to tell from this angle. You couldn’t make out the color, but it was clearly darker than his complexion, dark enough to notice.

A new realization simmered in your mind as your eyes were fixed on him, despite the scarring on his face and the tired look in and around his eyes, he seemed…handsome. He was handsome. More than that even, and perhaps that’s what made it more difficult to look away. You shook your head rapidly. No, his looks didn’t matter. They couldn’t matter. He was a stranger outside of your house at three o’clock in the gotdamn morning. ‘Get it together,’ you thought to yourself.

But the movement of his lips pulled you out of your analysis and self-reprimanding, and your heart battered once again as a new wave of anxiety passed through you. He was saying something. You didn’t hear him, as the sound was muted on your end. Your finger hovered over the volume symbol, trembling. Pressing it wouldn’t give your voice sound, but it would allow you to hear his. Before you could talk yourself out of it, your thumb turned on the volume. Instantly, the distant sound of the soft wind passed through the phone. Your heart beating in your chest, you watched the stranger and waited. And it wasn’t long before his lips moved once again.

“Can you hear me?” the stranger inquired, his voice low and gentle through your phone. When he spoke, a cloud of air flowed from his mouth, a reminder of the brisk night. The sound made your stomach tickle, a new sense of nerves but not of fear.

A brief, grave sigh followed his inquiry, and it only confirmed the emotions behind his eyes. He was definitely desperate for something, perhaps even afraid?

You didn’t dare turn on the speaker to respond, your voice suddenly feeling dry as you tried to swallow any bits of saliva you could.

“Please. I mean you no harm,” the stranger spoke again. His brows curved inward, and his mouth slightly turned down. So much suffering in his warm, kind eyes; so much heaviness in his large arms and shoulders.

Your mouth parted slightly, and you found yourself standing now, rocking side-to-side on your heels. Somehow, deep in your core, as his plea rumbled through your phone, you felt the sincerity in his voice. Your intuition was always quite strong, and at this moment, all sense of fear and suspicion began to wane. The logical next step would be getting the police on the phone while keeping an eye on the stranger from one of the upstairs windows. Instead, your thumb found itself hovering over the speaker. Swallowing, you exhaled an unsteady breath and clicked the button, permitting sound from your end now.

“What do you want?” You tried to sound intimidating, but your voice came out softer than you intended, and you clenched your jaw at how vulnerable you sounded.

The stranger’s eyes widened, and his pointed ears seemed to perk up, a surprising hope filling his gaze. A quick mist of air escaped his lips as you heard him release a quick breath. He stepped back from the doorframe, standing taller, and when he spoke again, you could’ve sworn you died right then and there if you weren’t so very clearly still standing. He had spoken your name- well, almost. He used the shortened version, a nickname only your closest friends and family sometimes referred to you as. There was no way he’d know that name.

With a new resolve, you spoke again, this time your voice came out louder, more confident. “How do you know that name? Who the hell are you?”

He said your name game, softer, desperate, his brows once again curving inward. “You’re here, you’re truly here. Please, may I come in? I will explain all.”

Come in? There was no way that was happening… right? The rational part of your brain was like a blaring siren, shouting at you to do the smart thing. But you often moved through life with your heart first, your emotions, leaving your mind to sigh in relief when everything worked out. Or, scrambling to pick up the pieces of your mistakes. You couldn’t let him in, you shouldn’t.

“I will not harm you. Never,” the stranger affirmed, closing off his promise with your name. Another feeling simmered in your heart when he said your name once again, so naturally, like it had left his lips a thousand times before.

“And I should just trust you?” you retorted, your voice a harsh whisper. But your curiosity was developing by the second as you glanced at your robe lying haphazardly in the middle of your bed.

You heard him sigh, his shoulders lowering, a heavy sense of defeat fueling such a simple action. But he didn’t seem irritated or impatient. And the more he peered into the camera, at you, a pool of dread and grief burned into the wells of his bright eyes. An uncomfortable jolt shot across your stomach at the sight. You knew nothing of this man and had never seen him before, but you couldn’t swallow the sorrow that arose in your chest, nearly causing you to forget to breathe. You were always quite empathetic, but this was…unique. Bizarre.

“What does your heart tell you?” you heard him ask, the words so gentle and pure from such an incredible stature of a man.

You blinked rapidly at the question, your voice suddenly caught in your throat. Quickly, you tapped the speaker on your phone to silence yourself. A shaky exhale escaped your throat, and you could hear your heart thumping again.

You stared at the man, whose eyes seemed to glow due to the greyscale night vision. You quickly pondered his question…your heart often told you many things, some right some not so much… And yet, as you stared at this man, who stood outside your door in the middle of the night, quick trails of air consistently leaving his lips, your heart answered. Without another thought, you took two steps towards your bed and picked up your robe, swiftly throwing it over you, your arms sliding in with ease. You wrapped it snuggly around your frame, feeling warm except for the skin below your knees that was left exposed.

And now, your heart was guiding you towards the stairs, down the steps, until you were sneaking down the short corridor to your front door. Your phone was still gripped tightly in your hand, and the stranger once again muttered a gentle plea. The sound of his voice caused a prickle across your arms, a new bundle of nerves as you got closer to your door.

Your house was almost completely pitch-black, except for a few flickering lights from alarms, the thermostat, the Wi-Fi modem, and cable boxes. The steady swishing sounds from the dishwasher were the only audible company, but even it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the drumming of your heart.

Coldness hit the bottom of your feet as you left the softness of the carpet and stepped into the entryway. You stopped in front of the tall, burgundy door, the wooden frame the only thing keeping you separated from the stranger. Thankfully, you had indeed locked it, top and bottom, but even that didn’t seem like it would be enough if he chose to get in with force. Glancing at your phone screen, you noticed he diverted his attention from the camera, angling down to stare at your door. You were holding your breath again, unbeknownst to you, and swallowed harshly.

“You’re right there…” he murmured, reaching to place a hand on the door. “Please.”

Your stomach fluttered at his voice; the baritone was much clearer now that you were hearing him from not just your phone but directly outside the door. You closed your eyes, whispering a silent prayer to anyone who was listening. If any guardian angels are listening, now would be a great time to have my back.

You opened your eyes and glanced at your phone. “Just…take a few steps back.”

Immediately, he removed his hand from the door. “Of course.” The large man retreated some, walking backward down two steps.

Satisfied, as much as you could be anyway, you placed your phone down on a small stand near the door, then reached to unlock the door.

One click.

A quick exhale.

A thumping heart.

Another click.

You reached for the light switch next, flicking on the warm-white glow above your head. You began turning the handle, your mind a wild array of thoughts and images of what could happen. But it was your heart in the end that silenced the panicked voices, your heart that gave you the courage to proceed.

Pulling the door back a few inches, cold air instantly prickled your cheeks, causing a shudder to shoot down your back. You leaned your head in between the small opening, instantly locking eyes with the man just a few feet from you.

Your breath hitched. Even standing two steps down did little to lessen the intimidation of his height. His eyes widened as they met with yours, a flash of relief and hope reflecting in his… what looked like hazel eyes. A gleam of silver or blue seemed to glow in the specks of his irises, perhaps from the lighting, but it was otherwise mesmerizing. You could better make out the swirling tattoo on his face, a deep red that only seemed to bring more attention to his eyes. Subconsciously, you ended up pulling the door back more, your body now half exposed to the outside.

The strange man breathed a quick sigh, much more joyful than the ones from earlier. “It’s you. It’s truly you.” A smile spread on his face, deepening the laugh lines on his cheeks. His large arms extended toward you and he took a single step forward.

Instinctively, you recoiled, and he froze, a wave of regret painting his expression.

“Forgive me,” he rushed his words, his muscled arms now hovering in surrender. “I am stricken with disbelief. But I meant what I said, that I would never harm you.”

Without the echo and semi-clarity of speaking through your phone, you could feel the sincerity in his words far more than before. The way his gaze pored into you, the shame that seemed to hover at the idea that he just frightened you, your fear began to wane. Yes, he did startle you just now, but then instantly soothed your anxiety on his words alone. You eyed him up and down, slow, taking in more of his appearance than what could be seen through the camera.

He was even larger. Bulging muscles looked like they wanted to flex in his arms, held back by a strap or belt across his biceps. Green leaves padded his shoulders, decorating the intricate garb he wore. You slightly narrowed your brow in question. He definitely looked like he could’ve just left some sort of Renaissance faire or some comic convention, but at this time of night? Maybe if it was Halloween that would explain things, except it was a few weeks into winter.

Brown armbands covered what you could only assume were thick forearms beneath, and he was wearing pants that were partially concealed by a flowing white skirt- or at least what used to be white. It looked stained, like he had once fallen in mud and he was only partially able to wash away all the evidence. Still, as your eyes returned to him, you certainly couldn’t deny the sculpted ruggedness in his face, his jawline. He wasn’t just handsome, but beautiful even, strange attire and all. And his age, you couldn’t quite measure it. When he smiled, he looked like he could’ve been late thirties. But he appeared a bit older when he frowned, maybe early forties.

“Who are you?” you questioned, feeling slightly more comfortable. You opened the door further, feeling your legs tingle, reacting to the cool air.

But he didn’t answer right away, seemingly lost as his gaze similarly roved over you. But it was slower, more deliberate, and you crossed your arms around yourself, almost self-conscious under his analyzing eye. And even though your robe covered you almost completely, you still remembered you were practically naked underneath. Could he tell that you were?

Clearing your throat, he startled, the leaves shaking over his shoulders, and locked eyes with you again.

“I am Halsin,” he said, confidence oozing in his timbre. A hearty smile followed his introduction, and your caution continued to fade and drift away.

Halsin, you thought. You shifted your mouth to the side, pondering. It didn’t ring a single bell. You had a few lovers in your past, some casual to serious. But there was no way you would’ve ever forgotten such an unfamiliar name, especially if it was attached to the absolute tower of a man before you. You looked at him once more, noting a flicker of hope in his eyes. Hope that maybe you would know something.

“Where did you come from…Halsin?” He frowned at your inquiry, visibly dispirited that his name did not connect with you. “You’re not exactly dressed for this weather,” you continued. His arms were completely exposed, and his clothing certainly did not seem well-suited for the winter. While it wasn’t below freezing, there was an evident chill in the air, a reminder that spring was still well off. You suspected that he had to be at least a little uncomfortable.

Halsin smiled at your observation, a gentle chuckle leaving his throat. “You are correct. I did not think to prepare for which season would greet me. As for where I came from… it is a realm quite far from here.” He glanced away, off to the side as he paused. When he looked back at you, there was a sense of uncertainty in his eyes. “A place called Faerûn.”

“Faerûn…” you murmured, narrowing your brows as your eyes searched his face. “I’ve never-- is that a country? An island?”

His smile remained, though laced with a touch of gloom. “A continent.”

A continent? Not one you’ve ever heard of before. A name like that wouldn’t have been hard to forget, especially if it was one of the continents of Earth. You released a soft breath, trying -and failing- to mask your budding confusion.

You heard Halsin speak, his smooth baritone drawing your attention back up his tall frame. “He warned me you may not remember…but I was hoping…” His words drifted off into the cold air. When he spoke, he wasn’t looking at you, like it was meant to be a side thought.

“Who warned you?” Your breath came out harsh as an involuntary gasp escaped you.

He bowed his head slightly, bringing one arm across his chest. “Silvanus.”

Another name unfamiliar to you. You stared at Halsin, quizzically, and it was clear to him that he understood the gnawing confusion that rattled you.

“Perhaps I can come inside to talk? I am fine with this brisk air, and I do not mind explaining all out here but…” he sighed, concern etching at the corners of his eyes, “you are trembling. And I don’t think it’s from fear, not entirely.”

As he said this, a shudder dashed up your back. You weren’t aware how long you’d been shivering, too baffled by the large man before you. Too distracted by this entire interaction. But a sudden passing wind supported Halsin’s observation of you, and you curled your toes inward, trying to shield them from the cold. The air prickled your lower legs, traveling up your thighs and your back. The robe that clutched your frame was as warm as it could be, but not warm enough to soothe you against the winter’s air.

After a light sniffle, you steeled yourself and stared at him directly. “I’ll let you in, but you have to do something for me first.”

“Anything,” he quickly responded.

“Tell me something about me that only those who know me would know. Just one thing that involves me.”

Halsin rocked back on his right foot a bit, shoulders squaring a pinch as he tilted his chin slightly. He turned his head to the side, his expression deeply focused, thinking. Meanwhile, your heart was amping up again, a fleet of nerves crackling in your gut as you awaited his answer. This was it. This was the moment that would solidify if you could completely throw even more caution to the wind and allow this strange man to enter your sanctuary, in the middle of a winter’s night, alone. Finally, Halsin’s voice filled the night air once more, a soft timbre.

“Your back,” he started, still looking away. “There is a mark there- a small streak- it begins near your lower spine, tracing further down, only stopping at,” he paused, a small smile tugging at his lips. He cleared his throat before continuing. “It’s lighter than your overall complexion, the only such mark on your body.”

You froze, your voice stunned into silence. Your lips parted, but only the warmness of your breath trailed away, forming a small, fading cloud. Halsin finally looked at you again, uneasily pressing his lips together.

A beating heart thumped loudly. Yours or his? Of course it had to be yours. But the way he was staring at you, the slight tremble in his lips, a brief rock on his heels, he was nervous. Uncertain. Perhaps desperately hoping he was right. Visibly, he did not appear to be an easily nervous man, that he could ever seem to lack any confidence, and yet you felt his nerves even more than you saw it. And he was right- the birthmark that trailed down the end of your spine. Only a few would know of it: your parents from when you were a child, your closest friends who helped zip your outfits up on occasion, and some ex-lovers who were lucky enough to have you in a position of giving them such a view.

It wasn’t something you hid per se, but you didn’t really flaunt it either. In most, if not all pictures of you, you were either clothed or facing forward. Maybe some passerby caught a view of it at beaches or pools, but one had to be really paying attention.

“How…” you breathed, searching his eyes. “How did you know that?”

A brightness washed over his face, and his shoulder evened, standing taller. “Because I know you. And I could never forget you… my heart.”

His… heart? A flush of warmth filled your cheeks. Something in the way he said those words, the way his unwavering eyes focused on you, meant something to you. You meant something to him.

Sure, you could mark him off as some weirdo stalker, that had to be it. It was the only thing that made sense. But an unpleasant tickle poked your gut at the idea, like the very thought of him being such a thing was an insult. And looking at this mountain of a man; who dressed like he came from another time, with large, perfectly pointed ears and a large scar that didn’t seem to be fake… No, he wasn’t just some stalker.

“May I?” He gestured towards the space between you and the door.

You bit the side of your bottom lip, heart thumping. Another rush of wind passed over your feet sending a more vicious chill up your legs. So, you leaned fully to the side, pulling the door back as far as it could go. Halsin seemed to release a breath of relief, before stepping up and towards you. You nearly gulped as he did, almost forgetting just how much taller he was since he was initially standing a few steps down.

He kept his gaze on you as the distance closed, and his large frame nearly filled the entire entryway. You watched him intently, neck angled up the closer he came. Instantly, the scent of pine and sandalwood filled your nose, amplified by the warmth radiating from him. How was that possible? He had been standing in the cold for some time and yet it was like the setting sun in the middle of summer had just entered your home. You almost smiled, overtaken by a sudden sense of peace and tranquility. Of strength and protection. Of the wild and the power that came with it.

Halsin continued to peer down at you, a nearly-there smile on his smooth-appearing lips. You weren’t the shortest person in the world, but you’ve never felt as dwarfed as you do now. Halsin moved by you, careful not to invade too much of your personal space, which was almost impossible in the small entryway. Finally, you broke contact with him and turned to close the door, one final breeze blowing inside as you did. You closed your eyes briefly, shooting another quick prayer before turning around and hustling past the hulking man.

You moved towards the kitchen, feeling the weight of his steps calmly following. You almost turned the main light on but hesitated; the idea of the bright light illuminating the whole room suddenly made you nervous. It was much brighter than the one by your door. This would mean facing him fully, without the presence of faint shadows to help mask any emotions. That and, you were still very much in your robe with just a tank top and your underwear beneath. Your hair wasn’t a mess per se, but not exactly presentable for a guest. Or for whatever he was. So instead, you turned the rotating switch, activating the spherical ceiling lights. A warm, dim glow gradually filled the space as you turned it halfway and stopped. Just enough light.

“Most intriguing,” you heard him say. You didn’t understand what he meant but decided not to question it. There were already too many questions, and you wanted to get to the most important ones first.

Stepping toward the island at the center, you finally turned to face Halsin again as you stopped at the side of the counter. Your kitchen was decently sized and typically didn’t have an issue with a couple of people being in it at once. But Halsin absolutely dominated this space. You noticed his eyes searching behind you, at a very particular area with a quizzical expression. Looking over your shoulder, nothing but more counter space, the sink, and the dishwasher. Was that what he was looking at?

“Oh, I can turn it off if it helps,” you said casually. Maybe it was distracting him. You leaned towards it and hit the pause button instead of canceling it entirely. Instantly, a new silence filled the room, and you were already missing the steady, rhythmic whooshing sounds of the washer. At least it drowned out the sound of your heart which now all too familiarly thumped in your ears.

Turning back to Halsin, who was already looking at you, made you fiddle with your fingers, trying not to cower beneath his gaze. This was your space he was in, your home. So you steeled yourself as best as possible, steadying your breaths, and held his gaze, waiting.

But Halsin continued to watch you, once again trapping you under the powerful pressure of his stare. You licked your lips, tense, and you could’ve sworn you heard his breath hitch.

“Halsin?”

He blinked. “Forgive me, I am just…” he exhaled, smiling, “taking you in.”

Part 2 here! Hope you enjoyed! Would you have opened the door?👀👀 & Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the final part either as a comment or in tags if you reblogged, that way you can binge it or just simply be notified when it's complete!

#halsin x reader #halsin fiction #halsin fanfic #halsin fanfiction #halsin imagine #halsin x female tav #halsin bg3 #bg3 fanfic #halsin x you #bg3 x you #halsin x oc #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction

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moonbaby26 · 2 months

Text

Title: Proposal

(Chapter 16 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader

Chapter Warnings: language, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, angst

Chapter Synopsis: Still feeling pressure from both real and perceived enemies abroad, Doflamingo gives into his insecurities and chooses to take your and his relationship public at last.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

——————————

For as wealthy of a country as Dressrosa was supposedly becoming, shade clearly wasn’t something they’d yet found important enough for including in colosseum upgrades.

You’d had no choice but to fully cover up in layers of clothing today to hide your many injuries. But no matter how you sat now, legs crossed or not, marine coat unbuttoned or not, there was zero breeze and you were getting hot beneath that persistent sun.

Having this tall, pink bird radiating his additional body heat as he insisted on staying hip to hip with you in the booth was not helping either of course.

Feathers grazed against you as you took yet another drink of the iced juice his servants had offered. But you really wanted to put that cold glass against the side of your face. You would have too if the damn cameras hadn’t kept checking back in at the worst times while the sounds of more weapons clashing carried up from below.

But it really was like some higher power just kept kicking you again when you were already down.

Because the juice was pulpy, and overly sweet for your tastes. Something Doflamingo had said was his preference when he’d seen you choose it earlier. So you should have blamed him. When on that final sip something harder in the pulp had caught right in the back of your throat.

Debris that was perfectly sized, too small to force down with additional swallowing. But just big enough to trigger a coughing fit as you left your now empty glass on the ledge of the booth.

You grabbed Doflamingo’s drink next. Some rich, dark beer you’d never heard of. Something you were not supposed to be drinking on duty anyway as you suddenly downed it like it was a late night, after hours in Marineford instead.

“Shit.” You still coughed several more times, but feeling that piece finally dislodge in the rush of alcohol.

“Well...I can’t say I’ve ever seen someone try to drown themselves with pomegranate juice before.” His mocking tone accompanied the stare you’d obviously now earned. “Did you forget the difference between breathing and drinking for a moment there, marine?”

And you glared up at him, everything only made worse when you saw that condescending expression on his face.

“Seeds got caught in my throat, you jerk. If you wanted your juice that damn thick, you should have just stuck a straw in a raw fruit for gods’ sake!”

But you saw the weird way Doflamingo paused. And then abruptly, the way the muscles in his brow shifted to give away that his smile had now spread to his concealed eyes.

“You swallowed the seeds then?”

“Well yes.” But such a simple question was far more off putting when he was now looking at you like that. “Should I have spit them out onto you instead?” You tried to fuss back, flustered really of what could possibly be going through that mess of his mind now.

“They don’t teach much literature in those naval classes do they?” He just answered with a question of his own, still looking inexplicably amused. “Just books on a thousand ways to tie ropes and how to properly mop decks then?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about.” You retorted, even still coughing an additional time then.

“I have an entire library back at the palace you know.” He said, even as he made a gesture with his hand to summon another drink tray. “I think I’ll pick out some books on this for you tomorrow. You’ll need something to do anyway while I’m back in meetings. I’d hate for you to be too bored and lonely, just pining for my return all day.”

Of course his taunting tone said otherwise. He’d love you to have nothing better to do than just lay around for hours waiting for him to climb back on top of you, you were sure.

“Go to hell.” You huffed, albeit still gladly taking a water this time as the servants were back before you both then.

“Already there, darling.” He quipped, still grinning as he grabbed another beer from their tray in replacement of the one you’d just demolished for him.

“And we have our first knockout of the competition!” The announcer’s voice boomed with excitement as you and Doflamingo finally looked away from one another and to the scene below then.

You’d already learned that everything was so over the top in this place, bordering on barbaric honestly.

But you’d done your best to reserve your judgement every time the crowd’s energy had surged when new wounds were opened up or bones were broken in the colosseum battles.

Because it might just be the culture here. Every island had its own traditions, its own history within reason.

Yet when the winner of this latest match began approaching his now unconscious opponent, spear angling further downward to take new aim, you nearly stood.

That was finally well beyond reason to you.

“He’s already down!” You said to the warlord. Your hand had closed on Doflamingo’s forearm in reflex.

And the fresh cruelty budding in that pirate’s smile while he looked from your hand now gripped onto his arm, and then back to your concerned face made you pause all over again.

“Oh, dear woman…a good bloodletting gets these animals excited like the hateful things they really are. Are you going to deny them this release?”

“There are children here.” You managed to retort. But the fresh tinge of disgust was obvious in your eyes.

These were people, not things.

Doflamingo still chuckled, like a mix of false sympathy and real distaste as his own hand abruptly rose above you. “And you are far too predictable, love. You’ll owe me again for this one.”

And the previous roar of the crowd quieted in the resulting confusion.

Only with the snail cameras then zooming in were you able to see that true result on the screen. Your surprise matching the other spectators as what now looked like a spider’s web had materialized from nowhere to block the kill shot.

The aggressor’s spear now hung in midair from where it’d been thrown. Its sharp metal tip pressed into that web, unable to penetrate past it and cross just those few inches that remained to the target’s throat.

“And…and I can’t believe it, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer exclaimed again. “His majesty has interceded into the fight! Sire!? Would you like to address the crowd!?”

Some woman in gladiator attire was then at the booth before you knew it. She appeared to be part of the colosseum workers as she bowed in respect all the while offering Doflamingo a microphone.

You heard the warlord laugh quietly, speaking just to you before that microphone was in range to pick his voice up.

“See the trouble you’ve started?” He chided.

And yet he still took that microphone from her as if this was also second nature to him. No hesitation at all as he relaxed further back into the stone seating beside you.

His arm went tight around your shoulders to keep you in that resulting camera shot with him as well.

“I’m only being a hospitable host, Gatz.” Doflamingo’s best charismatic tone now echoed through the colosseum as he addressed the announcer by name. The whole venue was now silent except for their king.

“The captain here isn’t yet acclimated to the normal rules our gladiators live and die by. Just now, she expressed an interest to me in seeing even this loser have an opportunity to fight another day. Because she believes adversity can sometimes lead to improvement, even within the weak.”

He gave a slight sneer then, but remained relatively calm. “I disagree of course. However, I promised her we could try things her way just for today. So not only will there be no executions during today’s events…”

And he did pause briefly there, anticipating the crowd’s palpable shock. But he knew just when to continue as well, keeping them enraptured as he then dropped the next apparent change.

“But also, at the conclusion of today’s competition, the captain will also be granted one pick from all current participants to grant a full royal pardon to. And that gladiator will walk free from the colosseum this very evening, by her grace alone.”

You hadn’t known a thing about this of course. But your instincts were quick to believe it wasn’t at all an improvisation.

He’d planned this.

He’d known exactly how you were going to react as the battles worsened, and you’d played right into it.

And now he was doing his favorite trick again because of that. Controlling you at the exchange of human lives.

In Mariejois you’d submitted to him under the implication of him harming both yourself and your crew if you’d revealed him as Joker.

In Sabaody, he’d freed slaves from his own auction house in exchange for your promising to soon meet him again.

And in Scylla, he’d demanded your fidelity and made you promise to always return to him. Otherwise the life lost would clearly be your own.

“So I’d advise our competitors to do their best to impress her. She’s got very high standards after all.” Doflamingo still added, briefly smirking down at you.

He was complimenting himself of course there, implying that he was already one of your so called “high standard” choices.

With so much amusement, this man could make an instant game out of people’s lives and freedom. All the while still having the gall to stroke his own ego right on top of it.

—————————

And just those few hours later, he was already refusing to help you at all in this dilemma he’d so gladly created.

“Just fucking pick one.” Doflamingo drawled, sounding bored by then as Gatz was still talking over you both across the stadium speakers. The battles were done at last, the competitors reentering the arena one by one as the announcer reintroduced them to go through the final motions.

The sun was just beginning to set. Something you couldn’t even appreciate as the sky began changing to vibrant hues of pink and red.

Because you didn’t have an answer yet.

“That isn’t fair to them.” You insisted. “It can’t just be random.”

The warlord’s lips upturned a little, yet another beer still in his hand. “Then be lazy and let the crowd choose for you. I don’t care. Just hurry up. My ass is falling asleep. I’m tired of sitting here.”

“This whole production was your idea, you dick!”

“Yeah well, the fights take that much longer when they can’t just kill one another. It’s still your fault this had to be so drawn out.”

You made a dissatisfied sound in your irritation. He wanted you to just pick whoever the crowd had seemed most fanatic about. But you weren’t feeling that. Because they had cheered loudest for only the most violent participants.

Which seemed like a terrible criteria for choosing the person who was about to be released back into society.

Yet you could feel that Gatz was about to direct the cameras back to the royal booth at any moment.

Fuck. You were just going to have to go with your instincts. You didn’t have any information on each prisoner’s actual crimes to do any better with this.

“The tall guy with the tattoo and the ponytail.” You said quickly to Doflamingo then.

The fighter you now referenced was one of the first to have come back into the stadium in this final showing, and you’d already forgotten what Gatz had called him.

But Doflamingo did sit up a little more then, looking down at them all to see who you meant. Yet you saw his smirk fade once his gaze found the only man that matched your description.

“Fine. A deal’s a deal.”

And with almost a huff, the warlord made a sudden gesture with his hand. You’d known the executives were close by. Yet it’d still surprised you when Diamante was abruptly leaning in behind you both at that nonverbal summons.

“Yes, Doffy?” That creep of a man asked, far too close for your comfort.

“Diamante, remind me. What’s that fucker’s name? The one with the ink nearly on his cock. She likes him apparently.” Doflamingo grumbled, his fingers tightening on your side as his arm had moved back around your waist.

And you had to stare at the pirate when he gave this new description.

Because yes, that prisoner was shirtless and had a lower abdominal tattoo. With the bottom of that image partly obscured by the belt line of his loincloth.

But for all that was holy, did Doflamingo actually have a hint of jealousy in his voice again now? As if physical appearance had anything to do with your pick?

Diamante did answer easily with the name though. “He was one of Riku’s army captains.” He also added after with evident distaste.

“Wait…what?” you tried to interrupt at that. Because your true, only reason for choosing that particular gladiator was that in all the fighters you’d watched, he’d shown the most restraint.

Someone with real self control that you’d hoped would be the least likely to threaten an average citizen once freed.

But if they were now saying that he was part of the previous regime that had slaughtered those very same citizens under Riku’s command, then these two things just didn’t add up to you.

Could your instinct be that wrong?

“Does that mean he participated in Riku’s attack?” You asked seriously, butting in again.

“Of course he did. But I told you to pick someone the crowd liked. You wouldn’t do it. This is on you.” Doflamingo sneered a little at that, still confirming your choice regardless. “That’s the one you’re letting go, Diamante. Go tell Gatz. And remind him of my announcement too.”

“Yes, Doffy.” Diamante didn’t argue, though he also looked displeased with you before he was gone again soon enough.

And you must have had an expression of further concern on your own face, worrying over the possible ramifications of this as you heard Doflamingo finally chuckle again.

As if he couldn’t stay irritable with you when you were just this pathetic.

“Poor thing. Not easy making these decisions, is it?” He asked you. He was now rubbing your side with that large hand. “Don’t worry, we’re almost done here. And then I’ll be all yours again.”

———————————

Gatz had loudly announced your choice of who to pardon, and as expected the crowd had given a mixed reaction at best.

Their resentment to anyone associated with Riku’s former regime was still so visceral. A joke that just kept on giving as Doflamingo couldn’t help but gloat a bit.

Because they were all so fucking gullible. In that prisoner, they only saw someone who had once ravaged their own people without hesitation.

But you, a woman who had been here at the colosseum all of a single afternoon, had already seen straight through this. You’d zeroed in on likely the least corrupted in all of the current choices and picked accordingly.

It was impressive really. Highly annoying to him, but impressive none the less.

And Doflamingo had rolled his eyes behind his glasses when that now former prisoner did fall to his knees in the arena at the news of his unexpected freedom.

The idiot was actually crying by then, crying about soon being reunited with his family and thanking you over and over. While Gatz was playing the storyline up all the more, waxing poetic about your supposed indiscriminate mercy and unique capacity for forgiveness as you looked entirely uncomfortable in the whole situation.

But Doflamingo knew it would still work out in the long run. A single, former Riku loyalist back on the loose was no concern to him after all. Because this was perfect bait for others to follow.

Your kindness could soon become like a goddamn siren call to flush out his enemies.

His irresistible siren.

That wasn’t an inaccurate metaphor really.

And as Gatz gradually finished up, Doflamingo was now taking slightly deeper breaths himself without willing it.

His muscles were tensing and releasing again as he downed the rest of his current beer.

The real show was finally at hand. What he’d been waiting for all afternoon.

And that actual tinge of nervousness was still foreign to him as his hand had returned to his pants’ pocket, fingers tightening around that ring.

“And before the official conclusion of today’s events, it has been commanded that all you good people of Dressrosa please remain seated! As his royal highness, king Donquixote Doflamingo has an announcement to make!”

And their king did stand then, postured at his full height as the snail cameras had to zoom out to then keep you both in frame on the stadium’s screen.

You were sitting properly again for the cameras of course, with your back straight and your eyes cautiously on him. His disciplined marine once more.

Because you did know how to play this part of the game, whether you could yet admit it or not. The falsehood of putting on a strong front.

Another colosseum worker had scurried over then, presenting Doflamingo with a microphone again. He took it to hold in one of his hands, your ring hooked with his fingertip by the other hand still in his pocket.

“Citizens of Dressrosa…” Doflamingo’s smooth voice filled the stadium as all else quieted once more. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the festivities today. And I’m glad everyone could be here this evening on such short notice. As I do have a confession to make that concerns us all.” And his grin widened further in the dark humor of that implication.

Because there were a thousand crimes that would have lit this place up in an instant if he had divulged even a single one of them.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” His heart was beginning to pound regardless.

But he liked it.

He liked the thrill in this risk versus reward.

He had waited so long for this.

“But that secrecy has been for a very good reason. Because the media would have spun this out of control as they’ve already tried to do. So much so that the very peace and stability of this island may have been threatened.”

He was still smiling, letting the lies begin to flow easier and easier from his wicked mouth.

“And I knew I owed it to you, the loyal denizens of this country to be the first to hear it direct from me when the time was right. To tell you of the choice I’ve made which will affect all our futures.”

And now he did see you, in the peripheral vision of his good eye as you started to look more stressed. That flicker of panic beginning behind those lovely eyes of yours.

You really were a smart girl where it mattered. Thankfully so, as he’d have tolerated little else in the long run.

He glanced down to you, turning his head to do so. He was making his attention on you undeniable again for those cameras.

“You see, contrary to prior reports, this woman is far from a recent acquaintance to me.”

If everyone was to know, then of course he would put his own spin on the narrative. He could rewrite this as easily as Morgans could.

Doflamingo would make it what he wanted it to be. Not what it really was.

“The captain here is a distinguished marine, yes. Which unfortunately, put us briefly on opposing sides some years ago.”

Oh, the way he knew he was already sanitizing this. As if talking about only a sporting like competition between the two of you then, rather than a trading of blood, bullets, and the warships that’d been out for his hide.

“But as we all know, through my own merit and perseverance, I also rose so quickly to be recognized for what I really was.”

And goddamn, it was actually fun to say this with almost a straight face. “No longer just a pirate, but a guardian of this world. One of the seven warlords, standing now beside her marines as a crucial pillar in the balance of powers on behalf of our world government.”

He was acting as if you two were truly the same, as if you always had been. That you were the self-sacrificing defenders of all these wretches now hanging on his every word.

And your hands were clenching against the top of your skirt in your lap again.

It was all utter bullshit and you knew it.

His grin widened.

“But I always desired her.”

An actual truth abruptly there.

He saw your lips part slightly. A sudden gun to your head likely would have provoked less surprise now in your eyes.

“So the very moment that ink was dry on my government contract, when my name was rightfully cleared and my honor restored, I called on this woman of course.”

His fingers were anxiously turning that ring in his pocket now.

“And we’ve been together ever since. In secret to protect her career from all the close minded fools who may still not accept this truth of our shared feelings.”

A sound went through the crowd of course, that mix of true surprise and excitement.

It was every trope he could throw into this. The star crossed lovers, the lonely heroes, the redeemed king pining for his mate that should be untouchable by the prior blood on his hands.

But he still wasn’t done. Because Doflamingo always wanted it all. And he refused to share you even with the ghosts of your past.

“We even went so far as to fabricate other brief relationships to throw the public off of our scent. Just peers of ours who were willing to let their names be tossed into the rumor mill here and there in order to protect us.”

Kuzan, Crocodile, Smoker…fuck them all. They’d had their chances and burned you both. They weren’t going to get any secondary fame any longer because of it.

This was his spotlight now.

“But after three years together…” He was counting from the day he became a warlord of course. At least giving you that sliver of mercy to imply the fucking hadn’t started until he had immunity from prosecution. When he was no longer legally a criminal at least.

When in reality, your very first physical time together had been closer to only three months ago. That day in Mariejois when he’d first closed his hand around your throat and then pounded his raw cock into you for all he was worth not long after. A whole new euphoria he would never forget that initial dose of.

“We’re not going to hide this any longer.”

His chest tightened as he felt that tangible flare of your haki. But he doubted you would dare strike him here. Not in front of everyone at least.

Doflamingo smiled.

Didn’t you know that fire inside only made him want you all the more?

“And this country will become even safer under her and my dual protection. We will have a marine port of call established here, just as we implied in Scylla. Dressrosa will be the new home for both her subordinates, as well as the roots for our future royal family.”

The cameras were flashing like lightning, the crowd’s roar the resulting thunder as he finally slid that ring from his pocket.

Your whole identity, your career, and your freedom was likely burning right before you as he saw your eyes look at that jeweled band in the fading sunlight.

A large diamond was in its center, rising above smaller rubies framing it as if they were droplets of blood. Their red reflection casting almost a pink hue across that larger faceted stone.

Like the diamond itself was a survivor rising from the blood of the battlefield.

There’d been no other choice in his mind as soon as he’d seen this ring. He’d known it was perfect.

Like you.

“Marry me.” And Doflamingo’s dark voice said those two words so simply. Firmly for all to hear across the speakers as he held that ring between the two of you.

There was no intonation of a question in that command, but he did not reach for you either to force your hand.

He was still standing, looking down at you. You were seated, so still in the silence that had consumed the colosseum once more as his subjects awaited your answer.

He would not kneel of course. Only in the privacy of the bedroom and within the throws of full passion would he ever do that for you.

No, here in front of all these nameless fleas, it was up to you to rise to meet him. To be worthy of this honor as he loomed above you.

And he did see you take a deep breath. Your haki had stabilized again at last, quieting in tandem to your careful body language as you did stand to your feet.

You held your head up, a forced grace that still didn’t match the sharp look in your eyes. You were staring into those red sunglasses of his in a way that made his stomach tighten.

Like a lioness on a too thin chain.

It could still all go wrong. Because your desire was unclear and wavering. You couldn’t win, but he knew that you could hurt him.

Did you want to hurt him?

His armament was ready. His heart was pounding.

And then you exhaled.

You raised your left hand up from your side, holding it out flat before him.

“Yes.”

Doflamingo did blink behind his glasses at such a small, yet life changing word. The surrender from you that was all it took to launch the crowd into an explosion of hysterics and roaring cheers as he did slip that ring onto your waiting finger.

Their new noise shook the stadium louder than anytime he’d ever heard before as he watched you with some amazement.

He’d abandoned the microphone now, tossed away for someone else to catch or not. He didn’t care.

He didn’t see anything but you in this moment as he squatted slightly, leaning down as well. Whatever he needed to do to catch you by the lips as he’d tilted your head back when the urge overcame him. His grip then so tight beneath your jaw.

And if you really had blasted him with every ounce of haki you possessed in that moment, he still would not have stopped. His mouth was back over yours, fully greedy and exhilarated.

It was now the kiss of victory for all to see as the crowd continued to scream and the cameras flashed.

——————————

“Do you want to answer any of their questions?” Doflamingo breathed against your ear. His taste was still fully in your mouth by the time he’d released your lips again. That kiss had been so rough and you could tell he still wanted more, much more.

But you were having trouble catching your breath. The noise, the camera flashes, and the remaining heat you’d endured for hours now were all culminating into this oppressive crush down upon you.

You really couldn’t breathe. Your pulse was racing. “No.” It was nearly a plea. “I want to go.” You said against his open shirt.

And for that single moment at least he did listen to you. He heeded you immediately.

You heard him call out to Trebol. The closest executive then to you both, that snotty piece of shit that you still refused to even look at.

“We’re heading somewhere quieter!” Doflamingo still had to be loud to be heard above the crowd. “Call me when they’re ready at the palace!”

“Will do, Doffy!”

And that was it. No other warning except for the way Doflamingo’s arms encircled you even tighter before your organs felt like they were being ripped down into your feet.

The ground was gone. The only noise then the air rushing past your ears as you closed your eyes in reflex to that sudden blast.

Any exposed skin you had now registered the temperature change as well. Everything around you abruptly cold and drier then as all went silent once the movement had stopped again.

You could feel your legs hanging freely now. Your arms moved up to slide tightly around Doflamingo’s neck as you dared to take another breath.

“Fuck…” You panted quietly, your eyes opening again even as you refused to look fully down just yet.

“Yes. The air is a good deal thinner up here. But it’s private. Silent. The birds don’t even come this high.”

And your wholly unorthodox method of transportation was now breathing deeper himself to adjust. His bare chest still so warm against you in contrast to the ever growing darkness, and the creeping cold which accompanied it.

The sun would soon be slipping completely below that far off horizon. The ocean mainly all you could still see. The island of Dressrosa was now just a small circle within it, the lights of the towns nothing bigger than fireflies at this distance.

“I meant…that I wanted to go back to the palace.” You at last responded, trying to regather yourself.

“And miss this view from heaven?” He taunted you still.

But as his grip on you started to loosen, your natural fear only began to rise. Your body knew it did not belong up here, literally now just an arm’s reach from the bottom edges of the clouds his strings were somehow suspending him from.

This was the very reason mother ocean detested unnatural talents such as his.

“Doffy...” You tried again, still unable to calm your now racing heart.

“Don’t tell me I’ve finally found something that my woman is actually afraid of?” And that grin of his was so infuriatingly smug.

“You know this isn’t…at least this isn’t the only reason I’m having a…I don’t even know what I’m having.”

A meltdown? Another panic attack? A complete shattering of everything you’d ever been and had worked so desperately to achieve?

“Why didn’t you at least warn me that you were going to do it this way!?” Your voice finally broke then as you looked to his face again.

His smile was fading. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“You lied and told everyone we’ve been together this whole time!”

This was not how it was supposed to be.

And he was just watching you as if this was of no consequence while you went on.

“You just told the entire world that I have been going behind my commander’s back for fucking years, Doflamingo. And that everyone who knew about me and Kuzan or me and Smoker can now call me a cheating bitch…when I’m not, none of that is true!”

And you saw his brow change as soon as their names were mentioned. You knew he was beginning to glare at you from behind those crimson lenses.

“By all means, let’s talk about your other men and their feelings on this while I dangle you a few thousand feet above sea level. That sounds reasonable to me.” He sneered at you.

His hands had closed around your wrists. He was pulling your arms away from his neck now. Your body was starting to slip.

A clear threat, but you knew he was somewhat bluffing. He wouldn’t kill you outright, not tonight at least. Not right after a display like that at the colosseum. He had to keep this farce going in front of the public in the short term at least, lest he be the one to look like a fool.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t punish you if you kept going.

You were sure he could let you fall as many times as he wanted. Then catch you at the last moment just to do it all over again.

And he would absolutely be that cruel if you instigated this further.

But you were also so angry, that you truly didn’t care any longer.

“Then do it.” Your voice broke again. “If you’re really that goddamn hateful! Have your laugh and torture me like you would anyone else. I’m tired of trying to make you understand what you clearly don’t want to!”

You saw him pause as your voice rose further at him. Though he was now holding you by only one wrist as you watched him defiantly, waiting for the drop.

You knew his pride wouldn’t allow any other response. You knew that he was going to do it. That he would think he had to do it.

His only hesitation may be in his disbelief that you were actually choosing this.

That was the only thing you could assume as a grunt came from that man’s throat instead of a laugh. There was no smile. It only looked like an involuntary twitch of stress pulling the corner of his mouth further down.

An expression of actual misery just before his hand snapped open and you plummeted.

The fucking idiot.

And you didn’t scream. Somehow you forced yourself not to. Your eyes closed tightly as you crossed your arms over your chest and put your ankles together beneath you.

This was the safest way you might dive feet first into the ocean from the highest rigging overhanging the water off of a ship.

You had to pretend that’s all this was.

From this height a body would be nothing but a splat of blood and viscera though. Something unrecognizable if you made it that far.

The timing was so hard to tell with your eyes closed though.

Just that terrible feeling and the wind rushing past your ears again as the back of your coat fluttered up behind you.

It probably wouldn’t have even hurt. Death like that would have been instant.

What did hurt was the abrupt deceleration. Only then had you gasped, the pain sudden as your body stopped but your insides didn’t.

Your eyes opened as you clutched at your torso, feeling like things had actually tried to rip inside. Things that never should have moved at all as you twisted in his new strings.

Even through your harsh breathing you could now hear the sea. And your eyes widened when you realized how close it really all was. You could see the waves, breaking gently in the night’s breeze.

A secluded beach was just beneath you. Outside of that rocky ring of cliff face that surrounded most of Dressrosa.

And then the strings had moved again. You were jerked down before being dumped right into that warm sand.

You stumbled, falling onto your knees. But you were still holding your body just below your breasts.

You were too mad to cry by then. You just moved to sit in that sand, not even looking up as those long black shoes met the beach not long after and already began approaching you.

“I guess I forget that I string my insides as well to absorb that shock without thinking.” His tone was cold, almost monotone now. “And you can’t.”

You bit your own lip, refusing to look up at him yet.

And in all of it. In everything he’d just said and done this evening, what you still hated more than anything was how your heart felt like it was going to twist itself in two.

And that had nothing to do with the fall.

“Doffy…” You said his name in continued irritation, but with grief beginning to show fully on your face.

Even out of your peripheral vision you saw him straighten up at that single word.

“Do you know what’s the single thing holding me back from loving a man like you?”

What a loaded and entirely dangerous question that was. But you gave him no time to respond. You were yelling at this fucking monster next as you glared back up at him, grief and frustration bursting back out all together then.

“It’s only self preservation! Not self respect, not being a marine, not Tsuru, not Kuzan, not even your fucking crimes! I just want to be able to fucking trust you! For one goddamn day for you to not be a complete nightmare! I don’t understand…you say you goddamn want me. You beg me to stay, to say that I love you. And yet you still treat me like this, every single day. Nearly every day you find a new way to hurt me! I can’t do it. I’m not unbreakable. You’re going to kill me eventually! So why not just do it and be done!?”

He stared at you, silent for several moments. But you could see that blood vessel rising on his forehead.

“Why did you say yes to me so easily then?” His voice was so different there, so strained when it finally came.

And you didn’t hesitate to respond to that, regardless of the rising danger once more. “The easy answer? I didn’t want you to have a tantrum and start slicing through people of course!”

But you still scoffed, not stopping there either. “But the truth? I don’t want to be alone either, you asshole! And I know that no one else is ever going to stay with me for long. Because there is something very wrong with me. Something that only you aren’t afraid of. I don’t know why! But it’s a goddamn curse!”

You heard a low growl from him then even as those waves still moved rhythmically in and out along the shore.

“It’s not my fault.”

He said this so suddenly, so oddly, that you just had to stare at him as you watched his fist clench at his side.

“The way I treat you…it isn’t my fault!” He hissed at you as you felt that return glare from behind the glasses. His frustration breaking loudly at last. “You drive me fucking crazy! If you would just obey! If you would listen!”

You started to snap back at him. “I’m not your fucking slave! I-“

And he cut you off so quickly. “I don’t care about that! I don’t want you to die! Don’t you understand!? You’re the only one that makes me feel wanted, desired. It’s not transactional, it’s not fucking fake.” He was gritting his teeth, like he couldn’t explain this in the correct words. Like the correct words didn’t exist.

You gestured in exasperation, disbelieving, but knowing this was all the worse if true. “Then you have to work harder! You’re the only one who can protect me from you. If I die, it’s going to be because of you! Don’t you see that!?”

“Then help me!” He yelled right back at you, teeth bared and voice desperate.

This was two insane people now screaming at one another on what should have been a romantic, private beach just after sunset.

And you with a beautiful new engagement ring sparkling on your finger in the starlight all the while.

That finger which now clenched with your others into a fist against your hip. The anger just too much to possibly maintain.

“Fuck, I need alcohol.” You breathed, feeling like you could have punched a hole into a mountain right now if you’d really tried.

But you didn’t want to. And you sensed Doflamingo still all bristled up a few steps away as you told him as much. “I’m not fighting you.”

You did see his shoulders lower slightly, but that blood vessel in his forehead was still pulsing away.

“We’re getting married tonight regardless.” Doflamingo exhaled next, beginning to pace. “I’m not backing down. You’re signing those papers as soon as they’re ready at the palace. Trebol will call when the official arrives to bear witness.”

“And why does it have to be tonight?” You asked more tiredly then. Nothing was really going to surprise you any longer. You had met your limit for today.

“Because I don’t trust anyone either. When my stunt at the colosseum hits the newspapers tomorrow, someone’s going to try and stop us. I know they are. So you’ll smile, you’ll sign every goddamn paper I put in front of you, and it will all be faxed to Mariejois tonight. By morning you’ll already be Mrs. Donquixote and everyone else can go fuck themselves.”

“How romantic.” You answered, your chin now resting on your knees that were pulled up to your chest as you remained sitting in the sand.

And at last it was quiet then. Just the calm of the waves for a while.

Doflamingo had finally stopped pacing, standing there with his hands in his pockets watching the horizon.

For several minutes he remained there, lost in his own thoughts about who knew what before he turned to look at you again.

You heard him sigh, something he didn’t do very often as those long legs eventually carried him back over.

You didn’t fully tense as his ass suddenly met the sand to plop down near you. But you raised your head cautiously to acknowledge him.

“It’ll get better.” He said, almost quietly then to your surprise.

And all of the sudden your legs were moving on their own. You hadn’t even felt him attach a string to your spine this time.

But you frowned as they stretched out on their own accord. You could only wonder what he was planning now before he laid down abruptly, not caring about the sand on his clothes at all apparently.

His head was then resting in your newly available lap that he had just provided for himself by moving your legs.

He shifted his fingers again after as well, still controlling you to make yours go into his hair next as he used his own free hand to remove his sunglasses.

You saw the genuinely tired look in his eyes then as he looked up at you while you were forced to gently stroke his scalp. “I do want you to love me.” He breathed, his eyes remaining on yours.

“I know.” You answered. Not arguing any longer, and not bothering to demand him to release you.

“Just don’t give up on me yet.” He said, his eyes going more half lidded as he let your hand stop petting him. He turned his face, so gently kissing your hand then instead. “Because I already love you.” He added.

And you inhaled quietly. It pulled at you every damn time he said it. “I think…that maybe you want to.”

“If we don’t yet, then we’ll learn how to.” He promised you at that, not actually disagreeing. And he turned onto his side then, briefly closing his eyes with his head still comfortably in your lap.

“We’ll love each other.” Doflamingo said, reinforcing this just loud enough for you to hear over the continued waves. “We’ll have to, because no one else ever will.”

———————————

T⨂ BE

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

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ellaenchanting · 11 months

Text

Hypnovember Day 11: Attitude Adjustment/IQ Reduced

It was like she couldn't get the words out fast enough. "And I have 6 discharges tomorrow with no follow up scheduled yet and I haven't even been able to contact some of the families and..."

"Is there anything you can do about any of that tonight?" he asked her, gently stopping the torrent of her work recap.

"No. But! I still need to eat dinner. And wash some clothes for tomorrow. And make sure the kids are ok...."

"Shh," he said comfortingly. "I've already washed and folded the clothes. And I told the kids mommy was working late so they're already asleep. You're done for the day."

She sighed deeply.

He put his hand on her cheek, gently moving her head so she was looking directly into his eyes. "Relaaaax," he said, stretching the word out meaningfully. His tone shifted too, to something deep and steady. "You're home. You're safe. Just relax, now."

It had been a while since she heard him speak like this. She missed it.

Too bad it wouldn't work. She was way too stressed. She almost felt herself get caught in his gaze for a moment but- then her anxiety rushed back in, like a wave crashing over a too-short wall.

His hand moved around to rub the back of her neck.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just so stressed I can't THINK it's like I try and it's just STATIC in my head. I sat in the parking lot for 5 minutes before I could even make myself drive home."

"Mmmmm," he murmured, still rubbing her neck. "Breathe, honey."

He breathed in and out slowly to demonstrate. She found herself following along, taking a few deep breaths before even thinking about it. Between the breathing and his light neck massage, she was beginning to feel better.

He made sure he had her gaze before offering- "If you want, I could make things simpler for you for a bit. Would you like that?"

A shiver ran through her at the sound of her old trigger- "simpler". It had been some time since they had done this but they both understood what he was offering. Would it still work?

She nodded her head but didn't want to disappoint him or herself- not after so long.

"I want to? But I honestly don't know how I'll respond," she said, "I can barely concentrate right now."

But even as she was protesting, she found herself automatically following his hand as it floated just above her forehead. Another of their old signals, this one nonverbal: "Pay attention".

She did.

His fingers came closer and closer to her forehead before finally touching, rubbing a small spiral right in the middle.

"Shhhhh...." his voice soothed.

Something inside her shifted.

It wasn't a quick, profound drop like she had experienced in the past but- she found herself instinctively closing her eyes anyway. When she did, the noise in her head seemed to quiet down automatically.

"Good," he said. "That's perfect. You remember just how to do this, don't you? I know you do. It's like riding a bicycle - part of you never forgets."

"I know you talked about having static in your head- but maybe we can use that to help you let go a bit more. Static doesn't have to be harsh, you know. Maybe your static is like- a white noise generator, blocking anything unnecessary out. Quiet and soothing. Like the one you listen to when you go to sleep. Just- think of that gentle static playing while you sleep. Helping you rest. You can notice it- and then you can let it all fade into the background. It just makes everything quieter, doesn't it? Simpler. "

She nodded her head, easily caught in his instructions. The shudder that went through her at the trigger felt more profound this time.

Simpler.

She remembered the old imagery they had worked on- the wheels of the clockwork of her thoughts slowing. Slowing. Grinding to a halt.

As she pictured those slowing gears, she could feel her inner monologue growing distant and dreamlike. Her awareness moved from her lumbering thoughts to her body- almost like her mind itself had moved from her head to somewhere in her chest. Her senses began heightening and she was drawn more and more to what the room smelled like, how the carpet felt, the gentle sound of the ceiling fan. She found herself getting lost in a world of sensation.

"That's good, honey," he encouraged. "You don't need to think right now. I've got all your bigger thoughts for safekeeping. You remember how to be simpler for me, don't you? No big words, no big thoughts. Just how you feel in this moment. OK?"

She nodded. It was the easiest way to communicate now. She still had some words but- it was easier not to use them when she was simpler. She trusted him to understand what she needed without bothering to speak.

"Good. Can you open your eyes for me?"

She did.

"How does your body feel right now?" he asked.

She checked- mentally scanning herself from head to toe.

"Tired," she replied eventually. "Hungry."

She looked up at him.

"Do you want some food?"

It took her a few moments to contemplate the thought before she eventually replied with a simple: "Yes".

He smiled at her in a way that might have struck her as patronizing at a different time.

His smile caused an unexpected spike in another sensation- one that had been hiding underneath all of her stress all along.

Until now.

"I'm going to warm dinner up- we'll have it here," he was saying. "I'll be right back."

"Wait!" she cried, suddenly.

He stopped and turned back, curiously.

Now she needed to find words again.

Her brows crossed as she tuned into her body in that slow, deep way that came with this state. There was a heat between her legs that spread upwards as she noticed it more thoroughly. She began to notice the feeling of the air on her arms and the slight way her bra rubbed against her breasts when she breathed. "Horny?" she said, finally finding the right word for how she was feeling.

He laughed. "Good girl. Yeah- that old conditioning is still working for you, huh? I bet you feel horny right now. Does it feel good?"

She nodded, that response coming much more quickly than most.

It DID feel good.

Without really thinking about it, her hands moved to her right breast, squeezing it.

THAT felt even better.

"Mmmm- I guess that's my answer then, huh?" he asked. "Tell you what- you need to eat before we do anything else. So- I'm going to go get the food. But while I'm doing that? You can touch yourself as much as you want. Do whatever feels good to your body, ok?"

She nodded again, barely paying attention to his words. Her hands moved all over her flesh as she caressed her newly sensitive skin rapturously. She wanted to touch everywhere.

"My only rule is that you don't come, ok? I want to save that for later."

She nodded absently, focused on a wonderful spot she had found on the side of her stomach. Part of her brain was receiving his instructions but- she didn't have to think about that part. She just had to focus on touching.

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "And stay nice and quiet while you touch, yeah? We don't want to wake anyone else up."

She nodded, biting back a moan as her hand finally slid to her pussy.

He looked on for a moment, seeming almost hypnotized himself by his writhing, almost animalistic wife.

Food first, he reminded himself.

Then sex.

Then putting a note in his phone to call the babysitter for her weekend availability. It had been FAR too long since they had played like this and next time?

He wanted her to be LOUD.

Tagging @mentat101posts @thekinkycocktailclub @jam-and-stuff

#hypnovember #hypnovember 2023 #my stories #a straight couple!#who knew!#doing what I can to subliminally push the message that good housecare and childcare leads to good sex

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s3raphimssins · 11 months

Note

A dazai x reader (again they are besties and coworkers,and dazai having lil crush on her <3)

It's dazai's birthday and the reader decides to surprise him with a cake right at 12 a.m :D

Happy birthday samu

➼authors note: I don't have any ideas for this untill like right now I had a very cute idea so here you go! 💕

➼pairings: Dazai x fem!reader

➼Summary: reader surprising dazai with a birthday surprise

Dazai was still at work and you being the amazing co worker that you were decided to surprise him for his birthday tomorrow! Thought you were extremely sure that if you talked to dazai he would figure out your up to something so you decided to do it another way. It was 5:30 and Dazai was gone on a mission till late at night. Your shift ended at 6 so you bid the others farewell and stormed out of the building.

You went to the nearest bakery, got a cute cake and made them write with frosting 'happy birthday samu' with a smile looked at the cake before they boxed it up. You went to a store next to the bakery and asked them for some candles and other decor. You got what you needed, white, black and silver themed decor and walked out. You checked the time..7... Since when did it take you an hour for this? Oh well now the real part was...getting in his apartment... without... ruining the cake.

You went to his apartment and tried to open the lock with a bobby pin but failed miserably at that. You opted on the second best solution, getting in via balcony. You asked Atsushi to boost you as his apartment was not so far away and he helped, your thanked him and said your goodbye before forcefully opening the balcony door. You got in and immediately started setting things up. Cake in the fridge for now. Balloons and streamers on the Walls and chairs. Some confetti on the floor and just more decor. Now all you got to do is wait...and waiting won't be that long since it was already about time 11 pm. You sat with a party popper in your hand right behind his door.

You went through your phone and texted him

'are you done with your mission? It's Abit late?' As a sign for concern hiding your intentions. He replied with

'on my way home mission went well everything was solved because of me ofc'

You chuckled at his boasting and got ready for him to arrive.

Dazai's keys clung on the door and he sighed as soon as he entered. He opening the lights and...

*BASH* "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAMU!"

His eyes widened after seeing you and the scene before him. There were balloons and streamers everywhere, confetti on the floor candles lit on the table...and on the table a cake. He was speechless to say the least, yes he did expect you to be doing something but not like this, he felt an overwhelming amount of emotions for the first time...you cared for him? So much to do all of this for him? Did he deserve to have all of this?

He smiled widely and unexpectedly hugged you, his face and a hint of pink but was hidden when he hugged you. You smiled as he did so and said

" you like it ?"

He said

"couldn't ask for more"

You two went on and you asked him to cut the cake, while you sang happy birthday with candles around it. To say the least dazai developed a deeper crush on you than he already had...

»»———︵‿︵‿୨♡୧︵‿︵‿———-««

#bsd imagine #bsd #dazai x reader #bsd scenarios #bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu #mafia dazai x reader #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd imagines #bsd x reader

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

The Viper's Bride - ch 15

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: Mature, but as always this blog is 18+ Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid. This is a MMFFF polycule, folx. Get on board or don't click to keep reading. Pregnancy!* Talk of previous grievances, incest reference (Lannisters gonna Lannister), blink and you'll miss it mention of homelessness. As always, there is sexy talk. It is Oberyn, after all. Summary: The day before Oberyn is to represent Tyrion in the Trial by Combat, your extended and elaborate family comes together to celebrate in anticipation of the fight. Notes: First up, I'm working extra shifts and even though it's my dream job I'm tired y'all 😂 so sorry for any errors I missed. But also! We're almost at the end here, folx! We'll have one more chapter after this and then the epilogue. Thank you all so much for sticking around to watch this polycule grow!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14

It is three days before the Mountain arrives in King’s Landing. The Trial by Combat had been announced throughout the capital on the day it was agreed and the days since had been dedicated to the building of a great arena for the event. Every noble in the keep thought of it as no more than sport — every noble except the members of your party and Tyrion Lannister himself, who all had far more at stake. For the group of you, the days of anticipation have been agony.

“They are simply playing a game.” Oberyn hisses, standing in nothing but his breeches as he sharpens the spear he wishes to take into the ring. He’s already discarded several, broken in training, though he is now resting until the time where he faces Gregor. “Wishing to gain the upper hand by delaying, thinking I will become impatient.” He scoffs. “As if I have not waited years for this.”

“They have no idea of your true determination, lover.” Ellaria has seen so many shades and versions of this need for revenge that no part of it could surprise her anymore. She knows it could have been the singular focus that drive him mad, and that it is oddly fortunate that he escaped that fate.

“They do not know me or the Dornish need for justice.” He muses grimly. “They will discover it, publicly.”

“And then we will be rid of this place.” You have Margaery’s hand in yours as the two of you sit on the nearby chaise together, and you squeeze it gently in your fingers. It has only been a few days but the news of her marriage to the new Dornish lord had caused an outpouring of sentiment against her family and her specifically. Thankfully, Olenna Tyrell seemed more amused by it than anything and promised her granddaughter that they would all forget when the next scandal broke.

“I am looking forward to seeing Dorne.” She admits as she glances over to where Raeden is sprawled with Ellaria on another chaise. “I have heard about it and wish to marvel at its bright beauty myself. Especially the Water Gardens.”

“You could have your honeymoon there,” Ellaria suggests, leaning over to kiss Raeden and glad to talk about something other than tomorrow’s fight. “Locked up in your rooms fucking to your heart’s content until you are full of your lord’s babe, and then you can rest in the Gardens for all your pregnancy.”

“Perhaps I can also sample the prince’s cock once I am carrying Raeden’s heir.” She wears a small smirk as she greedily watches the lean lines of the older man. She’s sucked his cock, several times, but like Raeden with you, he would not risk her husband’s true heir being called into question.

“I would very much like to watch that,” you hum, turning your head to nip at her neck and pulling the younger woman into your lap. The two of you have become much closer in just a few days, much to the delight of your husbands.

“I will be very eager to sample your cunt.” Oberyn chuckles, looking up from his spear. “Although tonight.” He grunts, his eyes dark and lusty when he looks at Raeden. “I want to have your husband tonight.”

The statement hangs in the air between all of you, and Raeden is the first to nod. “You will. You will have me.”

It has been a long time coming, Margaery knows this, even with as short a time as she has been tangled in this group. Not once has she felt slighted because she does not bear any marks on her skin from the four of you. “It will be a night to celebrate.” She decides. “In anticipation of your victory.”

“You will witness true victory tomorrow.” Ellaria agrees, fire in her eyes as she gazes up at Oberyn. “They all will.”

He’s sure of himself, almost to the point of brashness, but he has also commanded his own company with the Second Sons. Survived the fighting pits and his reputation was well earned. Still, he is grateful for the support of his soulmates and his lovers. “Yes they will.”

“We should feast tonight.” The idea had formed in your mind yesterday and lingered, something that you have learned to pay attention to. The idea that it could – however unlikely he seems to think the possibility – be your last night with your husband makes you want to sob like you have just heard the news that he would be champion all over again.

Oberyn turns towards you, watching you for a moment before he nods. “Get dressed, Princess.” He decides. “You and I will go to the market and order our feast.”

There is no reason to point out that Cal or Leyth could easily see the Dornishman in the market. Everyone here knows that. But he wants to spend time with you, and you want more than anything to hold his arm while you walk and pretend it is simply a normal day. “I will only take a few minutes,” you promise him, pulling yourself up off the chaise and away from a reluctant-to-let-go Margaery.

“Take your time.” He smirks. “Wear something beautiful.” He wants you to be seen, wants to be seen with you. Firmly believing appearances can affect the memory of the day.

“I have just the thing.” Enough weeks had passed in the Capitol that you had been able to order gowns from a dressmaker with knowledge of Dornish fashion, and you had intended to save it for your arrival in your new home, but this seems far more important. You disappear into the next room to extract it from your trunk with a smile. Oberyn will be quite surprised.

Oberyn sets the spear down and walks over to the table that has a bowl of clean water with soap and cloths next to it. As much sex as everyone has been indulging in, it had seemed prudent to keep the water on hand. He starts to bathe his chest, sweaty from the day and wishing to freshen up while he waits.

The group of you have all packed. Determined to leave King’s Landing in just two days’ time, most things have been put away for the journey. What is left to amuse yourselves with is sex, books from the keep’s library — and usually more sex. The difference is only when Oberyn and Raeden are in the practice ring, but when they return they are usually ravenous for company.

It takes little more than ten minutes for you to emerge from the chamber in the gown that you had carefully selected the colors and fabrics of weeks earlier — gold trim making the colors of fire seem to dance with every step you take. The sheer outer layer sparkles and shines, and the layer underneath flows while still showing off your figure. It preserves that feeling of modesty that you are accustomed to with significantly less fabric and a form unmistakably Dornish flare. Even your slippers are more like the ones Ellaria wears each day, leather platforms tying halfway up your calves with amber lacing. “Are you ready, my prince?”

“Star.” Oberyn’s eyes widen and he groans as he takes in your appearance. “I will have to wear my sword so no one could try to steal you from me.” He hums, cock twitching in his breeches. “The seamstress who made this for you deserves every coin you paid her and then a hefty sum.”

"There are others," you promise him, glad to see the light in his eyes even over something as simple as a dress. "I gave her double her fee when I saw how fine the work was. Do you...do you truly like it? I know you have said many times that you wished I wore more Dornish style gowns."

“If I could show you now how much I like it, we would not feast tonight.” He growls, fingers tracing over your bare shoulder and sighing softly at your softness.

"You will show me later." Later, when he has all of you at his beck and call for whatever it is he might desire. But for now you take his hand and kiss his palm tenderly. "Let us go and walk. We will show the capitol that Dorne is not afraid."

“That’s my girl.” He curls his arm up and wraps your hand around it, looking at Margaery, Raeden and Ellaria. “We will be back. And I will want all of us in bed. So make sure you do not tire yourselves out.” He chuckles.

"I swear it," Ellaria chuckles, with one hand over her heart. "I will teach our newlyweds about edging if they need attention."

Margaery tilts her head curiously and smirks at Ellaria. “What is that?” She asks innocently.

The chuckle turns to a throaty, pleased laugh, and Ellaria sits up to kiss Oberyn before bringing Margaery into her arms. "Go and enjoy yourself, lover," she tells him with a lascivious grin. "We will be well occupied here."

“Come, Star.” Oberyn smiles as he guides you out of the chambers and immediately runs into one of Cersei’s servants. “Splendid.” He hums, leaning into the girl. “More water is needed.” He tells her. “There will be an orgy in these rooms tonight.”

She looks positively affronted by the notion but nods nervously, scurrying away as fast as her feet will carry her. "I suppose it does not matter that Cal could easily have fetched our water?" You ask, raising one eyebrow at him as you continue down the hallway. "You would far rather that it get back to Cersei's ears."

“Absolutely.” He chuckles and starts the slow, unconcerned stroll with you towards the front doors of the Keep. “She will either stay far away or have to come interrupt. Either way, I will now that she is wondering who is in the chambers moaning.”

"Whomever we want to be." A few months into your arrangement - and your marriage - it is safe to say that you are far more comfortable with yourself and with sex than ever before. "And that bothers her, too."

“I would like Cal and Leyth with us tonight, my love.” He ventures, patting your hand. “Do you have any objections? Only if they wish to join.” He won’t force them to, of course. He wouldn’t do that, but he wants to touch them again and tonight seems to be a fine night to do so.

"No objections at all." He could ask you for the moon and you would only tell him that you need to find a ladder tall enough. "They have missed being invited to your bed."

“As long as you are comfortable with it.” There has been plenty to keep him occupied and satisfied throughout the last weeks, especially discovering the relationship with you, so he had not ventured to invite anyone else.

“My love,” you squeeze his arm gently under your hand as you walk together. “There is very little you could ask for tonight that I would hesitate to grant you. I hope you understand that.”

Exiting the keep, Oberyn is quiet for a little while, thinking of what he wishes to say. It is only when the crowds begin to gather, farther away from the castle does he begin. “My love,” he sighs softly. “I have sent word to my brother.” He tells you. “Informing him of our valid marriage and my expectant heir.”

“That is good.” Once, he had thought to breeze into Sunspear and amuse himself with informing Doran of what was technically your elopement. The fact that he has done otherwise is sobering, but somehow comforting in its realism. “I am sure he will be very glad of the news when it arrives, considering how upset you were when you left Dorne.”

“Word would have already reached him.” He tells you quietly. “I sent a raven the day I took on being Tyrion’s champion.” He admits, looking past the merchants stalls as they come into view towards the harbor. “I also made sure that Raeden’s house is secure. My brother would do right by him.”

“Thank you, my love. I know it means the world to him.” It sounds as though Oberyn has been getting his affairs in order, and the implications of that make your shoulders tighten and your limbs feel heavy as you walk together. Tomorrow he will fight to the death to honor and revenge this sister, and the terrifying truth is that he could be the one to lose. As cocky - and as talented a fighter - as he is, Oberyn is not a stupid man. “Should the need come, I will make sure your Sand Snakes are as well cared for as you could ever wish. Ellaria and I will not let them want for anything.”

“I will be there to see them.” Oberyn promises. “However.” He slides his arm down to take your hand in his and bring it up to his lips. “Every Dornish lord here, all their men, will see you safely from the city.” He promises. After he had accepted the role, he had gone to see them, without Raeden so he could speak frankly to them. He wanted to make sure the other lords would wholly accept your lover as Lord Sunstone. They were happy to have a new lord amongst the ranks, especially one who chose Dorne. “You need not fear any abuse.”

“I do not.” And that, thankfully, you can count on the truth. The lords of Dorne had been surprised by your sudden appearance in Oberyn’s life but accepted you fully. “And I know that you will do everything in your power to come home with us. I do not doubt that even for a moment.” You do not doubt it, but you have learned a healthy fear of the unknown.

“I will.” He agrees, squeezing your hand and smirking at you. “Let is plan this feast. I wish to make sure that we have a night to remember.”

“It would be impossible to forget a night with you.” As sentimental a thing as it is to say, you truly do mean it. Oberyn has changed so much about your life and all of it has been for the better — how could you forget even a moment of that?

“I wanted to tell you this privately.” He admits quietly. “I know that you are scared and I will win, but I thought it would making you feel better. In case the worst happens.”

“I am scared.” There is no use denying that and you would not be cruel enough to disrespect him like that. “But only because I know that life is unpredictable. And I am grateful that you are open with me. That you understand it is not that I do not believe in you. Because that is the furthest from the truth.”

“All men must have some fear.” Oberyn admits quietly. “Do not have fear is to not wish to live. And then you have already died.” He watches the people that move past the two of you and hums. “The true test of a man is conquering that fear and not letting it turn him into a coward. Using the fear for his own purposes.”

“I will have to remember that.” In the meantime, because the fear you have is for him, you lace your fingers together tightly as you walk. “May I ask you something, love?”

“Anything.” He insists. “You know that, my love. I will hide nothing from you.”

“You may object to the request and I would understand that.” He nods when your eyes meet his and you return the gesture, biting your lip slightly. “I—it is only that…I cannot stop thinking of the baby.” So much so that your hand has been unconsciously resting on the side of your still unchanged belly as you walk. “If anything were to happen to you tomorrow…I wondered if we might be able to choose a name? You should know your ninth daughter’s name, if the worst happens.”

“I think we should also pick out a son’s name.” Oberyn grunts, even though he is smiling. “For the boy the babe might be.”

“I think if I were to bear you a son, no one would believe he was yours,” you half-joke, glad that Oberyn is humoring your anxieties and making the topic sweet instead of calling out your nerves.

“They will when he looks just like me and fights at the first insult to his mother.” He predicts with a proud grin.

“Perhaps that would be enough.” You smile at the thought, though it is a thin thing. Somehow in your heart you know that carrying another of his daughters is more likely than anything. Still, it is best to be prepared. “But you would not have him named for you.”

“I believe the boy needs to forge his own reputation, not live in the shadow of mine.” Names have meaning in this time, and he would not saddle his son with his. Giving him freedom to be whomever he chose to be. “That is why I would not name a son after me.”

“Then you would not want to name him after any family? Our only after you?” The logic does make sense to you, and you nod as you walk. The marketplace is open and though people may stare you have learned to pay them no mind.

“Only after myself.” He pauses and turns towards you. “But I forbid you naming the child after your bitch of a mother.” He warns, not wishing the revisiting the past every time you looks upon a girl with that name.

“I would rather name her after my father’s soulmate that I never even met then name her after the woman who abused me,” you agree, shaking your head sadly.

“Apologies, my love.” Oberyn leans in to kiss your lips softly. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“Mentioned what?” Willing yourself to simply forget the mention of her and move on, you offer Oberyn a bright smile and steal another kiss. “I believe we were choosing names for a son?”

“Do you have any ideas?” He asks curiously. Wondering if you had imagined the names of your children before now.

"I used to tease Antony that I would name my son for him any time he did me a small favor." The sweet, nostalgic memory of an older brother doting on his younger sister brings a bittersweet smile to your face. As much as you might have told your brothers that they drove you crazy, you miss them desperately. "Anytime he did something as little as bringing me a pencil to write with, I would dramatically declare that I would honor him with naming my son Antony. It was...just a silly thing. But I suppose I never thought of anything beyond that."

“Would you wish to use that name or a piece of it?” He asks, smiling softly at the image of a young girl promising her older brother to name her son after him.

"Antony is a good name." Strong but not harsh, you had always thought it a very nice name aside from all the of the teasing. "And...Antonia is lovely, as well?"

“Naming our daughter after your brother?” He barks out a laugh even as he seriously thinks about it. “I like it.” He admits. “Antonia Martell.” He shrugs. “Rolls off the tongue better than my thought towards a name.”

"What was yours?" He has named eight daughters already, you cannot discount any ideas he might have with so much practice behind him.

“Marella.” He shrugs slightly, unconcerned. He will name the babe whatever makes you happy and be proud of it.

"Oh, that's lovely." Rolling it over in your mind though, you frown a moment later. "Although Marella Martell would be quite the tongue twister."

“Technically, she would be Princess Marella of Dorne, when people address her.” He teases. “But Antonia is much nicer.”

"I wish she was here already." It feels like a ridiculous thing to lament, but you wish it so that he could hold her. Because the fear that Oberyn might never meet his next child is creeping up your neck as if it were high tide on the rocks.

“She will come when she is ready.” Even if he teases you about giving him a male heir, he feels like you are carrying a girl. “Squawking and screaming as she shakes her fist at the world.”

You squeeze his hand again as you swallow your fears, and turn into the marketplace with him. “She will be so adored.”

“By so many.” He agrees, sighing softly. “I cannot wait to show you Dorne.”

“I hope you will show me everything.” In the weeks and months since your marriage, you have become more and more eager to see your new home. “Every time Ellaria speaks of the Water Gardens, I ache to see them.”

“We will swim in the gardens naked.” He tells you with a grin. “After the children are asleep.”

“I see you already have plans for conceiving your tenth child,” you tease, knowing he means sooner than that.

“Perhaps.” He chuckles and reaches over to rub your stomach. “I do not think we will stop at one child.”

“I certainly will not stop sharing your bed.” You could be more vulgar, but you are in public.

“It would be a dour day when you decided to stop sleeping in my bed.” He grunts. He does not think that would ever happen, despite originally thinking you would never share his bed.

“Dour would be correct,” you hum with equal dislike for the idea. “The only way it would happen would be very sad circumstances.” Very sad as in one of your deaths, and you are reminded again what tomorrow morning will bring.

“Do not think on it.” He can tell you are worrying about tomorrow again. He cannot give you more guarantees than he already has, and he will not insult you by demanding you not worry.

"I will try." Strolling together a little further, the stall where the Dornishman you have come to know as Salin sells his prepared foods is swarming with people. Since word had gotten out that Prince Oberyn enjoyed his recipes, he had been receiving more and more business.

“Salin.” Oberyn greets the man warmly, like he would any of his countrymen. “How does your day fare?”

"Very well, my prince and princess." Salin has come to recognize the sight of all of Oberyn's household, and always welcomes all of you with open arms. Today, he reaches for a fried pastry full of chopped roasted nuts, honey, and sweet dates and offers it to you. "I have heard a rumour, your Graces," he admits, smiling broadly when you accept the pastry with glee. "That you are to be congratulated?"

The prince huffs, even as he grins proudly. “Which one of them told you?” He asks, sure that Ellaria would have mentioned it since you were craving dates lately.

"I was not sworn to secrecy, so I do not fear telling you that it was your lovely paramour." He smiles even more broadly and puts one hand over his heart. "I would like to offer, if it pleases you, to send the recipe for my date cake with you when you return to Sunspear. Your cook will have no trouble recreating it, and I was told the princess enjoyed it very much."

“I would be very grateful for it.” Oberyn nods and tilts his head towards the man. “If you ever wish to come back to Dorne, I will give you a place in the palace to cook for our house.”

"You are..." Salin swallows thickly, looking between the two of you. "Your Grace is most generous." His voice wavers and his other hand comes up to his heart. "I left my mother and siblings there when I came to King's Landing and...until your patronage...did not have the money for passage to go home again."

Oberyn frowns, hating King’s Landing as much as the next Dornishman and looks towards you. “We are leaving King’s Landing. After the tournament.” He informs the merchant who has provided so many meals for his lovers and his wife. “The ship will be crowded, but I am sure we can find room for you if you wish to sail home?” He asks.

"I do." He murmurs, expression still aghast. "I wish to return home more than anything." The man looks as though he could cry, and something inside of you cracks a little, making your reach out to gently squeeze his arm in reassurance. "We had come to ask you to prepare us one last feast, but this is far better. We are happy to have you return with us."

“I-- I will prepare you the feast that would put all feasts to shame.” He agrees quickly. If he is leaving, he will need to deplete his stores. “And if your offer is genuine, I would be honored to prepare meals on the ship for your family.”

You do not even need to look over at Oberyn to know that the offer was real, but still your eyes find your husband's profile and you nod to Salin with a smile. "We will be the ones who are honoured, Salin. And thank you for this," you hold up the pastry, which you have already tried a bite of and will have demolished the sweet treat in less than another minute. "Truly, your talent is unparalleled. You either had a remarkable teacher or your talents are a gift from the gods."

“My mother.” He informs you proudly. “She runs a small tavern in Sunspear.” He beams and nods towards your pastry. “Although that is something special. It is a treat that she had made for her soulmate.” He frowns slightly but recovers to smile at the both of you.

"He had very good taste." The shadow that falls over his face does not escape you, but you do not feel your have the right to press. Instead you simply add, "And must have been a very lucky man."

“Perhaps.” That is all he will say about the man he has never met, although he looks back at the pair of you expectantly. “Do you wish me to just send whatever I make or is there something special you wish to have?” He’s not unaware that Oberyn will be in the tournament tomorrow, that he could possibly die. So tonight is a celebration feast in preparation for his victory.

"The prince favours your spicy lamb, but everything else is up to you. Whatever you feel your finest or favourite dishes are to prepare. And there are seven of us, so be generous." Everything he makes is delicious, so you have no doubt that it will all be wonderful.

Bobbling his head eagerly, Salin immediately starts to think about what he can send to the Keep. “I will have it prepared. Is there a time you will need it?”

"No sooner than usual," you assure him, knowing that your intention to eat and spend the rest of the night indulging in pleasure is shared by everyone in your small household.

“I will deliver it myself.” He promises, shaking his head when Oberyn pulls out his coin purse. “No, please. It would be my pleasure.”

"We would be remiss in offering you a place in our household and then not paying you for that talent of yours we so appreciate." The shake of your head matches his and you reach out to touch his arm again. "Please. Allow us to show you the respect you deserve."

“You are kind and gracious.” His lip trembles slightly. “My mother will be very grateful to have her oldest son back.”

Nearer now to being a mother than you ever have been before in your life, you already cannot imagine what separating from your oldest child would be like, other than being positively devastating. '"Whatever brought you to King's Landing, I hope that it was worth the trip, and that returning home will bring you just as much joy."

“My trip was in vain but I learned a valuable lesson.” He promises. “The return trip home will be much sweeter, although your patronage has made my little stand a success.”

"Perhaps the gods have given you something just as valuable that you have not yet realized." Wishing not to leave the man feeling poorly about anything at all - if you can help it - you find yourself wishing it was as easy as offering to spend time with him. To listen to his story. To find out what had happened and see if there is some way you can help. But again, you remind yourself not to force the situation. You are already giving him a way to return to his family, and that seems to be a help in its own right.

Salin nods and smiles at the Princess of Dorne and her husband. “The gods gave surely shined down in my humble soul.” He acknowledges before handing you another pastry. “For your walk, your highness.”

“You are very generous, my friend. Thank you.” With a nod of your head, you and Oberyn continue walking, leaving Salin to his work. There is much to be done before tonight, apparently, because he disappears into the back of his stall immediately. “He seems to be very glad to go home again.”

“Is there anywhere else you wish to go?” Oberyn asks you indulgently. The dress you are wearing is fine and causing many heads to turn, making him grip your hand proudly as you continue towards the water.

“I would visit every seller here just to prolong our walk,” you admit, nibbling at the treat that Salin handed you as you walk hand in hand with Oberyn. “Perhaps we could visit our smith friend once more before we leave?” An amused smile forms on your lips when his eyes slip past your face to your chest. “Or would you like to also offer passage to my dressmaker, since you seem so fond of her work?”

He snorts, and sends you an amused smirk. “If I could cart all the talented workers away from King’s Landing as a strike against the Lannisters. I would.” He jokes. “But perhaps we should see what other baubles we can purchase for amusement.”

“I know one that would amuse both you and Raeden.” You hum, making yourself walk by the bookseller’s stall without stopping. If you do, you might simply stay there the whole day. “I wonder if the goldsmith might have another necklace of thin chains for Margaery to match with myself and Ellaria.”

Oberyn grunts, his cock twitching and he hums in agreement. “It would be a very pleasant view, three gorgeous women, completely naked except for the chains around their necks.”

“It would be lovely to see.” You and Margaery seem to be the only ones who were surprised by how close you have become and how quickly, and your may or may not be looking forward to the sight yourself.

“Perhaps there is another bauble we can find for the three of you to wear tomorrow.” Oberyn muses. “I wish to see all three of you in very revealing dress. You will be on the sidelines.”

"We will wear anything you choose, love." It is very literally the least that the three of you can do, and you know that although you will all - Raeden included - be worried, you will be a united front of pride for Dorne.

“Good.” While there will be some who do not care what the lovers of Oberyn wear, just the three- four- of you being there will be an insult to the people who matter most in the private portion of this skirmish. Until he brings all their sins to the light for the Seven Kingdoms to see.

"It will be no small statement to have Margaery beside us. For the four of us to appear united in appearance as well?" It is an incredibly simple yet effective means of making your delegation seem all the more powerful, and you know that every small tactic counts. "It will disarm some of those in the capital who foolishly think Dorne to be less civilized."

“Exactly.” He is always pleased with you when you know why he is doing something. The cleverness of your minds makes him think that you would have been named your father’s heir of you had been born a man.

"Would you have us matching?" You ask him, thinking that that would take some effort to achieve by the morning. "Or wearing an emblem somehow?"

“Perhaps we will find something. If not, then there are…dresses in my trunk you could wear.” He admits with a small chuckle.

"There are more dresses in your trunks?" By this time you would have assumed that Ellaria had wore every stitch of clothing brought from Dorne to the northern capital, but apparently that assumption would be incorrect.

“If you wish to call them dresses.” He smirks. “There is more skin showing than fabric.”

"If only my belly were already swollen," you smirk up at him as you slow in your walk and come to a stop at the jeweler's stall. "That would be quite a sight to be shown off."

“One I will love to see when it happens. Especially since the dress will show off your belly.” Oberyn’s eyes narrow as he takes in the jewels on display.

"Your Graces." The man bows deeply to see you approach, the sight of the two of you together being most welcome to him. He knows it will end in a large purchase, if nothing else, and others had taken notice of the Dornish prince's patronage of his business. It had brought him enormous good fortune in the months since your first visit. "What is it you search for today?"

“Another necklace.” Oberyn informs him with a smirk. “Just like the one for my wife and my paramour. I wish to clasp it around our other lover’s neck.”

"I confess, I wondered if you might desire another." Disappearing from view for just a few seconds, the merchant comes back again with a small wooden box. He lifts the lid, showing off another glinting necklace of delicate chains. "Your reputation, after all, precedes you."

“Do you have a smaller version of this?” Oberyn asks as he traces the necklace with his fingers. “More…masculine?”

"Smaller as in…fewer strands?" The man's head tilts to one side, making sure he understands correctly.

“Fewer strands, more…” he turns to you with a frown. “I want one for Raeden.” He tells you.

"I assumed as much, when you wanted one more masculine." The expression on his face is half frustration and half plaintive, and you cup his cheek in your hand lovingly. "Do you want it to be worn under his robes tomorrow, or do you want it to be worn in bed, my love?"

“Both.” He grunts, looking at you with dark, lust filled eyes. “But I want him to wear it tomorrow. Showing on his bare chest to match your. United and under House Martell’s protection.”

"The prince desires another necklace with fewer, thicker chains," you inform the jeweler, squeezing Oberyn's hands in yours and pressing a kiss to his lips. "And it should be made to accommodate a broader chest."

The jeweler has questions but he keeps them to himself. Although the design might be on display after the custom jewelry is sold and discreetly mentioned that the Prince of Dorne bought for a male lover. It might be of interest to the right discreet party.

“It will be needed by tonight.” Neither you nor Oberyn would be willing to wait until morning and risk not having it be ready, but you are certain that Oberyn will want Raeden to wear the chains tonight, as well.

“Of course.” He knows now that the prince will not blink at the cost so he does not even warn him about the extra price for expedited work. The prince is a man who wants what he wants when he wants it with no regard to cost.

“What other new baubles have you? Any of your clever wife’s designs?” The puzzle ring that you gave to Oberyn is a favorite, and your eyes start to search through the trays of fine pieces right away.

“There is a wide selection.” He agrees eagerly, rushing over to show them to you. “Your interest and admiration has made her designs improve and her love of it increase.”

“I am very glad to hear it.” Oberyn has begun searching a different part of the stall, and you follows the merchant’s lead to look at the designs that his wife has made. “What is the piece she is most proud of? I wish to see it.”

“There is a bracelet design that my wife is very pleased with.” The latest designed may have been with a slight Dornish flair due to the Prince’s patronage. The bracelets have several bangles wove in between each other and can be pulled apart, but when they are in a solid mass, they give the illusion of being one solid piece, the bursting sun of Dorne etched into the gold.

“Oh, she is clever!” You hum happily when the merchant presents you with the multi-strand bracelet. “And your craftsmanship is exquisite, ser. It seems that no matter you you make, you and your wife are quite the formidable team.”

Delighted that you like it, he moves to grab the other ones. "I took the liberty of making several." He informs you. "Because I know that your group likes to have matching sets."

“We certainly do.” The stone in the middle of each Dornish sun is the only difference between the bracelets - one deep green, one pink-red, one orange, one yellow, one milky white, one rich blue, and one clear purple. They are stunning together and you beckon Oberyn closer to look. “There are seven, my love.” Your face shines with delight.

"Why seven?" Oberyn asks curiously. He could see if there were eight, for his daughters or two because of his last order of necklaces.

“You, Raeden, and Cal.” You have three bracelets beside your right hand, and then beside your left you point out the other four. “Ellaria, me, Margaery, and Leyth.”

"No, my love." He grunts. "I was asking the jeweler why he crafted seven bracelets."

The jeweler in question blushes, clearing his throat at the prince’s pointed attention. He was not going to call attention to the number after you seemed so delighted with the fact that there were seven. “In truth, your Grace?” He would shove his hands in his pockets in embarrassment if he had any. “There are three or four more being finished just this day. I thought to have a wide collection of colors for your Graces to choose from, that is all.”

"I will take them all." Oberyn decides, looking back at you to find you smiling down at the bracelet with a dreamy expression on your face. "What do you think, my love? For any others we might bring into our fold?" He hums. "Or perhaps..." He slides his hand around your waist and your stomach. "Perhaps as gifts for our children."

“They seem fitting for your girls, don’t you think?” If there are so many, that is. The idea of more cannot be banished from your mind. You must remember that Oberyn has a plan. “Hopefully they all have different favourite colors.”

The mention of ‘his girls’ makes Oberyn’s head snap back to the jeweler. “These bracelets.” He tells him. “I want eight more. Except instead of bursting suns, I want snakes. Coiled snakes with the different colored jewel in the eye.”

“It…is too much to do in one night.” The jeweler tells him with obvious regret and just a touch of fear. “Perhaps it could be done in two if everyone worked through the night…but I know that you are not one to wait, your Grace.”

"We will be leaving for Dorne in two days." He tells the jeweler. "Have them done by the time the ship leaves the harbor and I will give you a bonus to make it worth the effort."

“Yes, your Grace.” The man bows rather frantically, scooping up the few things that he had already talked to the two of you about, and dashing into the back of his stall. When his apprentice appears just a few moments later, you smile with the knowledge that he is going straight to work. It is not even the man’s own son he has sent to man his stall. He will be working well into the night.

"I will give my sand snakes the bracelets he is crafting now." He tells you with a proud smirk. "They will love them." He had been searching for gifts for his girls, always bringing them something when he has to travel and the bracelets would be perfect.

“They will make a beautiful gift, my love.” For his eight - soon, nine - children, a token from the trip when their father wed will hopefully be something to celebrate and not frown upon. “They will look well with the necklaces that Ellaria is bringing to each of your daughters.”

“She loves all of them.” He hums happily, smiling softly. “You will love them too, I hope.”

“I have no doubt.” One of your hands rests gently on his arm and you smile. “I cannot wait to meet them.”

“They will be waiting for us when we arrive in Sunspear.” He informs you with complete surety. “Expect many questions.”

“I expect they will have many.” Just imagining it makes you giggle, thinking of the youngest ones especially. The older girls you will be able to be more straightforward with. “Luckily we are bringing them a new grandfather as well, who will dote on them endlessly no matter who their mother is.” Being able to acquaint your father with the situations that resulted in all of Oberyn’s daughters’ births, he has been excited to meet them ever since. Once he saw how loving your husband can be and how happy you are, nothing else mattered.

“He had been surprisingly welcoming.” He had anticipated a bit of distance from his wife’s father, but he has been to dinner several times. “He will enjoy Dorne.” He frowns slightly. “I have written my brother about Marlee as well. To see if we can find her.”

“You are entirely too good, my love.” Losing her — and discovering why he had lost her — has been a reopened wound for your father, who has clung to all news and stories of Dorne in response. As though he might hear her name in one of them unwittingly.

“There is no stone I would leave unturned if my soulmate was lost to me.” He tells you, his hand sliding along your arm to tangle his fingers with yours.

“I believe I can confidently say that neither Ellaria nor I will ever leave your side.” Still, your fingers tangling tightly in his as though trying to convince him. “There is nothing in the Seven Hells that could ever tempt me away, my love.”

“That is good.” He squeezes your hand and smirks. “I will be very satisfied with being surrounded by my soulmates and our lovers for a long time.”

“Our trip home will be an interesting one, with so many of us in such close company,” you smirk up at your husband as you walk. “I imagine we will spend much time in our quarters.”

Oberyn chuckles. “I do not think Cersei imagined her gift to her daughter would ferry so many of her people away on it.”

“I suppose I can only be grateful that my family had a long-standing connection to Dorne and not to Casterly Rock.” You shudder slightly at the idea and cringe. “Imagine my mother’s victory if she had sold me to the Lannisters instead.”

“I would not wish such a fate on you.” He growls, protective of you despite the fact you are safe in his arms. “A husband with one hand who fucks his sister.”

“I would not wish such a fate on anyone.” It would have been her triumph, to manage something like that. You know how lucky and how grateful you are to have been promised to Oberyn. “I am grateful to be madly in love with my husband instead.”

“What is not to love?” He asks arrogantly with a small wink. He looks around the market again and then turns you back towards the books. “Should you not pick another dozen books for the trip to Dorne?”

“You have been so generous with growing my library that my trunks may weigh more than Margaery’s dowry.” Still, you are not about to protest. Not for a moment. “I may spend the entire journey home with my nose in a book.”

“The captain I have hired for the trip home is strong. He will have crew to move them.” He’s unconcerned with that, more interested in your happiness than anything.

“My husband indulges me.” And the adoration on your face is very clear as he leads you back toward the bookseller. “He is soft and tender hearted and sweet.”

“If you think me soft, do not be frightened tomorrow.” He jokes. He knows that you mean he is soft when it comes to you and Ellaria and how he indulges you.

“Ellaria has told me about Mereen,” you admit, leaning close to his side as you come to stop in front of the bookseller’s stall. “How you fight. What to expect.”

“I have survived many battles.” He nods. “I expect to survive many more.” He let’s go of your hand and pats your ass affectionately. “Go find the books you wish to read to me while you are sitting on my cock later on.”

******

There is a thickness, a palpable tension in the air, when you and Oberyn return from the marketplace. The jeweler had already sent by his delivery of the things Oberyn purchased which were already made, and the note from him listed the price for the items being created, which Oberyn barely glanced at. The delivery of your books, the scarves you found for Ellaria and Margaery, and the baby blanket made by the dressmaker who had crafted your Dornish-style gowns — all of it is waiting for you when you finally return. But the truest shock is that your father has apparently been spending time with Raeden, Ellaria, and Margaery this afternoon.

He hugs you when you drift into the room on Oberyn’s arm and shakes Oberyn’s hands warmly. “I thought I would pay my respects tonight instead of distracting you with well wishes in the morning.” He tells your husband honestly.

While he had not thought much of your father when he first met the man, he had been sorely impressed with his insight since your mother’s departure. They had several frank and interesting conversations and Oberyn had refrained from engaging in his normal pleasures that he might with another lord, taking him to a whorehouse. “Many thanks.” He offers with a smile. “Join us, we are having a Dornish feast delivered by the best cook outside of her boarders.” He boasts. “In fact, I have offered him a place in the palace kitchens and he will sail with us when we depart.”

“We are bringing Salin home with us?” Ellaria sounds delighted with the idea and her fingers trace up your arm. “I think the princess had a hand in this. For the love of date cakes,” she teases.

“It was Oberyn,” you admit, laughing at how right Ellaria is about your craving. “But I am certainly not upset about it.”

“I would be delighted to stay.” Your father perks up at the mention of Dornish food. “It has been some time since I have had a good Dornish meal. The cooks would alter the recipes at home to their tastes.” He huffs, aware that his mother had written them done very specifically.

“Salin is extraordinarily talented.” Even Margaery is looking forward to the meal, having been fully converted to the cuisine of her new home with the first meal she tried. “He prepared the feast we are the night Raeden and I were wed and I have never tasted anything more magnificent.”

“Then I am eager to sample this cooking. My Marlee was a magnificent cook and I would often tease her that she would make a fortune selling her food.” Your father hums, knowing no one would fault him for speaking of his soulmate.

“I would like to hear more of her, if you are willing.” Speaking of Marlee seems to soothe your father and you must admit to being curious about the woman who could have been your mother.

“She was always smiling, always humming a little tune under her breath while she worked.” He tells you. “Making these delicious little tarts. I could eat a hundred of them.”

"How did you meet?" There is tea from the keep's kitchens while you await Salin's arrival with your dinner, and you offer a seat in front of the fire to your father.

“In Dorne.” He looks over at you fondly, smiling with the bittersweet smile of a man who is remembering a better time. “We had traveled back for my grandfather’s funeral. Mother was beside herself and my father could not leave. So I volunteered to escort her.” He had been brash and young, but already a good soldier. Handy with a sword. “I was bored by the grieving in the house, so I had snuck down to the kitchens.” He sighs. “She was baking. Flour on her cheek and singing a song as she mixed bread dough.”

“She worked for Grandmother’s family?” That is a surprise, and certainly makes you wish you had been bold enough to tell him about Raeden sooner. He would have been far more sympathetic than you knew.

“Yes.” He nods, his eyes sliding over to where Raeden is sitting with Margaery. “Although I think your path was leading you here.” He tells you, knowing what is whirling in that clever mind of yours. “She was beautiful. Raven black hair and yet…she had green eyes. The color of a watery jade.”

“So you fell in love over a secret meeting and a loaf of bread?” There is nothing sad or even melancholy in the life you have now, so you try to keep the conversation happy.

“The scar on my neck.” He pulls down the edge of his undershirt and his robe to expose the old, silvery scar. “It was new and fresh. Her dress showed it.” He shares a knowing grin with Oberyn. “She was mine from the first moment.”

“That sounds terribly romantic,” Margaery sighs, still softly envious of anyone who knows their soulmate or who has ever known them. “To have such definitive proof. To never wonder. It sounds remarkable.”

Her husband tightens his hold around her, offering her comfort. Everyone in this room knows that Margaery’s soulmate died without her ever knowing who it was. “If matching marks are ever discovered.” He murmurs softly. “They will be welcomed into our home.” It is the least he could offer considering the two sets of marks he bears, and the relationships he has with both women.

“If I ever have a set of marks appear?” Margaery nuzzles against him, glancing over at you before looking back to his eyes. “I hope that they will be yours or Star’s.”

“I would wear three sets of scars proudly.” He murmurs, bumping his nose against her cheek and then kissing her lips.

“As would I.” If the gods ever saw fit to give you three soulmates, you could not be happier to have one of them be Margaery.

“You are too generous.” Despite her inexperience, she has come to love to dynamic between the three of you especially, although she also enjoys time with Ellaria and Oberyn. Even if Oberyn had not yet fucked her.

“The gods have twice blessed you, pumpkin.” Your father chuckles. He still not quite understand the dynamic at play, but has decided that as long as you are happy, he does not need to. “To heap more upon you would be showing favoritism.”

“I would not expect anything less from gods concerning Star.” Ellaria chuckles quietly. She winks at you. “Perhaps the gods will send another wonderful person into Margaery’s life to add to our blessings.”

Glancing over at your husband, you bite back a grin and you wink at his as he so often does to you. "We will need a bed the size of you entire chamber if we continue to add members to our group."

You father clears his throat, reminding himself that he does not need to ask questions about things he does not wish to know. You are happy, and that is a rarity in life. “Dinner will be delightful, I’m sure.”

"It will." Leyth appears in the doorway, blessedly distracting from your embarrassment and ushering in Salin with his baskets upon baskets of delicious food.

“Salin, you outdo yourself every time.” Ellaria rises graceful and moves to greet the man with a charming smile and a hug. “Oberyn tells us you will be sailing back to Dorne with us?”

"The prince has most graciously offered to allow me to return home with your party." His hand is over his heart as he sets down the baskets from his other arm and Ellaria begins to unload them all over the large dining table. "I am most grateful to be able to see my family again."

“You must join us tonight.” Oberyn decides, motioning to the table. “We will be spending time together in much less spacious confines, let us drink and celebrate with delicious food tonight.”

"I could not impose--" Salin begins, but you immediately shake your head to stop him.

"Please," you insist, motioning for everyone to gather around the table. "We will not stand on ceremony tonight, but feast and celebrate as friends and family. We insist."

Looking around the table, Salin sees nothing but encouraging smiles and the murmurs of agreement, and he nods. "Your Graces are very kind. It would be my honour to join you."

There is something familiar about the young man. It tugs at your father’s thoughts but he tries to dismiss it as simply being nostalgic for his soulmate and everything to do with a culture he had much preferred to the rigid standards of the North.

Sitting down together at the table is indeed like an odd group of friends and family, but it is welcoming for that. Cal and Leyth join you instead of eating separately. Ellaria's mood is bright and boisterous. She speaks with Oberyn and Salin of home with such nostalgia that your father practically sighs with longing, and the rest of you who have never been to Dorne are hanging on every word.

Raeden leans back, watching the group with a smile as he strokes Margaery’s arm. Looking at the group that he has come to care for very much and squirms slightly in anticipation for things to come. It was not as if he had meant to wait to be with Oberyn. The moment had just never really come to be quite yet, but he want it so badly he cannot wait for the night to continue.

“I hope you will all forgive the indulgence,” Salin is saying as he begins to unpack the beautiful containers of sweet treats he prepared for dessert. “I have catered to her Grace’s cravings for our final course. Date cakes, figs with soft cheese, honey soaked fried dough, and crispy pastry with honey and nut filling. All of the princess’s favourites that I have been fortunate to discover so far.”

“Salin.” Your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the spread, practically giggling with glee. “You are far too kind and far too indulgent.”

The pastry with honey and nut filling makes your father tilt his head curiously as he finishes up his own meal. Easily enjoying the best Dornish meal he has had since he has been to the country. Watching as you pile a clean plate high with the delicacies with an indulgent chuckle.

“Try them, Papa.” You insist, moving the plate of crispy, sticky pastry toward your father. “I promise you will not be disappointed. Salin is a magician.”

Once offered, your father eagerly reaches for the pastry, likening it to one he has had many years ago and takes a bite quickly. "Mmmmmhhhhh." The moan is immediate and louder than he would have normally given over any good food. "I-- this tastes exactly like the tarts my soulmate would make."

“Are they traditional?” The question is for anyone at the table who would know - Salin, of course, but Oberyn or Ellaria, too.

“Not especially, your Grace.” Salon’s expression is apologetic. “They are a family recipe. My mother would make them for special dinners. Birthdays, usually.”

"This-- this is exactly like Marlee would make." Your father groans again after another bite. "She added a touch of anise. Not too much or it would overpower the nuts, she always said." He shoves the rest of the tart into his mouth and reaches for another.

Confused, Salin tilts his head and watches as your father seems entranced by the sweets. “You knew my mother?” He asks, not entirely sure how that could be.

The air is sucked out of the room and the tart in his hand falls to the table as your father's head whips around to gape at the man who had served the food. "Your mother?" He chokes out. "Your mother is Marlee Sand?"

“I—yes?” Confused even further as to why this fact has caused such a reaction in the older nobleman, Salin nods. “Marlee Brude, after marrying my sisters’ father. But she was born Marlee Sand.”

"She-- she's dead." The blood rushes to his ears and his head is swimming as he rolls his eyes over to you desperately. "She told me she was dead." He whispers, begging you to confirm that your mother told him that his soulmate was killed.

“I am sure it is a coincidence.” Although, which your father clutching your hand so tightly, your confidence wanes. “Sand is the most common name in Dorne. And surely Marlee is—”

“Is an unusual name.” Ellaria cuts in, glancing between the two of you and Salin. “Not unheard of, but not common.”

“And my mother is very much alive,” Salin adds, still not quite understanding what is happened. “I had a letter from her not a fortnight ago.”

"I don't understand.." He shakes his head, clinging to you and looking at Salin with a more critical eye before he gasps. "Boy." He barks, although Salin is a man grown and not a boy. "Do you have your mother's eyes or your fathers?" He demands.

Salin huffs, being well past thirty years of age and no longer a boy. “My father’s, according to my mother. Much good though that may do me.”

“Pumpkin.” He reaches for your jaw and cradles it gently as he looks from your eyes, his eyes, and then towards the man who shares those eyes. “How-- is it possible?” He whispers quietly.

"You cannot be my father, sir, no matter how much coincidence maybe at play tonight." It is all a little too much for Salin, and he pushes away from the table with a frown. "My father was some far-flung Northern lord who chose money over his soulmate. He married a shrew of a woman and never gave my mother a second thought."

That makes him frown, shaking his head and letting go of your chin to stand, swaying slightly at the revelation that this is his son sitting in front of him. “I can swear on my honor I have thought of your mother every day I have been apart from her.” He tells Salin. “I was led to believe that she had returned to Dorne when my betrothal was announced, as I was trying to convince my father to let me marry Marlee.”

"It cannot be." The color drains from Salin's face even as he stands to face your father. His father? There is something familiar reflected in the older man's face that makes him hesitate, but as he glances away to try to take a shaky breath, his eyes fall on your father's neck. Or - specifically - on the decades old scar that mars his skin. It is that scar that makes him gasp and his eyes dart up to the older man's again. "Tell me how you got that scar." He demands.

“A small skirmish on the northern boarder of our lands when I was young.” It was the first time he had killed a man, and he had barely escaped with his life. He had told Marlee about it one night after sex, her giggling as he had re-enacted it completely nude. He sees that Salin might believe him. “Have you see it before?”

"Do you know what truly happened to the Marlee Sand that you knew?" There is anger there, or at least frustration and surprise, and Salin bristles slightly when your father's story matches what his mother told him of the scar she wears from her soulmate. "Why she returned to Dorne?"

“My bitch of a wife had confessed just weeks ago that she had paid a solider to have her killed.” Your father’s anger rides across his face, a dark storm cloud of emotions that has him curling his fists. He had missed Marlee for years and then mourned her over the past weeks, now to find out she was still living? It is almost too much to bear.

"That soldier had a change of heart." Salin murmurs, feeling the impossibility of the situation slam through him with determination. "He told her to run, and she did." His shoulders hunch, disbelief clouding his features as he shakes his head. "I am Salin Sand because she was driven from your lands. It was many years before she even acknowledged a man's attention. My sisters are young, yet. Young like Lady Sunstone."

The chair in front of him is the only thing that keeps his kneels from buckling as your father learns his soulmate is really alive. Still bearing no marks from her on his body, he had never considered she was alive. “Son.” He chokes out, nearly sobbing at the fact that this man is his grown son. “Tell me she is well. That she is happy?”

Before Salin can even think, he finds himself embracing your father - his father - with tears pooling in his eyes. "I think she will be again," he admits, shaking a little as he processes everything that has happened today. He has gone from simply being able to return home to returning home with his father. "She has been a widow these last few years, but I know she has never forgotten you. In fact--" He pulls away just enough to look at the scar again, fully digesting its existence and the existence of the man who wears it. "She had sent me to learn of you. That...that is why I left Dorne."

“She-- you did?” He’s astonished because he had never seen you before tonight. “I-- did you ever come to the Vale?” He asks, immediately suspicious of his bitch of a wife. Even if she hadn’t rubbed the knowledge of his bastard son in his face, she might have sent him away and never let him know.

“I was robbed on my first night in King’s Landing.” Salin sighs. “I opened my stall in the marketplace as a way to earn the money to return home, but clearly I have been unsuccessful.” Living hand to mouth is difficult for anyone, but it had been particularly embarrassing to have to live in his stall the first few weeks. Things had improved, but not enough. Not until Prince Oberyn.

“I-- I didn’t know of you.” He tells him, hating that they had pulled apart to continue talking. Even as the rest of the table looks on with great curiosity, he only had eyes for his eldest child. “Or I would have- I would have brought her home.” He knows that marriage wouldn’t have been allowed but Marlee and Salin would have been safe, protected and loved.

“It seems I was meant always to have sisters.” The younger man laughs, finally looking over to where you are still sitting - dumbfounded - at the table before his eyes cut back to his father. “Mother will be glad to know you have not forgotten her.”

“I will-- would you allow me to see her?” His eyes are hopeful but there may be too much resentment there to let it be possible. The idea of seeing his soulmate again has him wishing he was already in Dorne.

“It will be up to her.” Even as a young boy who wished to defend her, Salin understood that his mother was strong enough to choose her life for herself. “I have already sent a raven home to tell her that I will be returning with the prince and princess. She will be waiting at the docks for my arrival. I only ask that you allow me to tell her you are there first. To not ambush her.”

It is nearly a miracle that he does not make himself lightheaded, he is nodding so quickly. “Of course.” He agrees before he looks around the table at the rest of the group. “Would you--” he clears his throat. “Would you like to come to my chambers?” He asks, knowing you are eager to celebrate with your husband and he wants to talk to Salin more. “I have wine, or stronger spirits. We can talk?” He is hopeful, biting his lip as he looks at the son that he has missed out on his entire life with. Wishing to know everything about him.

“You are not going anywhere until I am allowed to embrace my oldest brother.” The idea of all of it has overwhelmed you, but the smile on your face is soft and dreamlike. How utterly right that your father should be able to have again what had been stolen from him. That he will have the chance to know his eldest child.

Salin seems almost shocked that you would be wanting a hug, but he’s opening his arms immediately and moving towards the woman who he now knows is his sister. “Gladly. Without you and the prince, this would not be.”

“We will all have time to get to know each other much better on the voyage home.” The warmth of the embrace is genuine — two shocked individuals taking what is in front of them and fully accepting it head on. “And I hope you will find it a comfortable thing to call us by our given names now that we are family.”

“It-- it will take time, Princess.” Salin admits with a small smile as he pulls back. “Perhaps his feelings will change once we change his last name to mine.” Your fathers interjects. “If he is willing to be claimed.”

“We will have that conversation.” There are many mixed feelings that Salin has had about his father over his lifetime. Now, with an entire family being offered to him, the thing he wants first is simply to know this man. “But tonight, let us simply begin to know each other. More will come in time.”

“Come.” The older man nods and motions towards the door. “If we talk too late into the night, there is another bed you can sleep in if you have no wish to walk the roads of King’s Landing.”

It is almost surreal to watch your father and brother step away together. The tension that had filled the room seems to dissipate all at once, and you fall down again in your seat beside Raeden with a sigh. “That was…unexpected.”

“Completely astounding.” Oberyn muses thoughtfully, still reclined in his chair and shaking his head. “Fate is playing in your life, Star. The Gods have truly taken an interest.”

______

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donteattheappleshook · 2 months

Text

Not Broken At All Chapter 17/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Thank you thank you thank you @the-darkdragonfly for helping me so much with this chapter I literally wrote at your kitchen table lol.

This one is a bit shorter because I had to move the last scene to the next chapter or it would have been like 10k long…. but hopefully that means chapter 18 is coming soon!

(at least you didn't have to wait a year for chapter 17?)

*******

Part 17

Emma follows Killian’s eyes as they dart towards the ceiling, the deck above their heads. It’s dark out, but not the dark of night, the dark of an oncoming storm, that ominous, looming chill of electricity in the air, the waves lapping against the sides of the ship that rocks unsteadily against the threatening sea. A shiver runs down her spine. Whether Pan’s here or not - he’s fucking furious.

There’s a knock on the door, Wendy not waiting for permission before pushing it open. “Is he here?” Killian asks, voice low.

She shakes her head, holding a small, empty vial. “Not yet. But Ianeira sent a warning - he’s on his way and he’s not happy.” She looks out at the first heavy drops that land against the window like bullets. “Obviously.”

“Get the boys below deck,” he orders, still not raising his voice above the rumble of the storm outside. “Scarlet,” he adds, the younger pirate leaning against the doorframe, “go wake the crew. Tell them to be ready for a fight.”

“What are you going to do?” Wendy frowns like she already knows the answer.

“Handle Pan.”

“Absolutely not.” Emma answers at the same time as Wendy’s “like hell” rings through the air. “This was my idea. I’ll go deal with the consequences,” she insists, but her words are ignored as the two captains continue to argue. Will shoots her a sympathetic shrug from his place in the doorway.

“We don’t have time to argue,” Killian finally snaps at his second, standing and grabbing Emma’s pants from where she hung them last night before tossing them to her. “Pan and his Lost Boys will be here any minute and we need to make sure the boys are hidden and the crew is ready to defend the Jolly.”

“Is that an order, Captain?” Wendy asks, arms crossing over her chest and Killian stiffens. Emma didn’t miss the weight put behind the question.

“Cap-” he starts but she cuts him off.

“No. No more of this ‘I’m not the captain’ or two captains bullshit. If you’re going to pull rank and make me follow orders then you don’t get to decide you don’t want to be in charge anymore tomorrow. If this crew is going to put our lives on the line for your plan, and trust you to handle Pan, then you’re going to be the one to make the order. And if you die today -” Her harsh facade breaks just a fraction - “It won’t be because of something I could have stopped.”

The room is silent as the two stare each other down, the rush and howls of the storm growing louder outside, growing closer as they remain locked in the standoff, Wendy’s ultimatum hanging between them. “Well?” she demands.

He’s silent for another moment, but then he lets out a sigh. “Bring the boys below deck, make sure they don’t make a sound or Pan will remember that they’re here.” Another hesitation as neither she or Will move and his thumb runs over the ring on his finger. “That’s an order.”

Wendy’s shoulders both straighten and sag at once as she shifts into her new role, her face blank, betraying nothing, but Emma knows. She can see the hurt and the fear, of his betrayal and of the danger he’s putting himself in as she nods. “Aye, Captain.”

Killian flinches away from the title just the barest amount before she heads out of the room.

“What are you gonna tell him?” Will glares at his usurping captain.

Killian sighs. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.” He reaches for his shirt, pulling it on over his head and turning to find the man still there. “Go wake the crew,” he orders again and Will stares at him for a long moment before doing as he’s told.

Emma watches him as he dresses, yanking her own pants on and rising from the bed, the buttons of his vest fastened methodically, one by one with practiced fingers before he dons his greatcoat. She realizes what she’s watching as he slides his sword into its sheath, secures it to his hip: a soldier dressing for battle, each piece of his armour clad carefully down to the expression he smooths over his face, the one that hides the man who’d let her in his bed and held her against the threat of the night behind a cold, heartless facade.

“Killian,” she starts, ready to fight him on this. Rescuing the boys was her decision. She’d made them do it. This should be her responsibility. Nobody else's lives should be on the line for her choices. A boom of thunder cuts her off before a flash of lightning brightens the room.

“He’s here,” Wendy tells them, stepping back into the room. Killian doesn’t confirm if his orders have been followed - he doesn’t need to.

“Let me go,” Emma insists. “I can tell him it was my idea. I can -”

“No.” They answer in unison and before she can protest a boom of thunder echoes above them and an angry, lilting voice calls out above them.

“Thieves! Show yourselves!” The demand is followed by a roar of approval, small, young voices calling out in a battle cry she’s heard before. The room goes silent, tension in every line of her body and Killian’s. Wendy looks to her captain, waiting for orders, hands fisted like she’s trying not to barge up there herself.

Emma sees the barest flash of fear in his gaze before he schools it and turns to her, leveling her with a hard, commanding look.

“Go to the hold with the children. Promise me you’ll stay down there - that you won’t make a sound.” Emma glares at him, his face only inches away as he speaks so quietly she can barely hear him. He glares back just as defiantly. “Promise me, Swan.” She doesn’t answer. She’s not promising that. Not when it’s her fault Pan’s here and he could hurt them. “They need you. They trust you and they need to stay hidden. If Pan’s reminded they’re here… he might demand their lives in place of the dead we took.”

Her glare deepens. “I know what you’re doing.”

The corner of his mouth turns up just a fraction before he straightens it. “Then you should have no problem following through with it.” When her shoulders straighten his hand comes to her cheek. “We can’t risk Pan finding out about you - not while we don’t have a way of defeating him or saving Henry. You can’t protect anyone if you’re dead,” he adds, using her words against her now and her eyes narrow. “You can’t protect Henry if you’re dead.” That one hits hard and Emma knows he’s right - but she still doesn’t like it. She doesn’t want him dead either.

Pan’s warning rings out again, harsher this time - ‘Come out and face me, coward!’ - and Killian’s shoulders tense. “Fine,” she concedes. “But if things go bad -”

“You’ll stay right here.” It’s a warning, and she almost wants to call him on it, to see what he really thinks he can do to her that’s worse than the situation they’re already in, but she bites her tongue. He takes her silence as the end of the discussion. “Darling,” he calls over his shoulder. “Bring her to the hold and then join me on deck - Darling,” he tries again when she doesn’t respond, but Wendy’s attention is focused outside the cabin, staring out down the hall, a frown starting to pull at her brow and Killian’s matches it. “Wendy?”

“Where’s Will?”

“What?”

“Will.” Her voice is low, far away but rising with tightly restrained panic. “He should be back by now. Where’s the crew?”

As if on cue, a voice rings out loudly above them. “Pan! Two visits in as many days? To what do we owe the honour?” They rush to the stairs, crouched low looking out at where Will stands, alone, facing off against Pan. Fuck. Please don’t be an idiot. She can feel Wendy tense beside her and Killian reaches, grabbing his first mate’s arm.

“Don’t,” he warns and Emma’s surprised to see her try to yank her arm free. But he holds firm.

“Scarlet.” Pan sounds annoyed but intrigued nevertheless. “It’s been a long time.” He cocks his head, a small smirk on his childlike face. “You got old.”

“Go get the crew,” Killian orders, staring her down and not releasing her until the fight fades slightly from her eyes. He knows how much this must be killing her. “If there’s going to be a fight, we won’t be able to stop him alone. Bring them with you and meet me on deck.”

Will baulks. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I’ve the complexion of a man less than half my age.” He brushes a hand over his scruffless cheek as if to prove it.

There’s still resistance in Wendy’s stance but she nods, dashing off towards the crew’s quarters. Killian turns to her. “Stay here. Don’t let the children leave the hull.” She can only nod, still watching as her new friend continues to bait Pan. “Bloody idiot,” Killian mutters under his breath.

Emma grabs his arm, halting him. She waits until his questioning gaze turns to her. “Be careful. Please.”

He watches her for a moment, eyes darting up to the deck, and then takes her hand, presses a kiss to the back of it and nods the voices above growing louder. He spares her one last glance before dashing up the stairs.

“Hook,” Pan says as soon as he reaches the bow of the ship. “There you are. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Apologies,” Killian offers with a small bow and a polite smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Where are my shadows?”

“Your shadows? We don’t have any shadows here.”

“Don’t lie,” Pan snaps and Emma flinches. “You stole eleven lost boys from me. Those were my lives - I won them fair and square. Give them back.” Emma half expects him to stomp his foot, but it’s then that she realizes that he can’t - because he’s not on the deck. He’s flying, or hovering a few feet above it. Wendy had said that Neverland’s magic couldn’t touch the Jolly - does that mean Pan can’t either? Can he not set foot onboard?

“They’re at the bottom of the sea, I’m afraid,” Killian tells him with a wince and she can see the rage building in the small boy.

“Then I’ll take them from your crew. Eleven of them in exchange for the ones that you took.” Emma casts a glance back down the hall towards the hold where a dozen children hide.

“No need for that,” Killian begins. “They aren’t to blame for this little misunderstanding. I’m sure we can find a solution where you get what you want that’s fair.” Pan hesitates at the word fair. He loves his games - he loves his rules.

“Then who is to blame?” he demands. “Bring the thief forward so that he can be punished.”

“Unfortunately we-”

“I did it.”

“Scarlet,” Wendy hisses in warning, but he’s already taking another step towards Pan.

“It was my idea.”

Pan glares. “Why?”

There’s a pause and then Will smirks. “I just wanted to piss you off. For old time’s sake.”

The boy’s anger shifts into something cruel and amused. “Well then, you can pay the price for old times sake. You remember how much fun my punishments can be,” he adds. She sees Will’s back go stiff right before Pan’s hand plunges deep into his chest and Emma has to cover her mouth with her hands to catch the scream that tries to escape. The crew stills, petrified. This isn’t the first time they’ve seen this happen.

“Wait!” Wendy shouts as Will lets out a groan of pain. Killian grabs her arm, silencing her and holding her in place. Pan ignores her, pulling his hand free, something bright and red and glowing held in his palm. That can’t be what she thinks it is.

“Eleven lives,” he muses again, floating easily across the deck, thinking. He gives the thing a small squeeze and Will cries out falling to his knees. Pan smirks, he’s enjoying this, she can tell; he already knows what he wants to do and Emma’s nails dig into her palms, every bone in her body demanding she go up there and not let this happen. It should be her that pays the price. Not Will.

His fingers tighten around it again and Will stops breathing, hand clutched to his chest where his heart should be until finally, Pan loosens his grip, looking at Will with his head cocked again. “You really did get old, Scarlet. But maybe not old enough…” He looks him over carefully, then the mass in his hand. “Eleven Lost Boy’s lives… so many years - But I think we can make it an even hundred. For old times sake?” he smirks. “That sounds fair,” he decides. “You can pay me back a hundred years.”

When he squeezes the heart again, Will collapses onto the deck, bits of dust slipping from Pan’s fingers as the light flickers in and out and Emma can see Killian physically holding Wendy back now, knuckles white around the leather of her coat. Nobody breathes. The crew look like it’s taking everything they have not to run - either to Will or away from Pan. Instead they stand frozen.

She counts the seconds as they go by. One. Two. Three. Four. Five… Will rasps out a strangled cry, fists balling against the wood planks of the deck. Six. Seven. Eight… She watches him grit his teeth, sweat beading along the back of his neck, fighting. Nine. Ten. Eleven…

When she reaches eleven, Will takes his first breath in what feels like hours, the light in Pan’s loosened grip smaller and dimmer but still glowing, still beating.

“That should do it,” he smiles, returning Will’s heart to his chest.

Will gasps, settling his hand over it as if to feel the beat under it - make sure it’s really there. Then he frowns up at the boy. “Is… is that it?”

“Scarlet.” It’s Killian who snaps this time. “Below deck. Now.” Emma can’t see the look Wendy gives him when Will defers to her, but it sends him to his feet and across the deck in a second, head bent low.

“Emma,” he greets with all his usual bravado despite the raspiness of his breath when he finds her on the stairs. “Fancy seeing you here.”

She punches him in the arm. Hard. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Ow!”

“That was so stupid! What the hell were you thinking?”

Will shrugs. “I owed him one. And I’m not going to let Killian get one up on the galant gestures.”

“Hook.” Pan says, drawing her attention away before she can hit Will again. “If your crew isn’t going to play fair then they won’t get to play with us anymore”

“I’ll get them in line,” he promises and she can hear the edge in his voice.

“Good. Do you need a reminder of the rules? You were away for a long time…”

“I remember.”

Pan nods, happy now - a child getting his way. “Good. Then the game can continue.” He turns, hovering over the railing of the ship and casting them one last glance as the threat of a storm begins to clear. “But no more chances,” he warns. Both Killian and Wendy nod solemnly before he flies off towards the beach.

As soon as he’s gone, Wendy practically runs towards the cabin. “All of you,” Killian commands, drawing the crew’s attention away from their former captain. “Back to work. Now,” he snaps when they don’t obey immediately. They scatter, finding work to keep them busy.

Emma has to jump out of the way as the other woman barrels down the stairs, grabbing Will by the shoulders. She turns him one way and then another, hands coming to his face as she does the same to his head, checking for injuries. Finally, her hand settles on his chest and Emma can tell she’s counting heartbeats. Will lets her, not resisting as she checks him for any sign of permanent damage.

When she seems satisfied, she raises furious eyes to his, the hand at his chest fisting in his shirt and shoving him away from her. “Fuck you, Scarlet,” she bites out before storming off down the hall.

Killian takes over, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Will is less willing to let himself be manhandled by him though, shoving at his arm even as he holds firm. “Do you not know how to follow an order, mate?”

“I’m not your mate,” he snaps back, more annoyed than angry. “And you’re not my Captain.”

“And here I thought we were getting along,” Killian answers sarcastically. “And you don’t have to like it, but I am your Captain and if you do that to her again -”

“Like you did when you took off to find Henry?”

“That was different. I did it to spare her the pain of losing someone she cares for.”

“So did I. Do you really think Pan would have been so forgiving if you’d taken the blame? You’ve been gone a long time, Hook. You’re not his favourite playmate anymore.”

“And you are?”

“I’m still alive aren’t I?”

Killian scoffs. “You’ve lasted a decade. Speak to me when you survive a century.”

“Well if we keep her alive we won’t have to,” Will snarks, nodding at Emma.

“Me?”

“I wouldn’t have stuck my neck out for you if I didn’t think you were actually going to change things.” Emma doesn’t have an answer to that, the weight of his faith in her more than she can handle right now. “Don’t make me regret it, aye?” he winces, rubbing at his chest.

“What did he do to you?”

He gives a small shrug. “Crushed my heart. Wasn’t so bad, really - I’ve had worse.”

“What?”

“It’s a particular favourite of his,” Killian explains.

“I’ve seen him do it to disobedient Lost Boys for hours - days once. He’s done it longer to me when I was his second. I’m surprised it was only…”

“Eleven seconds,” Emma supplies. The longest eleven seconds she can remember.

“Aye - I thought he’d be angrier.”

“What did he mean by you paying him back a hundred years?”

Will shrugs again. “Pan loves his riddles. I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. I need to go find Wendy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Killian warns and it almost sounds like a threat.

Will scoffs, finally shoving his hand away. “Please. I’ve done stupider things than egg Pan on.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Killian rolls his eyes and Will glares at him before smirking.

“I’ve become very good at getting her to forgive me.”

Emma wonders for a moment if she’s going to have to prevent a murder. “Get out of here before I get Pan to come back and crush your heart for good.”

“What? I thought we were mates -”

“Go,” Emma tells him. Before Killian follows through on that promise. Thankfully, Will isn’t stupid enough to push him any further and does as he’s told. She puts a hand on Killian’s arm. “Just remember that he almost died today. Cut him a bit of slack.” He doesn’t seem convinced, continuing to glare after the younger man. “And he might have saved our lives. He definitely saved mine.”

Killian scoffs, finally looking at her. “And he’ll never let us forget it.”

“So what’s next?” she asks, trying to distract him from his sort of daughter and her sort of boyfriend’s sort of love life.

“Hmm?”

“We’ve got the lorelei, we’ve got Tinkerbell, we’ve got a ship full of Lost Boys and pirates, we kept him from getting any more shadows… what do we do now?”

“We figure out what Pan’s plan is.”

“Can we not just… kill him?” she knows they can’t - probably - but she’s pretty sure the idea hasn’t been thrown out there yet so it’s worth a shot.

Killian shakes his head like she expected him to. “If we could, I’d have done it by now. I did once, when I first returned to Neverland after decades away. I ran him through with my sword trying to avenge my brother.” Her hand on his arm tightens without her meaning it to. “He pretended, made a whole show and lay there until I was sure he was dead - and then he started to laugh. Just another game - the first one I played with him even if I didn’t know it. He told me it was the only time he would let me win.”

“We’ll find a way.”

He smiles at her, small and half-hearted but she believes him. “I’m sure you will.”

***

“Why do we have to do this?” one of the boys - Kyle, she thinks - complains, dropping the wooden sword to his side. It had been so strange and jarring to learn some of the Lost Boys names over the last few days. “ We have nothing to do but wait ,” Killian had said. “Tink has let the Constant know that we’re ready to meet with them and they’ll send word when they’ve decided if they’ll hear us out .” For some reason, the boys had all been like Wendy in her mind, born ‘ somewhere around the 1880s, I think, ’ or Will, who’d come to Neverland during the Blitz, using dreams to escape the nightmares of real life. But this new group of boys weren’t characters out of a book or an old black and white photo.

“My mom named me after the guy in some robot movie that had just come out,” Kyle mentioned and it was a moment before it clicked. “The Terminator?!” He’d only shrugged. “That might’ve been it.” This boy was her age. He couldn’t have been born more than a couple of years after she was. Another boy’s tattered shirt had a faded image of Lilo and Stitch on it - he didn’t look more than twelve. These boys were just… kids. Regular kids like the ones she grew up with and the ones who lived in Storybrooke or Boston - boys like Henry. And now they were soldiers.

“We have to do this,” Wendy answers, giving his fake sword a tap with her own so his arm straightens, “because everyone on this ship needs to be ready to defend her when the next raid happens - If you want to live until the next one.”

“But we already know how to fight,” he whines. “We defeated you every time.” If Wendy’s upset at the casual mention of her crewmates being slaughtered, she doesn’t let it show. “I already know how to sword fight.”

“Do you now?” Killian calls from the helm before she can answer.

“Captain…” his first mate starts but he ignores her. He’s an imposing figure, clad in black leather with the metal of his hook gleaming in the sun and the weight of his sword heavy at his hip. As his footsteps echo across the deck as he makes his way over to where the boys had begun their training they all go silent.

“Now now, Mr. Darling, if the boy thinks he’s beyond our instruction he should have the chance to prove himself.” He stops in front of the new recruit, drawing his sword in a slow, measured movement, the tip an inch from the kid’s nose and Emma panics for just a second that he might cut him down right there. But then he turns to Wendy, “Bosun, get this boy a real blade,” and she realizes he’s had exactly the effect he intended as everyone around him tenses.

Wendy goes to fetch a weapon, shooting him the kind of eyeroll kids learn to make in front of adults without getting caught - one she knows very well.

“Think you can defeat me, boy?”

To his credit, Kyle straightens his shoulders, taking the offered sword and raising it to the Captain’s, ready for a fight. She thinks she might see the tiniest bit of approval beneath the scorn in Killian’s expression. The boy moves first, swinging at him with all his might as he deflects again and again. Killian’s toying with him - she knows he is. She saw Killian fight Will that first night on the Jolly. His blocks are too slow, letting the kid get within inches of hitting him. He doesn’t make a single attack, his feet unmoving and she’d think it was cruel if she didn’t understand why he was doing it.

Finally, when the boy starts to sweat, she sees Killian shift, adjusting his stance as he swings at his opponent. The block comes almost too late, only stopped by the way Killian pulls back at the last moment. He does it again, and again, backing the boy across the deck with blow after blow. There’s no flourish to it, no showmanship, just skill and finesse and strength and speed.

The kid starts to panic, the attacks coming too fast and Emma holds back a gasp when Killian’s blade slices across Kyle’s forearm. After that, it’s easy for Killian to twist his blade out of the kid’s shocked hand with his own, his elbow coming up to knock the boy flat on his ass. By the time he looks up, nose bloody, eyes dazed and watery, Killian’s sword is pointed at his chest, his brow arched in a harsh challenge.

“Please don’t kill me,” the boy says so quietly and so heartbreakingly that she thinks she sees Killian’s face soften just the barest amount before he takes a step back, dropping his sword.

“Listen, all of you,” he booms, though every eye on the deck is already on him. “You’ve never defeated anyone. Until now you’ve been playing a game and the game has been rigged. And I’m sorry to say, you’re now on the losing team. The only thing that matters from this moment on is staying alive. And the only way to stay alive is being a skilled enough fighter - and knowing how to hold that skill back enough - that Pan will want to fight you again.”

He lets this hang in the air for a moment, the boys’ faces showing different degrees of confusion and understanding and horror. “So all of you will follow Mr. Darling’s instructions and learn everything you can from him. You’ll fight to defend this ship, yourselves, and each other when the time comes because you’re part of my crew now.” He reaches a hook out to Kyle who sits cradling his nose and heaves the boy to his feet. “And we look after our own.”

Killian looks at the boy who nods, message received loud and clear, before clapping him on the shoulder. “Scarlet, see that our newest crew member’s wounds are tended to. He put up quite the fight.”

“Aye, Captain,” Will complies without argument or sarcasm and Killian must be as shocked as she is because he keeps his mouth shut.

“Darling must have said something to him,” he tells her when Emma joins him, his sword sliding carefully back into its sheath as he watches Wendy continue her lesson.

“Or maybe you just did.” Killian only looks at her, brow raised in disbelief before she gestures at the sword hanging at his belt. “So, come on, are you going to show me how to use this thing or not?”

His face splits into a shit-eating grin. “Ah, Swan, I’ve dreamed of the day that you’d ask me to show you how to handle my sword.”

***

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Tinkerbell asks. She’d floated onto the ship that night, looking stronger than when Emma had last seen her - the few days with the Constant clearly having done her good. Her wings looked taller, fully unfurled, the crepe paper like skin no longer breakable and frail as they flutter behind her.

“Is there good news?” Killian sighs, standing from his desk where he’d been looking over maps of the island while Emma asked him questions about them, how each was different based on when it was drawn, what Pan had changed, who he had brought. He seemed unbothered by the fairy magicking his window open and letting herself in.

“They’ve agreed to meet with you. They haven’t agreed to help,” she clarifies when Killian looks surprised, “but they’ve agreed to hear you out.”

“And the bad news?”

“They’ll only meet us in Echo Caves.”

Killian lets out a heavy, long suffering sigh, thumb brushing the inner corner of his brow, words dripping with sarcasm. “Wonderful. Did they happen to give a reason why?”

“Something about making sure you can be trusted - some incident at skull rock?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” he mutters under his breath.

“Really because the way I heard it -”

“It’s fine. Tell them we agree to their terms. When do they expect us?”

“First light.”

Killian nods. “We’ll be there. And Tink,” he adds when she turns to leave. “Thank you.”

She sneers. “I’m not doing it for you.” And then she’s gone before he can say another word.

“What’s Echo Caves?” Emma pulls her knees up to her chest where she’s perched on the desk after she’s sure the fairy’s out of earshot and Killian’s sagged back in his seat.

“Another one of Neverland’s little delights,” he sighs again. “The magic of the cave compels you to share your deepest secret - whether or not you’re even aware of it.”

“Have you gone before?” she asks.

“Once.” His hand drifts up without her really noticing, fingers curling around her calf, thumb tracing over her shin and she thinks maybe it wasn’t a pleasant experience. “Pan wanted to test my loyalty.” She rests her chin on her knee, dreading what he may have had to confess to Pan to keep himself alive on this horrible island. He smiles up at her then, a put-on apathy. “Thankfully, I had many terrible deeds in my past to confess to.” He doesn’t give her a chance to say anything before he releases her and stands again - something dropped between them and something else put up.

“Are you afraid?”

Killian doesn’t look at her. “Always.” Her heart tightens. She understands - she’d only been here a few weeks and she’s been terrified every moment - apart from her brief experiment with fairy wine - centuries… she can’t imagine. “But not of the Constant. Tiger Lily may hold a grudge but they’ll do whatever’s best for this island, and so will their people. And I’ve no ill-intent towards them or love for Pan.” He looks at her then, pausing. “Are you?”

“Of having to spill my deepest secret to a bunch of strangers? No, why would I possibly be stressed about that?” she smirks half-heartedly.

“Strangers?” Killian raises a brow, sliding back across the room and resting his hand and hook on the desk on either side of her. “You hurt me, Swan. I thought we were friends - acquaintances at least.”

She shoves at his chest rolling her eyes and he smirks. “Usually a guy has to buy me dinner before he gets to hear the all sordid details of my past.” Or coffee in an empty theme park where a pretty smile and a well-placed sneak into his past makes her think she’s safe to reveal herself, to trust someone with all of it.

“Hey,” his thumb brushes over her knee as he tries to catch her gaze. “Where’d you go?”

Not anywhere he needs to know about - or anywhere she’d care to revisit. So she smiles at him, lets her foot brush against the side of his calf, teasing, distracting. “Just trying to figure out which of my deepest secrets are gonna come spilling out of me tomorrow.” He doesn’t believe her, his lie detector almost as good as her own, she's realized, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Well you are a mystery, Swan,” he tells her with a half-hearted smirk.

“Not for much longer, apparently.”

Something shifts in the way he’s looking at her, sympathy or understanding as he cocks his head. “You know you don’t have to come if -”

“I’m going.”

Killian huffs a laugh. “Of course you are. Well if there’s anything you want to get off your chest without an audience, now’s the time.” His eyebrow quirks up in challenge. “Won’t be a secret anymore if you tell me.” She meets it.

“What? Is one revelation about me not enough for you?”

Something shifts again, something heavier, her skin warm and humming with fear and anticipation as he looks at her the way he had when he’d been curled around her on the floor of the brig. His voice is lower when he speaks. “Perhaps I’d just like to know you, Swan.”

She casts her eyes to the floor, his gaze too intense - always too intense - before setting the smirk that had fallen from her lips back in place. “You first.”

“I’m an open book, love. Ask me anything you like.”

She has one question, one that’s been itching at the back of her mind since she’d seen the canvas of scars etched across his skin. “Who were you? Before you were here - before you were ‘Captain Hook’?”

His bravado falters for a moment. “I was many things. Son, brother, slave, sailor, lieutenant, captain, pirate, partner… None for very long.” He gives her another of those showy smirks. “It seems Hook is the only one that stuck.” Her heart breaks a little, so many loves lost and so many injustices done in such a short life. She thinks of the scars that had criss-crossed his back, that she’d asked about so casually then - slave he’d said - and she wishes she could do it over, pay both them and him the reverence they deserve. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

His hand slides to her wrist, to the laces she’d tied there the first day she’d come back to the sheriff’s office alone. All of his things had been gone. Desk cleared out, jacket taken from the back of his chair, the few things he bothered to keep - a tacky ceramic wolf, a photo of him and some friends she never bothered to ask him about, even the bottle of whiskey he kept in his top drawer - had been ransacked. He had no family that she knew of - no family that could be found at all - and she’d just known that it was Regina. She’d come in and wiped every trace of Graham clean like he never existed - apart from a single pair of boots forgotten by the back door.

“They belonged to someone I used to know.”

“Someone you cared for?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she shrugs. “He’s gone now.”

“It mattered enough for you to keep a piece of him with you.” He fingers the laces again, focusing on them, not making her meet his eyes again. “I know what it is to lose the people that matter most.”

Emma pulls her hand back, sliding them both behind her under the guise of leaning back on the desk and gives another dismissive shrug even as she can’t make herself look at him. “Yeah, well, when you grow up like I did you learn pretty quickly not to get attached.”

Thankfully, Killian knows how to take a hint, straightening and flashing her an off grin. “If only we all possessed such a skill, Swan.” Then, pushing away from the desk, “I best let the others know what awaits us all tomorrow.”

Emma swallows, this island has already taken so much from her - her son, her name, her memories - almost - her whole belief system… How much more can it really take? She doesn’t ask - not anymore as she slides into Killian’s bed instead of her own, and he doesn’t say anything as he joins her a few minutes later, just pulls her against him, breath warm and comforting against her cheek as they try to shut themselves off from the cries that ring out on the deck above them.

*******

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eddiessluttywaist · 1 year

Text

desiderium

an eddie munson series

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: eddie’s odd, forgotten childhood friend seeks him out when he needs her more than he realizes.

pairing: bsf!mechanic!bartender!eddie x eccentric!bsf!fem!reader

word count: 7,547 words

content/warnings: eventual smut so MDNI, unhealthy eating habits depicted (eddie accidentally forgets to eat), fluff, swearing, feeling unwanted, mentions of bullying/being publicly humiliated, low self esteem, anxiety, mentions of embarrassment, mention of an involuntary erection in adolescence lol, very brief mention of drugs, really awful & embarrassing awkwardness at the end i’m so sorry i had to. i think that’s it!

a/n: creds to whoever owns and posted those ^ photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

You reveled in the juvenile glory that was giving Eddie a hard time, especially since it had been so long since you’ve had the chance to.

You were grateful for the opportunity to settle back into one another even if it was by acting like complete children. Part of you even felt like these moments were exactly what you had hoped for, except that there was something off. Something still polite and unsure to your interactions. It made sense since it had been so long, but it was still odd. This touch of distance to all of it was incredibly foreign when you considered the way things had always been between you and him.

In that small market, you realized so much of Eddie was exactly how you remembered. And as much as you wanted to cling to him to appease your instinctive fear of losing him again, you both had to part ways so you could put away groceries.

Far less of the asshole you met on Thursday, he was more than willing to give you his phone number when you admitted you wanted to keep talking. You were embarrassed to tell him, especially since you didn’t want to scare him off with the strong attachment you still had (which you worried he wouldn’t match), but he didn’t even think about it. There was no judgmental glance or snicker under his breath. Only an “oh, yeah, of course” and then patting at his pockets to see if he had anything on him to write with.

“I feel like I still know you, but not really. It’s weird to think about everything I missed out on,” you admitted over the motel landline. “D’you think you’re the same Eddie as 11 year old Eddie?”

“Probably not,” he confessed in a sigh. “You the same as 10 year old you?”

You paused for a moment, even if it wasn’t necessary. Of course you weren’t the same. Not wholly.

“No, I suppose not…,” you trailed off before speaking up again, your finger twirling the phone cord around. “Do you think we’ll still be best friends? Or is this all too strange?”

“I don’t think I have a choice. You’re clearly obsessed.”

“Screw off,” you giggled, feeling your cheeks grow rosy.

“Well maybe…,” he exhaled, taking a moment to think before he continued to answer your question genuinely this time. You could hear him shifting in his spot, probably to be more comfortable. “Maybe a bit awkward. Why? Regretting coming here already?”

“No,” you shook your head as if he could see you and you rubbed the heel of your foot forward on the bedding to get your sock back into place after it had shifted. “Maybe we just need to catch up. Fill each other in on all the stuff we missed out on. Then it’ll be like there was no gap.”

There was some silence on his end, except for the faint sound of his breathing. Then there was suddenly movement again as his hair brushed against the phone and he yawned out his reply.

“That’s fair.”

“… Do you think I could see you tomorrow?”

“Mm, well I work until 5 tomorrow but we could do something after.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna bug you,” you spoke softly as if you were a teenager sneaking phone calls far too late. “I’m sure I’m annoying you, but I just… I don’t know… just wanna reconnect.”

Silence. You swallowed nervously, phone pressed between your ear and shoulder while you toyed with your hands.

“Y’know?”

Still nothing. Were you being as obnoxious as you feared? Were you being too excessive about all of this? Why wasn’t he answering you? Was he not as interested as you were in rekindling your friendship?

“Eddie?” You asked now, but it was just his breathing.

You were worried he was getting annoyed with you or maybe even trying to upset you by not responding, until you heard a light snore.

Eddie’s exhaustion was getting so bad that it seemed to be ingraining itself into his body. Digging into his bones, stiffening his muscles and joints, digging a void in his torso. He swore he could feel it slowly melting his brain that craved its necessary reprieve. He was starting to worry he was going to drift off while driving or something worse—if there was something worse than that.

He must’ve gone just long enough without any decent rest because he didn’t even remember dozing off. Usually with an adequate sleep schedule, he could remember approximately when he started to slip into unconsciousness, but not this time. He was on the phone one moment, and then he was suddenly waking up the next morning.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, adjusting to the light coming in through his window, and grunting lowly over the aching in his neck. He had fallen asleep sitting up in bed with his back against the wall, and gradually slid down throughout the night. It left his back and neck at an awkward bend for far too long and he was already feeling the effects. Straightening out his posture, Eddie stretched and rubbed at the back of his neck while different pops and creaks sounded throughout his body. As he shifted in his spot, he heard something drop off of the bed and onto the floor with a clatter. Brows furrowed and lips in an interested pout, he glanced past the edge of the mattress to see his telephone hanging down from its bouncing cord.

“Fuck…,” he muttered and scooped the receiver back up.

“Hey- Hello?” he started asking until he heard the incessant beeping coming from the phone.

Shit. He completely fell asleep on you. This wasn’t exactly helping his case right now. Once the phone was back on its cradle, he let out another grumbling sound while he rubbed his hands over his face. Arms dropping back down, he let out a small puff of air and glanced at the clock. Once and then a second time in panic.

“Shit!” Eddie gasped, launching out of bed. He was supposed to be at work two hours ago. He didn’t couldn’t bother with putting together something to eat, only sparing the time he had to hop around his bedroom as he pulled on his clothes and shoved his socked feet into his boots.

“I’m so sorry, I slept through my alarm. I swear that this-”

“Yeah, really missing out on all the action,” Mr. Thacher grumbled with a small smirk as he gestured his hand outwards to display the empty waiting room. “Don’t worry, kid, shit happens.”

“Eloquent as ever,” Lin commented on his response, giving Eddie a toothy grin as he rushed over to punch his time card. He could see her usual neon green mint gum just barely poking out from between her teeth. Mr. Thacher quietly grunted in response to her remark, continuing to flip through an auto parts catalog.

“‘D you talk to that girl that came by? What was that bracelet about?”

Eddie had been so frazzled by waking up late, that he stumbled over the mention of you. Although to be fair, he probably would’ve still stumbled even if he wasn’t mixed up from all the rushing.

“Oh— I—” he stuttered, his mind struggling to play catch up and reply to her while simultaneously attempting to remember what he needed to get done today. The Ford was already back to that snippy woman, one car he couldn’t even work on until a part came in—he guessed he was stuck with whatever else was left in the garage. What even was there?

He rubbed at his forehead as if the contact to the spot would get his brain to work. “Yeah--”

“A girl, huh?” Thacher grinned, the topic pulling his gaze up from the catalog.

“Seemed real strange, but sweet. Very mousy,” Linda whispered as if she was being secretive. As if Eddie couldn’t hear her.

“Just a friend of mine from when I was a kid,” he explained in hopes of avoiding any teasing or toying of any sorts, then went to the garage.

“Ahh, just a friend,” Mr. Thacher murmured at the clarification, sharing a knowing smile with the receptionist as Eddie escaped to the back.

Eddie could remember how Wayne teased him when he said the same thing about Chrissy. Just a friend. Just some girl who was actually nice to him. Just this, just that. Someone older than him acting like they knew everything before he did, particularly in the world of romance—which he was horribly out of touch with—always left him flustered.

Yes, he was aware he was the undateable town freak but he didn’t need to be reminded through the excessive attention to anything that could be a shocking turn of events in his love life. It emphasized how rare it was for someone to be interested in him. It was also irritating because it was bound to leave him even more humiliated in the long run. Whenever people around him made a big deal about someone he liked, it only made it all that more disheartening to have to beg them to stop bringing it up because shocker—it didn’t work out.

Not to mention, it was turning out to be a particularly touchy subject when it came to you. You were actually just a friend for nearly the entirety of his childhood; so Thacher and Lin viewing you as someone he was crushing on made him feel like a lone ant under their magnifying glass, and they were ignorant to just how badly they were burning him up. Especially now that he’s painfully aware of your existence as a grown woman and even more painfully aware of how easily he could fall into a devastating crush for you like some teenager. Sure, in a childish diary entry you once talked about him being your first kiss on your 10th birthday, but did that mean anything? No. You were young and wanted to get a milestone out of the way. You could never feel something beyond platonic bond with him. He could tell.

Now trying to focus on work, he was distracted by how ruffled he felt from being forced to think of you romantically or... Ugh, why was that suddenly so awkward? Romance. Physical attraction: Not a big deal. He’s an adult and capable of discussing such matters, but clearly not when it comes to you. He felt his stomach flip flop and his face get all red, which he hoped was hidden well by the hood of the car he was currently inspecting. You are so grown up now. Well, of course you were and of course he was too. You were both in your mid-20s, and it wasn’t like you saw one another’s transitions from childhood to adolescence to young adulthood. You were an obnoxious young girl with pigtails one day, and now suddenly a young woman who made him anxious. If he didn’t know your heart, he would’ve been sure you were the kind of girl to avoid him. The kind to not give him a second glance—maybe not even a first glance.

When he was a kid you were just… you. Critter. That annoying little shit who he spent nearly every second with. Now you’re you, Critter, and that beautiful newcomer who showed a daunting amount of interest in him. What if you realized he wasn’t worth your time? That he didn’t hold up to any standards he may have set once upon a time? He didn’t want his worries to get in the way, but he was sure they already have in some way. It’s just that you’re here so suddenly and so… pretty (ugh, he felt like a stupid teenager thinking like this) and he could barely string a decent sentence together on a regular basis let alone with someone like you staring at him or waiting on the other end of the call.

Oh god that call. Remembering that beeping phone hanging on its curling cord made him want to kneel down and let the hood of the car slam down on his head. At what point did he fall asleep? And were you upset with him? As if he didn’t already need to prove himself after his little episode on Thursday, now he had this to make up for too.

Great. Just great.

“Uh… I don’t know. I usually only hire locals. They already know everyone and know how things run around here.”

Your eyes grew a little sad at the response the man behind the bar gave you as he wiped at his hands with a towel. Unlike Eddie’s work towel, this one actually looked like it did its job. This was a rejection, wasn’t it? Or maybe just an opportunity. Usually. He said usually.

“I’m staying in Hawkins. I- I’ll get to know everyone, and I promise I’ll work hard. I waited tables at a diner back home for a really long time, I promise I know what I’m doing,” You thought you sounded confident, but maybe you were just begging. The middle aged man eyed you for a moment, considering you before speaking up again.

“Well, there’s a difference between a diner and a bar. Some of these men are downright sloppy.”

“If you mean they’ll grope me because they’ve been drinking, I can assure you I’ve been grabbed at plenty by someone sipping their first coffee of the morning. I can handle it.”

He hummed in thought, and maybe he was amused by your response. Maybe he couldn’t care less, but you were hanging on every word.

“Just to be clear… that’s not to say me, my boys, and Sandra won’t back you up if someone tries to bother you,” He jerked his thumb back to drag your attention to the woman who was roughly around the same age as him. You assumed they were married, and their sons worked for them. Did he say he only hires locals or family?

“I only want to warn you in case it’s too upsettin’.“

“So does that mean I have the job?” You grinned, hand still clutching that strip of paper with contact information from their “HELP WANTED” sign.

He wanted to warn you. There was something worth warning you about, something worth possibly backing you up about. That meant you’d be here. He sighed, and tossed his towel onto his shoulder.

“It means you get a chance. And don’t get cocky on me, alright? I’ve seen enough people swear up and down about their experience and then try to show off how much they can carry or memorize. It jus’ ends up costing me an arm and a leg with all the shit they screw up.”

“No games. I promise,” You nod your head firmly with all the respect of a soldier acknowledging their commander.

“Hm. Can you start tomorrow night?“

“Absolutely! Thank you so much, Mr.Smith,” You chirped from the other side of the bar, slipping off of your seat while he huffed out a snort.

“Just call me Ron, alright? Don’t have to be so formal.”

You might’ve been too cheery about a crummy waitressing job at a crummy bar in a crummy town, but this had you feeling that maybe your luck was finally turning up. You needed a job and while driving around in hopes of a “HELP WANTED” sign, you actually got one. And you were already getting the job. Well, a chance.

You were getting a chance.

“I have a job!” You announced with your arms raised up in joy, returning to the motel late that afternoon.

“Alright!” Martha grinned from behind her newspaper which she was folding up now at your appearance. “Look at you. Settling in already.”

“Well, I have a chance. He said a chance. But it’s something, and I really hope I prove myself to him.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great, dear. You’re gonna wow ‘em, get that job, and find a nice place.”

“I already have a nice place,” You pout now, folding your arms on the ledge in front of her usual spot and place your chin on top of them.

“This is just some crappy motel,” Martha reassured you with an amused huff and a gesture of her hand. “You deserve better. Not to mention, you can’t stay here forever—as much as I’d love to have you.”

“Are you breaking up with me? Kicking me out?”

Martha rolled her eyes and snickered, making your lips turn up into a smile.

“I want you to have a nice apartment you can call your own.”

“Hm,” you hum in consideration. “We’ll have to set days to spend together. Hey, maybe we can have breakfast every Sunday at Benny’s!”

“I’d like that,” she grinned up at you kindly, until her eyes were suddenly glittering with mischief as she parted her lips to speak up again. “Now about that boy…”

You groan with all the dramatics of a gaggle of teenagers and abandon your place at the front desk. You briefly walk away from your spot before begrudgingly circling back.

“I’m just saying you were awfully smiley when you got back from the store.”

“Yeah, with your nasty sardines,” You deflect and follow it up with a gag.

A playful pout comes to your lips at the look she gives you—an expression that could’ve said plenty of things, but you knew translated to “stop avoiding the subject.”

“We… talked,” you shrugged, gaze flitting to the ground as you fight against every muscle in your face desperately trying for a smile. “That’s all.”

“Ah, I see…,” Martha took off her glasses to clean the lenses with the edge of her shirt. “Was he good to you?”

“Yeah. He felt bad that he didn’t know it was me ‘n all that,” You murmured and glanced over at that daddy long legs that was nestled in its respective corner, tilting your head to regard it for a moment.

“Well that’s good,” She hummed and placed her glasses back on her face. “Is he handsome?”

You rolled your eyes so hard, you probably could’ve triggered a headache. Your only verbal response is another groan as you turn on your heel and head down the hall.

“What? Oh, it’s an innocent question!” Martha laughed, and you huff out a playful scoff on your way to your room.

You tried to not let last night dwindle your confidence. At first, your mind shot right to its typical worst case scenarios—you’re boring. You bore him now. That’s why he fell asleep. He couldn’t be bothered. That’s why he fell asleep. You’re so annoying he was looking for an escape—that one seemed like a stretch until you thought. But what if he was just pretending so you’d hang up already and stop bothering him? You sat with that one for a while, but then decided he wouldn’t do that… right? If you were already annoying him that much then he wouldn’t have even given you his number.

Then there was your sickeningly sweet side. The part of you so ungodly saccharine that it didn’t just put the world through a rose tinted lens—it was golden like honey and saturated with radiant sunshine and men who don’t disappoint. The latter should’ve been enough to take you out of it—too fictitious—but you holed up there sometimes. Not as much as you used to because when you never left it that was always a sign of trouble, but it was a nice retreat from your constant anxieties. On this side, he fell asleep because he was comfortable. You hadn’t seen him in over ten years, and still managed to make him feel safe enough to sleep in your presence—even if it was just through a phone.

Or he was just tired enough that he knocked out, which meant he could still be indifferent to you. This jostled your inner paradise and made your brows frown when it passed through. You shake your head as if to wipe the slate clean when you finally realize just how long you had been in your own head and glance at the clock. It was a little after 5 PM. He said he would be out by now, but you hadn’t been able to secure anything before he was snoring on the other line.

Should you still stop by the shop? You two hadn’t decided on if you would be going there, or if you’d meet up somewhere else. Fighting your urges that could easily be considered an instinct to smother him, you stay put at the motel. Instead of thinking about Eddie, you think about your chance at a job. You hadn’t worked at that diner back home in the past year—maybe year and a half—and now you were ruminating over every little detail of working there. You were continuously reassuring yourself that you remembered how to serve people in a small town as you dug through your bags to find something to wear.

Oh crap, you forgot to ask if there was a dress code.

You tried to think of what Ron was wearing at the bar. Flannel. Definitely a flannel. You never saw what pants he was wearing, but you at least had that. Figuring you’ll play it safe, you pull out your nice jeans. They were particularly stiff and you would have to lay on the bed to button them, but you had to look your best. You’ll pair them with a clean black top and comfortable shoes, and just hope they give you an apron.

Despite Thacher’s insistence that he go home, Eddie stayed longer at the shop than he usually did on Wednesdays since he came in late. One would think finally sleeping would be rejuvenating, and it was to a certain degree, but it also left him incredibly groggy. His body felt drunk on the sudden abundance of rest, and he almost didn’t know what to do with himself. He just prayed he would sleep tonight too.

No one came in around close, but he could focus on fixing what was already in the back—not including the car that he was still waiting on a part for. It wasn’t until he felt like he was going to keel over from the gut pain that he realized he hadn’t eaten all day. The few cups of coffee he had felt like they were slowly eroding his stomach as it begged for a decent meal. He made his way to the small break room and scoured the cabinets to find a Chinese food menu, a tub of Folgers, a forgotten can of Sanka (cause really, who was drinking decaf at work?), filters, an array of plastic cutlery, napkins, a ramen seasoning packet and aha—a packet of instant oatmeal.

Tearing the paper with his teeth, Eddie reached for his usual mug to dump the oats into before adding water. He watched the cup turning in the buzzing microwave with a sigh of relief as the scent of cinnamon began filling the air, all while he rubbed at his neck and stretched his still aching back. He waited until the very last second to smash his knuckles against the button to successfully open the microwave door right before it could beep at him.

“Ow ow ow--” he hissed around his first bite, which was visibly steaming, but he was too hungry to care as it burned away at his mouth.

“You know I think that has been in the cabinet since ‘86,” Linda commented as he made his way towards the front, picking up on the scent of instant oatmeal before she could even turn her head to confirm that was what he was eating.

“Well right now, it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” He grinned a closed mouth smile around his boiling hot snack and then shoveled in another scoop just to keep huffing and puffing from how hot it was.

“You can let it cool, y’know. It’s not gonna run away from you,” She snickered as she organized her desk.

Eddie lifted his plastic spoon to show off the sludge that slowly slid down and plopped back into the mug.

“Sure about that? This doesn’t look like something that could come to life?”

“Don’t play with your food,” She chastised gently with a tilt of her head, making him laugh.

“Yes, mother,” He snickered and she joined in, but the sentiment wasn’t entirely a joke.

She had become somewhat of a mother figure for Eddie since he first started here at 16. She defended him whenever the opportunity arose and she kept an eye on his interactions with others, always hoping for some happiness to come around for him. Sometimes she was concerned that maybe he wouldn’t treat a girl right—take advantage like a lot of men do—but she was usually only concerned about him. He was the one that got hurt nearly every time, excluding that recent one he made cry.

“So a childhood friend, huh?” She suddenly asked, despite him not being aware of her thoughts turning from the topic of old oatmeal to you.

Eddie’s eyes were so childish and round as he glanced over at her, it was almost cartoonish in the way that they glittered. He was softer talking about you now that it was only Lin, even if he still felt somewhat irritable from being pestered about you.

“Yeah, she uh…,” Eddie swallowed, setting his mug down on that awkward half wall around her desk and started picking at his nails. “She’s from Ohio. When I still lived with my dad.”

“Ahh…,” Linda raised her brows, but backed off a little. She knew his dad was a sensitive topic. She clicked her tongue thoughtfully. “Well that’s sweet of her to come here to see you, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Eddie laughed sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck again. “It’s a little weird.”

“Do you not want her here?”

“No—god, no, I mean yes. No I don’t… not want her here.”

“Mkay,” Linda hummed, having a hard time not smiling over his blushing cheeks.

“I just mean I haven’t seen her in so long, so it’s shocking, y’know? The last time I saw her she was 9. Well, she’d insist she was practically 10 since it was so close to her birthday-” Eddie rambled out that last part, rolling his eyes a little and flapping his hands out over the recent memory of your insistence that you had been 10. He let out a huff of air, then toyed with a strand of his hair to pull in front of his face as he shifted in his spot.

“But uh… yeah.”

Linda eyed him for a moment, until it all clicked into place for her. Oh he’s so cute.

“Aw, it’s strange for you to see her all grown and womanly,” She cooed.

Eddie’s face twisted as he dropped his hair from between his fingers, and might as well have gagged.

“Oh, god— do not call her womanly.”

“But it’s true! You knew her as a young girl and now she’s blossomed into a woman. Oh, Eddie-”

“Ugh, shit, I should’ve left at 5 when Thach offered,” Eddie grumbled, twisting around to bring the empty mug back into the break room.

“Just because she’s finally developed her breasts doesn’t mean she can’t be your friend anymore, dear!” Linda called after him in a manner that sounded sincere, but he could hear the edge of humor in her tone.

He grumbled to himself, trying to ignore how hot his face and ears felt. He was 25 years old. He shouldn’t have to feel this way. Part of him wished it was coming from a familial standpoint of Oh my gosh look at you, you’re all grown up, I can’t believe it! But no. No this was coming from the place of his inner adolescent self tripping up because the change in your appearance was so drastic. For all intents and purposes, you forever remained in a childhood time capsule while he continued to grow up. Then he blinked and you were showing up as a 24 year old woman, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t stupefied by it. And Linda had him figured out in record time.

He rinsed out his mug, shooting a playful glare at her when she walked in to place her mug from that morning in the sink.

“Oh don’t be so sour. I’m sure she’s just as surprised to see you all grown up.”

“Good to see you’re back in the land of the living,” you teased when Eddie called you later that night after work and dinner.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, phone cupped between the side of his face and his shoulder as he lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply then let out a contented sigh, watching the plume of smoke dissipate the further it traveled through his room. He dropped his hand down that was holding the common vice between his middle and forefinger, ring finger picking at his pajama pants. “But uh… seriously. I’m sorry about that. I just… haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Oh,” you said rather simply, shifting to get more comfortable in your spot. “‘D you wanna talk about it?”

“Nothin’ to really talk about. Just have a hard time sleeping.”

“Like, falling asleep or staying asleep?”

“Uhh yes.”

You rolled your eyes and allowed him a breath of a pity laugh at his response.

“When did that start?”

“‘D you end up going to school to be a shrink or something?”

“Oh god no,” you all but dry heave, the mention making you think of that tool from your college. “I went for an education degree.”

“No shit?” His voice lilted up at the end and you could hear him following it up with a deep inhale and exhale of smoke. “So you want to be a teacher?”

“You’re avoiding the subject, Eddie.” Although to be fair—now you were too.

“Whatcha gonna do? Spank me with a ruler or somethin’, teach?” He tittered, and he was grateful that you couldn’t see how he immediately rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and silently asked the world why the fuck he just said that. The only relief from his debilitating misery was the way you laughed at his stupid comment.

“Screw off,” you giggled before sobering your tone. “No but really—is everything okay? I feel bad that you’re not sleeping.”

“Why? It’s not your fault.”

“No, I know…,” you murmured, toying with a loose thread in the motel comforter. “Just wish you didn’t have a hard time sleeping.”

“Yeah me too,” he laughed and smothered the glowing end of his cigarette into his ashtray when he was done with it. “But it’s not a big deal.”

“I could make you chamomile tea or something. That always helps me sleep,” you answer, your heart thrumming from the simple offer.

“You really want to come to my crappy place and make me leaf water?”

“Or just don’t sleep tonight. Wish you the best, Loogie.”

Eddie’s groan crackled through the old phone, and you could feel the eye roll that came with such a sound.

“So—oh careful it’s hot—” you murmured when he carelessly dragged the mug to his side of the countertop in his small kitchen, not wanting the tea to spill over onto his fingers.

It didn’t take much convincing for him to welcome you over to his trailer, and you were all giddy over seeing his place. He put a lot of emphasis on the fact that his home was shitty and didn’t understand your joy, but you were happy nonetheless.

“So it should help you get sleepy, and if you wanna you can make a wish when you stir it,” you grin over at him like a little kid, and he finds it endearing that you still enjoyed something as simple and sweet as making a wish. He remembered how as kids, you clung to just about every scenario that could incorporate making a wish. A lone eyelash on a cheek. A birthday candle. A dandelion. A friendship bracelet.

“If you stir clockwise you can wish for something into your life, or you can stir counterclockwise to wish something out of it,” he eyes you from where you’re settling your elbows on his counter and cradling your chin on your open palms.

“So I can… wish for a shit ton of cash or something and I’ll wake up a millionaire?” he questioned, still smiling even when you give him your best glare.

“Ha-ha,” you sneer. “No, jackass, but you can wish for abundance.”

“Abundance?”

“Yeah, like wishing for better opportunities to come your way.”

“Or I could start selling weed again,” he counters, watching the way you push away from where you were leaning into his counter.

“You’re being mean.” you complain and it feels more familiar to him than anything else.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry,” he sighs out through a light laugh. He shakes out his arms theatrically like someone preparing for a daunting task—only to lean in and grasp the handle of a small spoon between his fingers.

“You sold drugs?” you suddenly ask and his gaze flits up.

“Do you mind? Trying to make a wish over here.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, but he just kept staring at you.

“What?”

“Do you have to watch me?”

“Oh I’m sorry, can you not perform while I’m looking?” you bunch up your lips into a mocking pout, and now it’s his turn to glare. “Fine.”

Once you’re turned around, you hear the occasional clink of metal against ceramic and it makes you smile until you hear the gulping that follows.

“Oh my god— it’s a cup of calming tea, not a shot of tequila,” you gasp as you turn to find him downing the liquid that was probably still scalding hot.

“Yeah no shit,” he chokes out, putting the mug that was still half full now before sticking his tongue out and looking down to try and see if he could find any evidence of the burning he felt. Between the oatmeal and the tea, his taste buds were taking a real beating today. You giggle at the ridiculous action, and then even more when his gaze turns up to you with his tongue still out.

“I’m sorry, is this funny to you?”

“Yeah,” you admit honestly, giving him a big smile through the small titters that melts his heart.

“Keep it up. We’ll see who’s laughing when I’m ditching town with a million bucks.”

“Screw off, I told you it doesn’t work that way--” you huff, reaching over to nudge his arm and it only encourages his goofiness. Eddie’s leaning into the counter as he grins over at you.

“So when does this shit kick in?”

“It’s tea, not a downer,” you counter in a patient tone and gently move the cup closer to him. “Just keep drinking it with slow sips and try to relax.”

He hums in lighthearted disappointment at it being pointed out that the tea wasn’t a strong sedative, but he already feels somewhat calmer even in all his excitement over messing with you. The scent of the chamomile and honey, and the smell of your perfume. The softer tone of voice you took on when you focused on the fact that your task was to help him relax and sleep. The familiarity of your presence even with the distance caused by time apart. The coziness of his pajamas and your matching sweatshirt-sweatpants combo.

“Remember when we were kids? And I slept over all the time?” you murmured randomly, this moment of helping him calm down to sleep directing your thoughts to that simpler time.

“Yeah,” he grinned and leaned forward on his forearms. “And my dad always insisted you stay in a sleeping bag on the floor-”

“But you let me climb into your bed if I had a nightmare,” you finished for him, blushing at the fond memory.

“If? You were always scared of the dark. You never stayed in that sleeping bag.” he chortled and dragged his mug up to his lips.

“I never got why your dad didn’t want us sharing a bed. Even now, it’s stupid. We were kids, it’s not like we thought about stuff like… like…,” you start with a laugh before trailing off as you feel a thick fog of awkward tension suddenly settle in his trailer. You clear your throat and look down at your hands.

“Just stupid. We were too young. A-and even if we had been teenagers it’s not… it’s not like…,” you sputter, internally screaming at yourself for directing the conversation this way.

“You would not have wanted to share a bed when I was in the throes of puberty,” he snorted and displayed his hand outward as if presenting scenes from his teenage years while he dramatized those last three words. You were grateful for him saving you from this mortifying moment with his sense of humor.

“The people are right: teenage boys are disgusting.”

It’s your turn now to snort and raise your brows as you concur with a simple nod.

“Which is so unfair, by the way,” he points at you after settling his mug back down from another sip. “Why do girls just get better? And we have to suffer?”

“Oh please,” you scoff incredulously. “Have you ever had a period before? A single cramp? Bled through your jeans and everyone can see?”

“Uh, have you ever gotten a random hard-on during a presentation in school?” he countered and you flinched at the idea.

“Oh god…”

“Yeah. I wanted to drop dead.”

“…What were you doing a presentation on?” you wonder after a pause for consideration, a curious smile pulling at your lips. He eyes you from under his lashes and curly bangs before looking down at what’s left of his tea as he mutters under his breath.

“I’m sorry?”

“S’lm ‘ch ‘ls.”

“Come again?”

“The Salem Witch Trials,” he finally admitted loud enough for you to hear and you throw your head back in a cackle as he buried his face in his hands. You eventually sober up enough to speak again, eyes wild with amusement.

“You got off on people being unjustly executed in Colonial America?”

“No!” he groaned, separating his hands from his face.

“No, that’s the worst part. I wasn’t even turned on by anything. It just-“ he gestured towards his groin that was hidden behind the counter. “It just did it on its own.”

“Oh that’s so humiliating.” you whisper like it’s a secret, and he huffs.

“Yeah, no kidding— will you stop smiling about it?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can. It’s too funny,” you admit with an apologetic scrunch of your nose.

“No, now we have to get even. Now I have to know something embarrassing about when you were a teenager,” He waved his hand, urging you to contribute so it was fair.

“Can’t think of anything. I was perfect,” you sighed sweetly with a hint of grandeur, hands pressed against the counter top and head tilting into your shoulder. He stared you down until you crack with a giggle.

“Uhh, let’s see…,” you hummed, looking off at a corner of his ceiling while you perused your memories. Your face is neutral and deep in thought until something clearly hits you sideways and makes you cringe.

“Well, I got pantsed in high school when I wasn’t wearing any underwear.”

“Ouch,” Eddie hissed at the memory as if it personally hurt him before he barked out a laugh. “Bad day to go commando.”

“I didn’t even mean to,” you whine, now the one hiding their face. “It was gym and I forgot another pair of underwear. I didn’t want to sit in sweaty underwear for the rest of the day so I just…”

“And someone pantsed you?” he cackled, hands hugging his cup.

“Yes,” you huff with a pout. “It was Zachary McKay.”

“He was always a tool,” Eddie muttered now, a small yawn escaping him. “Even when we were kids.”

“He had a crush on me after that, though, so I benefited from the sudden kindness for a while,” you let out a hollow laugh, as if that saved you from the humiliation of everyone seeing you half naked in gym.

“Oh god, you didn’t date him did you?” he asked like it personally pained him, and the torture wouldn’t let up until you shook your head.

“Ew, no. He just had a hard-on for me after seeing me half naked, and then he was right back to being an ass when I turned him down.”

“Good girl,” Eddie muttered casually over you not stooping low enough to entertain anyone as awful as McKay.

He didn’t even think about it, and the phrase wasn’t drawn out in that way someone would when they were being provocative, but it still nearly made you choke on your spit. You were grateful for him going around the corner of the counter and behind you to put his mug in the sink after downing what was left, so you had a chance to recover. You wanted to drop dead like a teenage boy getting an involuntary erection in the middle of a presentation.

“Sorry he was an ass to you just cause you didn’t wanna date him, though. Not that I’m surprised that he’d do that,” he muttered, walking up from behind you after abandoning the sink. He’s brushing against you for just a second and then back to his spot across from you.

“Yeah…,” you agreed breathlessly and forced yourself to look at him. “You look like you’re getting tired. Want me to leave so you can try to sleep?”

Or so I can throw myself into a pit?

“I feel bad kicking you out after you were nice enough to bring me stuff,” he reaches over to grab the box full of chamomile tea bags for emphasis. “And making it for me and everything.”

“It’s okay, really. I know you have a busy day tomorrow… I do too, actually. Not until a bit later, but…,” you trailed off as you collected your thoughts and toy with your hands. “Really. I don’t mind leaving so you can sleep.”

“Okay… but if you get any nightmares don’t call me cryin’ cause you can’t climb into my bed,” he teased while he stretched, the bottom of his band tee lifting to show a sliver of tummy.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed and he huffs out a laugh, letting his arms drop back down to his sides.

There’s a moment where that distance comes back. You forgot it still existed until it got to you leaving. Do you just say goodbye and head out? Do you hug? He doesn’t seem sure either and just kind of scratches the back of his neck while jutting his thumb towards his bedroom.

“I should probably go to my room if I wanna sleep.”

“That’s a good choice.” you snickered, placing the strap of your purse over your shoulder and starting to gravitate towards the door. “Let me know if the chamomile helps.”

“I will,” he offered you a small, charming smile as he picked at the skin of his thumb. “I uh—shit, right-”

He goes over to you now, extending an arm.

A hug. Okay. You’re gonna hug.

You wrap an arm around his torso in a half hug just as his hand lands on the screen door’s handle. The creak of old springs is too late and you already hugged him. Fuck.

“Oh I was- no. Yeah,” he stumbled over his words.

“I’m sorry I thought-”

“No, no. I-”

He briefly wrapped you up in his arms and somehow being scooped up into him was worse than if he had backed away from you. He was keeping you hostage in your own humiliation, even if he was trying to be kind. You desperately wanted to savor his body heat and his smell of tobacco, leather and cinnamon, but you can’t even do that. Not while your fight or flight is setting off alarms all throughout your body.

“Thank you for stopping by,” he rubbed your back before parting from his gesture that he felt he should’ve already been offering. “Really.”

“Any time,” you squeak out, trying to laugh off the awkward moment to seem cool and casual, but you’re probably just making it worse.

“Night, Looddie- Loog- Ed- I…Wow, I started to say one and then went with the other… and I just said Looddie… that’s great.”

You laugh again with one foot out the door, and he seemed genuine when he joined you but it didn’t stop you from wishing you could disappear in a magnificent feat of spontaneous combustion.

Once you were outside of the trailer, you felt paralyzed by your own embarrassment and deafened by the unrelenting silence of night. If it weren’t for the fact that he would hear you, you’d be smacking your head off the side of his trailer and screaming.

This was so much worse than being pantsed by Zach McKay.

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artiststarme · 2 years

Text

What If Steve Were To Leave Hawkins? Part 12

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

This part is mostly just a filler but still fits as part of the story. I worked a 14 hour shift today but wanted to make sure I posted something to keep my everyday posting streak going. So here is an average day in the life of Steve and Eddie, enjoy! The angst will continue tomorrow, I promise.

~*~*~*~

After an amazing several days in the city for the boys, Steve had to go back to work. The coffee shop renovations were completed and Betty was eager to get back to business. He was worried that Eddie would be disappointed at the upcoming mundanity after all the fun they had been having. Over the course of the past few days, Eddie and Steve had seen all the touristy sights they could. Steve took him to the Skydeck at Sears Tower, Shedd Aquarium, the ferris wheel at Navy Pier, Lincoln Park Zoo, and all of the iconic restaurants that he thought Eddie might enjoy. And he did enjoy it. Eddie was having the time of his life, as was Steve. And it wasn’t even just the fun activities that were making them so happy. It was spending time together and learning more about each other that was making them so joyful.

However, their fun had to come to an end eventually. Steve’s shift started at 6 AM when the coffee shop opened and he knew it would feel longer than usual with Eddie waiting for him to finish. From 6 AM to 9 AM, the hours seemed never ending. All Steve wanted to do was go back to his comfortable bed and cuddle with his boyfriend. But instead, he had to deal with increasingly difficult coffee orders from middle-aged customers.

His mood lightened considerably once Eddie stumbled downstairs from his apartment and took a seat at one of the tables facing Steve at the counter. He grinned at Steve and gave him a cheerful wave. His hair was untamed and he was wearing Steve’s only black shirt along with a pair of blue jeans. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever looked better. He waited for a break in the amount of customers before making Eddie a coffee, black with more sugar than coffee. Just how he liked it.

Steve carried it over to him at the table and affectionately pat his shoulder, “Good morning, Eds. What’re you doing?”

Eddie leaned further into Steve’s touch as he took a sip of the coffee and sighed in contentment at the taste. “Mmmm, this is great. 10 out of 10, the best coffee I’ve ever had, thanks babe,” he said before taking another sip. “I’m working on some song lyrics. I had an idea for a new song.”

“Well, I can’t wait to hear it,” Steve murmured before looking at the corner. He saw a few people walking in and sighed, “I have to go but I’ll come back over when it slows back down.”

“No worries, Stevie. I’m fine sitting here, watching my man at work. Go forth and make their brews, barmaid!”

Steve rolled his eyes at his theatrics and raked a hand teasingly through the mop Eddie called hair. He listened to Eddie’s squawk of protest as he went back to work.

Steve knew he loved this job but it had never felt as right as it did just then. Eddie sat in the shop for the entirety of Steve’s shift, smiling whenever they made eye contact and occasionally wandering up to the counter when his coffee cup ran dry. He looked slightly misplaced in the small coffee shop amongst the businesspeople and college students, being the only metalhead present, but Steve wouldn’t have it any other way. He loved looking past

whichever customer he was serving to see Eddie scribbling song lyrics furiously into his notebook with his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated.

Steve was even happier though when his shift ended and he could spare Eddie all of his attention. He had some ideas for what he and Eddie could do once his shift was over at 3 PM but he desperately needed a shower to wash off the sticky smell of coffee. “Hey Eds, let me take a shower really quick and then we can do some more exploring, okay? Didn’t you want to check out some bar tonight?”

Eddie rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, “it’s not just ‘some bar’, Stevie. It’s a gay bar. And your first one so I think we should go. If you’re cool with it.”

Steve looked at him unimpressed. “Why wouldn’t I be cool with it? I’m dating you, aren’t I? We can go tonight.”

He pecked Eddie on the lips before grabbing a clean towel and walking into the bathroom. He wanted to look good tonight if he was going to show Eddie off.

~*~*~*~

Eddie decided to call Uncle Wayne once they returned to the apartment. He had some time to kill while Steve got ready and it had been a couple of days since he had spoken to the man. With a glance to his watch, he nodded and made the call. He knew that Wayne would be heading to his overnight shift at the plant soon but they should have enough time to chat briefly.

“Munson residence, how can I help you?”

Eddie chuckled at such a formal greeting coming from such an informal man, “My god, you answer the phone like a butler. Uncle Wayne, how are things?”

The bored inflection in his tone disappeared once he realized it was Eddie on the line. “Hey son, I’m alright. How’re you liking it in the city?”

Eddie looked at the bathroom door to ensure Steve couldn’t hear him. He could hear the water going still and the muffled sound of Steve singing some Wham! song. Jesus Christ.

“I really like it here, Wayne. Steve’s been amazing and it’s the total opposite of Hawkins. No one even looks at me twice. I think… I think I’d like to stay here.” Eddie whispered into the phone’s receiver.

Wayne was quiet for a moment but when he spoke he was confident. “Look Eddie, I know you’ve never had it easy here. You’ve always been meant for more than this town. If ya like it in Chicago and ya like being with Steve, you should stay there. Ya don’t have to come back to Hawkins.”

Eddie closed his eyes as he processed his uncle’s words. “I don’t want to leave you to live by yourself. And I don’t even know if Steve would want me around all the time. I know I can get annoying.”

“Stop that. Eddie, I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll miss having ya around but I’ve always just wanted ya to be happy. If being in the city with Steve does that, ya should stay there. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He wants to keep ya around,” Wayne reassured him.

Wayne had to get going to make it to his shift on time so they said their goodbyes. Their conversation gave Eddie a lot to think about. He would miss living with his uncle but Hawkins was still relatively close. Close enough to drive back and visit with the old man on a whim. And moving out of Hawkins would definitely make him happy, especially if he could be with Steve. With his mind mostly made up, all he had left to do was have that conversation with Steve.

Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20: Epilogue

Updated Taglist: @nickavalens @conversesweetheart @themostunoriginalpersonever @swimmingbirdrunningrock @eddiethegreatteddybear @harrumphingtons @call-me-big-eyes @moonshadows-13 @glittergluekintsugi @cpidcupk @doubleb11 @mentalcyborg @amoris-no-smut-allowed @purple-lemonade @labels-are-for-the-weak @thebrazilianatheist @rajumat @livelaughlexa @5ammi90 @colorful565 @marvelousforlife @chaoticcoffeequeen @gregre369 @suddenlyinlove @thegreatmistake @stillfullofshit @nburkhardt @batxsignalsx @newunknowns @thosemessyvibes @tailsfromthecrypt @luciana-rowan @bird-with-pencils @adaed5 @lolawon @flustratedcas @iwillfindmyneverland @messrs-weasley @skoomy-doompy @yearningagain @forest-fogg @bitchysunflower @stardust-era @newtstabber @bobatrash-queen @notjasontxdd @ohlook-afrog @00biscuit @grtwdsmwhr @oxidantdreamboat @the-witch-forever-lives @estrellami-1 @whatthemeepever @a-simple-gaywitch @imzadidragonfly @freddykicksasses @krimsonsimp @whatthefuccck @delta-piscium @anaibis @tinynebula @darkwitchoferie @evix-syne666 @tawghasa @pyrohonk @lillys-weird-world @superduckmilkshake @paintsplatteredandimperfect @tiny-enthusiast @whalesharksart

#soft times in Chicago for Steve and Eddie #just a chapter of the boys being happy #I can guarantee that the kids back in Hawkins are feeling the opposite lol #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #steddie #fanfic #mike wheeler #max mayfield #lucas sinclair

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fizzyxcustard · 1 year

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Covert Eyes (20)

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy knows that her recovery won’t be quick, and she now has another decision to face.

Official soundtrack list: here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in.

“I knew you would,” Lucas said simply. “I know how much you adore your mum.”

Amy pulled from the embrace and reached over to the bedside table, flicking on the lamp. Light illuminated the room, highlighting Lucas’ face. She could see the stern set of his features, evidence that he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of the Holland family knowing about his and Amy’s true occupations.

“Did you tell her about me as well?” Lucas asked, his face still straight.

“She guessed,” Amy replied, not able to look Lucas in the eye. Shame swam in her chest and all she could do was question this move. Would it now cause a divide to form between them both? “I think by knowing what I do, it’s almost impossible not to assume that’s how I got into it.”

Lucas’ mouth had suddenly become dry and he mentally battled himself to try and work out how he felt about this. When they discussed it earlier, Lucas had assumed that he would be angry if Amy told her family. However, he didn’t feel anger in those moments. Everything was confusing.

Amy shifted from the bed and stood up, facing the window. She crossed her arms and looked down into the dark, dimly-lit street below. “I thought you’d be pissed off with me.”

Lucas blinked hard, fighting the fatigue. Maybe tomorrow would be easier for him to process his emotions once he had slept properly. “I just want to get in bed with you and go back to sleep, Aim. I don’t know how I feel about this right now. We can talk about it in the morning.”

The two of them got into bed, where Lucas spooned behind Amy. He kissed her head and heard her sigh.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you,” Lucas said softly.

“I know, and I love you, too.”

Lucas woke first the next morning, rising from the bed. It was nearing ten ‘o’ clock. He smiled at the sound of Amy’s gentle snores and shuffled out of the room and across the landing to the bathroom. Downstairs and he could hear chattering, two voices, Amy’s mum and dad.

Once relieved, Lucas slipped back into the guest room to see that Amy was awake. She was lay on her back, gazing at the ceiling. “Sleep well?” Lucas asked.

“Not bad. How about you? Did you have any dreams again when you went back to sleep?”

“Not that I can remember.”

Amy slid up the bed and sat up, her head pressed against the headboard. “Can we talk about last night? I just…I really want to sit down and talk to Mum and Dad. I love them, Lucas. I’ve always been so close to them, especially Mum. I tell them everything, and not telling them this just feels wrong.”

Lucas sat back down on the bed and reached across for Amy’s hand. “I’ve got no right to tell you not to talk to them, Aim. All that I ask is you don’t let this go any further than them. Even your sisters. Please just keep this between us and your parents, no one else. It can get messy if too many people know, and it can cause too many risks of compromise.”

“Mum already knows we work together, so they know about you, too.”

Lucas bat his eyelids, looking down at the bed and then smirked. “What’s the worst they can do? Hate their future son-in-law and out him as a spy to anyone who might care?”

“Don’t be daft!” Amy hissed playfully. “They really like you. Mum keeps saying how happy we seem together.”

“Because it’s true, from my side at least,” Lucas replied.

Amy narrowed her eyes. “You know, you’re always saying how I talk shit with my insecurity. You’re not doing too bad a job yourself.”

***

Amy requested a chat that morning with her parents and Lucas. All four of them sat around the main dining room table, with a mug of coffee each.

“I spoke with Mum last night,” Amy began, directing her words to her dad initially. “It’s only right that you know. I don’t work for DWP anymore. I started with MI-5 the end of November.”

“MI-5?” Richard asked, his eyes wide. “Bloody hell, love! How did you manage that?”

“I was recruited. Back when I got shot; the man who shot me was a target. And…” Amy looked up at Lucas, seeing a reassuring smile. “Lucas works for them, too.”

“You were recruited together?” Richard asked.

“No, I’ve worked for them for about ten years,” Lucas said. “I initially had to tell Amy that I worked for the police, and then once she knew what I really do, she was vetted. I really shouldn’t have told Amy about my job as early into our relationship as I did, but I trust her. And the fact she knew for a while also worked in her favour to get her recruited.”

“So you go out running surveillance on people?” Richard asked. His grey eyes had lit up in enthusiasm and intrigue.

Amy smiled. “I don’t, no. That’s Lucas’ job. My role is just analysis, and I’m due to start training in a few weeks. I’ve been shadowing people in the office until my training starts.”

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” Sharon said, taking Amy’s hand in hers.

“This can’t go any further than just us,” Amy continued. “Not even Leah and Ruth can know. If too many people know then it can mean risks of compromise to us. But it’s too big to not tell you both.”

***

The rest of the week passed by swiftly. And by the time that leaving day arrived, Amy hugged her parents tight. There was a new concern for her in their eyes, a concern that had only intensified since she had told them the nature of her employment. Richard had already made it clear that if any harm came to his little girl that he would find Lucas and torture him slowly. But that serious conversation was soon followed by a trip to the local pub, where both men shook hands and ventured out into the cold, leaving Amy and Sharon behind at home to curl up either end of the long sofa and watch Labyrinth with David Bowie, and laugh at his crotch in tight leggings.

As Lucas and Amy drove away from the Holland house, Sharon and Richard waved them goodbye, then turned to disappear back inside.

Sharon was quiet for a few minutes and walked on behind her husband, who shot into the kitchen to make a fresh cup of tea. “You alright, love?” Richard asked. He flicked on the kettle and leaned on the table, his upper body facing his wife.

“I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something she’s not telling us, Rich,” Sharon started. “She gets shot by a terrorist suspect, and then MI-5 decide to recruit her? It doesn’t sound right to me. There’s something with the person who shot her, and I can’t shake that feeling. I can’t say that I’m completely over the moon with her change of job. I’m proud of her for how far she’s come, but I just have this heavy feeling in my stomach that she’s not telling us the whole truth.”

“She’s not going to be able to tell us absolutely everything. I could tell that it took a lot out of her just telling us that she’s got a job with them. You know how they work – everything is top secret and hush hush. Maybe she can’t tell us.”

“I’ve always told my kids they can come to me with anything, and Amy has always been the one who stuck to that. She’s never kept anything from me. Maybe part of me is jealous of Lucas because he knows the full story behind all of this, and I never will. It’s the first time that she’s kept anything from me, and I don’t think she’s doing it because she wants to.”

“Of course she isn’t. You’ve just said that she’s never kept anything from us. She’s always been the most honest of the three girls.”

“I don’t want this job and relationship to change her.” Sharon shook her head in sadness and looked away, feeling tears sting in her eyes.

“It won’t,” Richard said softly. He put his arm around Sharon and held her against him. “If anything, her relationship has brought her back out of her shell. Those years with Adam almost wrecked her. When she’s with Lucas, she’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her. Can you ever remember her and Adam holding hands like that, or just generally being affectionate?”

***

The drive back to London was fairly swift, with little to no queues of traffic.

It was early afternoon by the time Lucas pulled the car over to a spot outside their maisonette block. For a split second he was taken back to the times he had watched her enter and exit the building. It was when they had barely known each other, with only their morning coffee being a method of communication between them.

Amy got out the car first and moved around to the rear end to get their suitcases out of the boot.

Once the two of them had got their cases and were back into the flat, Lucas turned to Amy. “Before we get all of this sorted,” he began, his eyes drifting over the two suitcases, “how about we go out for something to eat?”

“Yeah, okay. I don’t really fancy preparing anything.”

After their meal at the local café, where they first met, Lucas and Amy walked home hand in hand. There was a flurry of snow on the air, and the sun tried hard to shine from beneath the thickening clouds. “Looks like it might be setting in for the afternoon,” Lucas said, quickly glancing across at Amy who seemed quiet again.

Back at their flat door, Lucas unlocked it and let Amy inside first.

“You okay, Aim?” he asked as he took his black scarf off from around his neck.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me telling Mum and Dad about our jobs? You’re risking a lot because of me, I know that. Should I have listened to you on this?” Amy sat down at the dining room table and looked up at Lucas who was hovering a few feet away. He’d switched on the overhead light as the thick cloud outside seemed to be darkening the world.

“I shouldn’t have been so worried about it, Aim. Now I see that I was quite hypocritical about it; I told you about my job a lot earlier than I should have done.”

“You told me because our relationship was riding on it, remember? You disappeared for nearly a week with no word, so I get why you told me. I did kind of corner you.”

“Don’t question your decision,” Lucas reassured. “I know I need to let you make decisions for yourself and not be down on you. If we’re going to get married then I need to trust you with decision making.”

The word married made Amy shiver. She still couldn’t believe that she was engaged to this gorgeous man in front of her. He had previously been the kind of man that she would have only dreamed about dating. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine a man like Lucas North would be interested.

That evening and Amy made sure that Lucas’ work shirts were ironed as he was due on shift the next morning. Amy wasn’t due in until midday, but had decided to head in with Lucas anyway to build some extra hours. Music played in her ear buds as she ironed his shirts and a couple of her blouses. It was a long forgotten song from an old Bon Jovi album she’d downloaded a week prior. Lucas was taking a bath as she worked. He never took showers, even though Amy had a shower head over her bath. Only ever baths. Showers brought upon bouts of anxiety, reminding him of his time in Lushanka, his hell on Earth.

As Amy finished up the last shirt, she felt arms slip around her from behind, and smelt the faint scent of lavender from the bubble bath. “I wouldn’t have minded the company, you know?” he whispered.

“I know, sweet, but I’ve got to get the ironing done for us starting back to work. I’m going to have a quick shower though before bed.”

“I’m going to have an early night and read for a bit. Maybe we can do in bed what I had in mind for the bath?”

“Or we could just do it now?” Amy whispered, turning around and pulling him into a kiss.

A few minutes later and Amy found herself pinned beneath Lucas as they made love in their bed. It was slow, deep, intense. They always took their time, prolonging the build and pleasure. Lucas groaned and panted as he held her one leg aside, his hips moving in a rhythm. It had been over a week now since they’d been intimate as Amy had felt great shame at the thought of having sex in the bedroom next door to her parents. But now they could express their love and want again.

The next morning they woke to a light layer of snow on the ground and a thin mist veiling the sun which was still trying to scorch through the cloud. Lucas brought himself and Amy a take away coffee from their café and then they rode the underground to work. Little did they know, a pair of peering eyes watched through the crowds. They were focused on Amy, taking in her short stature, curvy frame and the way she never let go of Lucas’ hand among the crowds.

“Positive ID,” the voice said softly into the microphone beneath his collar; it was paired with an American accent. “She’s with Lucas North.”

***

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @xxbyimm @linasofia @middleearthpixie @knittastically @guardianofrivendell @meganlpie @luna-xial @asgardianhobbit98 @rachel1959 @mrsdurin @quiall321 @missihart23 @lemond57 @evenstaredits @catthefearless @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady @sazzlep @glassgulls @littlebird-99 @solairewisteria @aliasauthor @court-jobi @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @albionscastle @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @bookworm-with-coffee @danzalladaggers

#Lucas North #Richard Armitage #Lucas North x OC #Lucas North x Original Female Character #Spooks #MI-5 #Fanfiction

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appleslices · 11 days

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i just think its funny that my Boss and my manager r complaining about labor costs and staff hours and my manager specifically making jokes about all the 10-13 hour shifts he schedules for me but today he dipped out at 6 1/2 hours and i have to set a whole room for an event tomorrow plus i had to serve a FIVE person lunch because he didnt staff the pub correctly- like why did i get called in to serve this lunch specifically its SO small 😭😭😭💔💔 which is something they could have done plus i had to set up the 5:00 appetizers which someone else could have done plus i have to be the one to drop another set of special order appetizers down in the pub at 6:30 even tho there are Three other employees down there who could do that one of which is the Bar Manager and so anyway im here forever plus i was here until 11 last night and im just so fucking tired why cant anybody do their jobs why must i do all of it

#like oh ur labor cost is high??? ur scheduling me pal!!!!!!!!!!!#like how about YOU deliver the apps and hors d’ouvres i could have set the event room my now #’we have 2 hours tomorrow’ NO WE DONT because we have to stock the bar AND the portable bar which is a fucking bitch to stock and set #thats not enough time with only TWO people oh my god

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whisperprime · 2 years

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Hob blinks into awareness, staring at a blank wall.

A blank wall that should have a door in it.

He turns, putting his back to the offending wall. Takes in what appears to be his flat, at first glance. It gives him the surreal feeling that everything that had come before - Dream showing up, their talk, the offer to fix his ankle - had been the dream, rather than what he was currently experiencing.

Upon a second glance, he can pick up on the things that are out of place, like the pleated coat he’d bought back in the 15th century hung on the coat rack or the claymore he was still mourning the loss of mounted over a couch he definitely wouldn’t be buying again this go around.

Littered through out the flat are also things that didn’t exist yet - if they ever came to exist in this new timeline, such as a cellphone that made the iPhone 14 look like a MicroTAC Ultra Lite or the 22nd century style coat hung up next to his pleated one.

For a moment, he feels nostalgic for the time period he had left behind when he agreed to take up the Herald’s mission. He misses the friends he never got the chance to say goodbye to. Misses the advancements in technology. Is glad he doesn’t have to worry about missing the latest medical advancements.

Oh, what a world they were heading into. He looked forward to not only meeting it again, but also to experiencing it in new ways he hadn’t the first time.

There’s the feeling of displaced air, of a shift, that Hob has begun to attribute to something entering the dream with him, that tips off that he has company. Leaving the room to itself, Hob shifts his attention to Dream, who is peering at a future piece of technology that won’t exist for another 110 years.

What is it like to be a creature existing in the now while also retaining knowledge of things that existed in the tomorrow, he wonders. What strange things might this Endless being have seen that now only exists in the memories of those who have walked times that no longer make up their existence? What did time travelers bring to the collective unconsciousness?

Hob puts a pin on those thoughts before they can carry him away. He may have been improving when it came to lucid dreaming, something that was far easier at the moment with Dream being there, but it was still far too easily to get distracted and lose the thread on things. “It’s done?”

Dream pulls himself away from the cell phone, turning to meet him. Here, in his domain, Hob is struck once again by how much more substantial he is. His eyes, usually blue in the Waking world, are their more natural reflection of the cosmos.

“Yes. You might feel sore in the morning, but the bone was set back correctly.”

Oh, to be able to walk without the feeling of bone not sitting correctly. He could not wait.

Near bouncing on his feet, Hob turns back to the blank wall. He places one hand on his hip, while the other goes to his chin as he debates his dilemma. “I might need your help, dove.” He points at the wall with the hand that had been on his hip. “I’ve gotten decent at controlling my dreams, but I never got the hang of changing them.”

Dream steps up beside him, intrigued. “You were not a lucid dreamer in the past. When did you learn?”

“It’s a recent skill.” Well, ‘recent’ if one took into account that Hob has roughly 379 years worth of lived experience that Dream knows very little about. “It took way longer than I thought it would to get even to my current level. I’m jealous of those it comes freely too.”

He gets a thoughtful nod. “Everyone who sleeps experiences it differently. The only thing they have in common is that they dream at some point in their lives.”

Hob has always wondered: “Do you sleep?”

Dream is silent in a way that Hob knows that he’s weighing whether or not to tell him something. He’s a little shocked when he gets, “No. The closest thing for me is unconsciousness.”

Another thought to put a pin in.

Not wanting the conversation to take a darker turn - they are supposed to be having a bit of a dinner date, even if they’re not calling it that - Hob forces himself to face the wall. “I know the place I’d like to go, but I don’t know how to get there. Any suggestions?”

A considering silence, this time. “Emotional attachment can help shape dreams.”

Hob suddenly remembers that he has, just once, changed a dream before, although he hadn’t been trying to do it on purpose. Remembers the brief flash of The Wake during his revisit of the 1889 dream right after the seal broke.

Dream tilts his head down to make eye contact, and Hob suddenly realizes that Dream is taller than him at the moment. “Does this place have any such attachment for you?”

Hob closes his eyes and imagines the place he’d like to go. Feels the tug of it, like a call home. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

He feels cool fingers wrap around the hand that had still been pressed to his hip. Nearly opens his eyes, until he hears, “Hold the image of the place in your mind.” His hand is guided out until he feels those fingers wrapping his hand around a door knob that wasn’t there a moment ago. “Let the attachment be the thread to guide you to where you want to go.”

Holding tight to the image, Hob turns the knob and pulls on the door. When he opens his eyes, there before him is the New Inn. But it isn’t a version from any specific era, nor is it the one he’s trying to build back in the Waking, although it might be close.

Here, in this dream, it is more the concept of the place than an imagining of the real thing. The hopes, new and old, he’s poured into it. What it was and what he wants to it be again. His hands itch with the desire to pick up a hammer and attempt, perhaps in vain, to try and make it a reality.

Remembering he isn’t alone, Hob uses his free hand to indicate that Dream should enter first. “After you, dove.”

Dream pauses in the door way much the same way he had when he’d entered the New Inn in the Waking world. He looks back at Hob over his shoulder, briefly, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, before he turns back and passes through the door.

Hob follows behind him, coming to walk beside him as they enter the seating area. In the Waking, the New Inn would be full of tables and booths if it was this far along. Here, in this place that Hob has imagined just for the two of them, is just a single bar stool up against a more richly colored version of the real bar table.

“Feel free to take a seat, if you’d like.” Hob points over his shoulder to the double doors that should lead to the kitchen. “I shouldn’t be too long with the food.”

Dream eyes the seat for a moment, before he shakes his head. “I should like to come with you.”

Hob feels the phantom sensation of sweat down his neck. This is hardly the first time someone will have watched him cook before, but there’s a certain level of stakes here that he hasn’t felt since that one time he had the Queen over. Higher, even.

He covers it up with his usual bravado, offering a welcoming smile and a ‘follow me’ as he heads for the kitchen.

He hadn’t ever given any heavy thought to what he might make Dream if he ever had him over for dinner. Even if he had, food in the Dreaming was different than anything in the Waking world. In the Waking world, the quality of the ingredients and the skill of the chef determined the taste of the food.

In the Dreaming, food was more memory and emotion. To feed someone in the Dreaming was to share with them an experience and to pour it into being.

Hob had only shared a meal once with the Other Dream, but he hoarded that memory like a dragon hoards it’s most precious gold.

Doing this prods a little at that loss, but it feels like pressing on a bruise that will always be worth the hurt to have gained the experience.

Without it, he would never be able to do what he was doing now. To share this gift with any of the knowledge that give in the full impact of the thought that went into it.

It is with this in mind, that he lets the doubts fall away and gets to work. The kitchen, as it can only in a dream, has everything he needs. The dish itself is simple, but still something he’d feel comfortable feeding a king. He preps the venison with the curiosity he felt during their first meeting. Preps the vegetables with the trepidation he’d felt going into their second meeting. Spices the venison with the love he’d newly discovered going into their third meeting. The vegetables are sauteed with the light that was the remembrance that he had someone waiting for him going during their fourth meeting. Roasts the venison with the wonder he’d felt at the end of the their fifth meeting and the empathy he’d felt for the loneliness he’d felt himself during their sixth meeting.

Food finally cooked, he fashions a plate to serve it on, made of the faith, despite the fears, that they’d see each other again he’d felt going into what should have been their seventh meeting. The same faith that had carried him beyond it when it was missed, both the original and repeat time around.

Carefully lifting the plate, Hob turns to head back into the sitting area. Has to pause when he gets a look at the expression on his friend's face.

The Lord of Dreams and Nightmares stares back at him, the heat behind that gaze a supernova at the height of it’s explosion. He looks like he wants to crawl into Hob’s psyche and see what makes him tic. To preserve it for him to return to and gaze upon at his leisure.

Hob swallows feeling not unlike a pinned butterfly on display, carefully asks, “Dove? The food is ready.” Needlessly, he holds up the plate.

Dream blinks, with all the effort of a titan willing itself back into something small enough for something a human could perceive. Eyes the dish like a predator would prey.

What would you feed a creature that is beyond that of a god?

“Yes, let us see what you have come up to thank me.”

Hob wills himself not to allow his trepidation stop him now. He once shit talked Death and earned an eternity to enjoy life. He's not stupid enough to do anything like that again - not rudely, anyway - but it is that kind of courage he reacjes for, foolish as it is.

He just hopes that this doesn’t turn out to be foolish, as well.

Dream takes his seat on the stool, somehow looking like a king set at the head of a grand table rather than someone sat at a bar table. Hob lays down the dish in front of him. Once his hands are free, he turns to the shelves behind him and reaches for one of the bottles. Imagines it filled with the joy of drinking with a companion that knows him better than anyone in the world as he pours it into a glass he’s pulled up from beneath the bottles. Lastly, he lays out a pair of utensils.

Once finished, he steps back, hands trailing palm up along the table as he withdraws. “I present your meal, milord. Roasted venison and vegetables, served with a Bordeaux wine. I hope it is made to your liking.”

Dream decides to taste the venison first. The moment the meat hits his tongue, Hob watches as his eyes fall close with a flutter. Raw pleasure lights his face, subtle that it is, like Hob has rarely seen, and he can’t help but feel an answering, pleased flush of his own.

Dream does not do anything as undignified as inhale the food. He takes his time with savoring the food, the wine. Somehow leaves not a single trace of it behind when he is finished.

This might be the closest to sated Hob has ever seen Dream.

Hob very happily adds this memory to his treasure trove of moments to look at on a rainy day.

Food consumed, Dream picks up his glass of wine. Swirls it a bit, something heavy on his mind. When he looks up at Hob for the first time since starting the meal, his eyes are deep and terribly, terribly knowing.

This is hardly the first time Hob has bared himself to this impossible creature. It will likely not be the last.

He does not back down, but rather rises up and meets it.

“Why do you not call me by my name?”

Hob blinks at the seeming non-sequitur. Rolls with it and shrugs. “You haven’t given me permission to use it.”

Dream hums at him, recognizes the insolence and decides to find it amusing. “Having my love would not be the safest thing for you, Hob Gadling. To have it would be your ruin.”

Fog, briefly, skirts the floor of the New Inn before vanishing. Hob can almost taste the Chateau Laffite 1828 on his tongue.

And may each and every one of us give always the Devil his due.

It is far too late to be warned about what loving Dream of the Endless could mean for Hob Gadling. He is too far past the point of no return to worry about something as simple as being ruined.

He will claim, and even mean, that he spent those 106 years in Roderick Burgess’ basement because he wanted the world to keep spinning for the selfish reason of wanting to continue to live in it.

But that does not change the fact that he still took Dream’s place in what turned out to be the closest he has ever gotten to Hell on Earth because Hob was in love with him.

That he would do it again, no matter the cost.

“Some things are worth the danger, dove.” Hob stepped back up to the table, leaning forward until they were eye to eye. “You are worth it and I would say that every day if it would help you to believe it.”

Dream appears to be holding himself back with every ounce of his control. His emotionless façade long cracked down the center, laying bare the controlled urge to claim and possess. “Be sure, Hob Gadling. I may not let you go.”

Hob leans in, not away. They will talk about boundaries after Dream is convinced he is allowed to touch. “You may have me, dove. Now and as long as you will have me.”

Dream’s control finally snaps as he near springs up from his chair. Hob barely has time to register the hand reaching around his head and tangling in his hair, before he is pulled into a kiss that borders on desperate. He sinks into it, melting into that mouth that steals his breathe from him and leaves him thanking it for him. He can still taste hints of the wine and meal as he chases that clever, sharp tongue.

Dream pulls away, as if belatedly remembering that Hob is human and it is human habit to breathe, even in dreams. Licks his lips as if Hob has a taste and he wishes to savor it.

Hob watches the flash of pink like a parched man would water in the desert.

“You may use my name.” The Dream Lord’s fingers loosen their grip on his hair. His touch becoming a caress along Hob’s check as he begins to pull his hand away.

Hob, feeling brave, catches his arm and presses his lips to that wrist were a pulse might have been were this being anything as simple as human. “Thank you, Dream.” Whispers the name against the skin beneath his lips like a prayer.

He feels the shiver as well as sees it this time. Reluctantly releases his grip when Dream pulls away.

“Thank you for the meal, Hob Gadling. Your gratitude has been received.” He stands in one smooth motion, more graceful here in his domain than he ever is in Waking. “I will see you again, soon.”

With a wave of his hand, Dream sends Hob back to the Waking world.

Hob opens his eyes to the ceiling of his bedroom. His ankle, true to prediction, is a soft ache that will be gone by the end of the day, if he is careful.

For the next hour before his alarm goes off, Hob lays there as for the first time since he met the Herald of Destruction on that ordinary day in 2189, he feels the unintended consequences of his choice - and the wish behind it - fully sink in.

There is no possible ruin that could come from bearing Dream’s love that will compare to the pain of outliving him when Hob inevitably loses him.

He had thought he knew what he was getting into when he decided to marry Eleanor and father children with her. It had nearly destroyed him when he vastly underestimated how terrible it was to lose someone you loved with all you had.

Yet he knows, just as he did with Eleanor, Robyn, and his unborn daughter, he will weather this pain because getting his heart broken will have been worth the happiness, however short it lasts.

He had survived her death and the death of their children. Eventually.

He had survived Dream’s death, the first time.

He can only pray he will survive it a second time.

Interlude: 1989

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enterpris · 7 months

Text

An Education in Attraction, Chapter 17

Pairing: Reader x Gojo

Summary: It's spring when you start your Master's degree. As the flowers and leaves unfold, so too do your feeling for Gojo

Warnings: Kisses, brief mention of n*dity, mention of intimacy

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 16.5

Ao3: PlaidSparrow

When you wake, it's abrupt and jarring. You're still leaning against Satoru's side, but some time in the night the two of you have shifted to be laying on the couch.

You're overwarm between his body and the plush blanket, so you gingerly shift away from him. Gojo is resting soundly, his lips just slightly parted in sleep. As you sit up, the blanket falls off your shoulders and you tuck it back around his chest.

It's dark outside, still night, the only sound Satoru’s steady breathing beside you. You have no idea what time it is, phone probably in the pockets of your pants on the floor, and you had no intention of staying over tonight. If a little endorphin release is all it takes to knock you out, perhaps you're running yourself too hard.

You think you can make out the shape of your pants a few steps away, and you try to stretch over his body to reach them. Satoru shifts and he yawns, his hair in disarray that somehow makes him look softer and even more handsome. His eyes crack open and he looks blearily up at you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you whisper. “It’s pretty late though, I should probably get going.”

There’s a moment of silence before Gojo answers you.

“You don't have to head out. We can get more comfy in my room if you want?”

His voice is rough with sleep and his arm reaches around you as he sits up. He rubs circles in the skin of your shoulder, surprisingly tender and intimate, and you consider the suggestion. You wouldn’t mind waking up in his arms, or perhaps another session in the morning-

Reality slams into you with the force of a train car. Tomorrow is a school day, you’ve got to get home and prepare for your first class. You can’t imagine rushing home in the morning and trying to get ready or worse still- showing up in the rumpled clothes laying across Satoru’s floor, without your laptop or bag.

But as Satoru wraps his other arm around you, it’s easy to want to stay over. Your reserves are fraying, becoming less convincing each moment you think about heading back to campus (is the metro even running now?) and laying alone in your own bed.

“Next time,” you give him a peck before pushing yourself off the couch and turning to retrieve your clothes. You hold up your wrinkled shirt. “I don’t want to walk into class in this.”

As tempting as he is, it isn’t quite healthy to jump into sleepovers and spend every moment together. You’ll see him in the morning, after a shower and brushing your teeth.

Gojo doesn’t seem to mind too much, he watches your naked body appreciatively as you parse out your clothes from his and dress. You search the ground, not finding your underwear anywhere.

“Hey.”

He’s got them in his hands, and for a moment you flush, thinking he’s not going to hand them over.

But once he’s got your attention, he loops the leg holes over his pointer fingers and slingshots them towards you. They fall short, a crumpled ball on the floor. You look at him unimpressed- he could have just tossed the garment to you, or you would’ve come to him to grab them.

“Thank you,” you keep your voice low, aroused and a little embarrassed that you don’t completely mind the idea of him keeping the panties.

You finish dressing and double check that you’ve got everything- your phone, keys, and wallet.

When it’s clear his tempting hasn’t worked, Gojo stands and lets the blanket slide off him. Now it’s your turn to stare at him. Even in the low light of the room, you can see the highlights on his muscles as he meets you near the door.

Satoru truly has no shame.

He stands completely bare in front of you, takes your face between his hands, and kisses you. It’s unhurried and amorous. His lips are still soft and gentle as they move against your own. One hand moves to cradle the back of your head, while the other descends to your waist.

“Just so you know what you’ll be missing,” he gestures down, and you see that he’s already ready to go for another round.

Being responsible really is the worst sometimes. You return your eyes to his own and receive a saucy grin. You swallow the desire that’s beginning to brew and force your face to be neutral when you respond.

“Maybe we should plan our next date soon, then.”

His eyes trace the planes of your face. “I think I can make that happen.”

He gives you another slow kiss before the two of you say goodnight, and then you’re headed down the hall and out into the night.

The metro is already stopped for the night, so you map your way back to your dorm and set out. The city is fairly safe, but you keep an eye on your surroundings on the short walk back.

It’s never completely quiet in Tokyo, but you let the calmer streets and gentle buzz of other people’s conversations lull you. The chilly night air sweeps the heat from your blood and you let your mind drift into planning for the next day.

When you settle into bed, you can’t help but feel a little breathless and giddy. The jaunt home has left you tired and ready to slip into sleep, and Gojo expressing his interest openly leaves you hopeful and reassured.

~*~

Your first date sets the tone for the following weeks- you stay up late into the night, either finishing your readings or falling into bed with Satoru.

He’s a fast learner, and soon he can prey on your weaknesses, play you like he’s known your body his whole life. Satoru seems to find no greater joy than pleasing you. It’s phenomenal stress relief.

With your relationship sorted, you're free to throw yourself more vigorously back into academics.

Both of the classes you’re enrolled in this term are heavily focused on your students’ classroom experience and how to maximize learning in an effective teaching environment. The lectures and discussions give you a workout typing just trying to keep up, and the various texts leave plenty to digest outside of the classroom.

In class today, your professor begins a lecture on mini-tests versus midterms and final exams. It’s important for the exams to make sense in conjunction with each other, and to build on the material effectively.

Additionally, many of your high school students will be preparing for the Common Test for University Admissions, and as their teacher, you must prepare them to build the skills they will to succeed.

Your professor opens the floor to discuss different formats and how you can leverage them effectively. Your peers debate the merits of short answer and multiple choice questions, especially since most specializations lend themselves more to one form of testing than others.

You leave class with Saito and Kuzume. The vast lawns are starting to dull, and the summer-tired sun is gentle as your trio walks toward the library. While this term has been less academically rigorous than your first one, the pace of the assignments in your two classes leaves plenty of material to review.

“I never knew there was so much behind making good tests, I think I’ll have to throw away all the ones I’ve made so far,” you say.

“You’re in for a lot of live tests, Kuzume,” Saito laughs.

She shakes her head. “Yeah, individual solo performances plus the written tests that you’ll have.”

Kuzume leads the way to a table in the library annex before settling with her notes. The room isn’t too full today, a smattering of students take up around half the other available tables. It’s pleasantly cool in the building, and you’re eager to have some focused time to review.

You pull out your computer and the textbook. You’ve accumulated so much firsthand experience in teaching and designing your own exams, it's sometimes easy for the information to mesh in your brain. The amalgamation of abstract theory and lived application makes it difficult to keep straight what’s been covered in class.

You haven’t quite worked out a system to keep the information separate yet, so this reviewing session will be sorely needed.

“You know, maybe you should invite Gojo next time we study,” Kuzume says too casually. You look up at her. “Another perspective is always useful.”

“Or- It might be a good way to get back into our good graces,” Saito adds. She hasn’t quite forgiven him for making you nearly cry in the cafeteria, even after his apology.

Satoru would fit in nicely with your friends, you think he would get on well with Kuzume’s easy humor and Saito’s acute insights. You know that he’s quick and perceptive, even though he rarely takes notes, and you’re not sure if he even reviews the material.

You peek up at the two women across the table. Kuzume has her eyes down her notes, while Saito doesn’t hesitate to meet your eyes. She gives you a smile, though. She’s not being malicious, just a little protective.

“Well I can ask.” You’re a bit sheepish. “I do want us all to spend more time together.”

“He could even stop by now. We haven’t gotten started yet.”

“There is a free chair,” Kuzume sing songs.

It hasn’t been long since class ended, so it’s possible that he’d be able to make it over. And it would be nice to have the three people you’re closest to in Tokyo all together. You send Gojo a quick text explaining that you’d love for him to hang out with your trio if he’s free now.

He responds quickly- he’s already off campus for the day. But it’s not a no across the board, maybe if you give some more notice next time, he could make it.

“No Gojo today- but maybe next time.” You announce.

“I’m holding you to that! And if we have to do any more presentations he better be ready to share some tips.”

“Don’t even say that! I barely got through one symposium, I do not want to do another,” Saito chimes in.

“I’m with Saito,” you say, “public speaking in the classroom is enough for me.”

Kuzume laughs, high above the low rumble of conversation from other students. “Well, hey, it might happen again! Best be prepared!”

As it turns out, not much studying gets done at your review session. You don’t let yourself feel too guilty though. The grades you’ve received on assignments in both classes have been promising, and you want to enjoy the time you have on campus. You’re nearly certain that this will be your last academic venture- a Doctorate program is significantly more work than a Master’s and takes much longer to complete too.

Although, Gojo would look rather dashing in the regalia. You wonder if this third graduate degree will be his last.

If things continue going well, you suppose you’ll have that conversation. A million conversations about the future, about what you’d want your future to look like. Both of your futures.

You had wanted to put down roots in Tokyo, and it seems you’ve succeeded.

#gojo x reader #reader insert #light academia #jjk x reader #EiA

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novel-nook-blog · 3 months

Text

Camp NaNo – week 1

Monday (7/1):

It's 9:30 pm and I finally opened my laptop. Uff, what a long day. Ngl, I'm exhausted. I woke up at 5:30 am to get ready for work. I left at almost 4 pm. Then there was a problem with my car (stressing af) and I had about 20 minutes to get to a meeting in another town so... very nice. The meeting was 'till 6 pm and around 6:30 pm I was finally home. Now let's get to writing.

It's 10 pm and I'm falling asleep as I write so it's time to put my laptop down and get some rest before my work, tomorrow. I haven't written much, but I didn't want to start with a 0 tomorrow.

Wordcount: 326

Tuesday (7/2):

It's 17:40 and I'm opening my second draft. I'm so hyped even though I just got home 😂... maybe I'm even overhyped because an hour ago I had a veeeery strong coffee and I mean wow, it just kicked in and I'm overflown with energy. So my writing is either going to be very good or very bad, we'll see.

On my schedule is: finish chapter 1 (I started it yesterday); start reading The Throne of Glass. I read that book a lot of times already, but it has similar writing style as I'm using in this book and I found out I'm repeating the same words again and again, so I want to use this reread for the benefit of my vocabulary (plus I want to reread the whole series this summer, although I wanted to finish reading Iron Flame first... so complicated, right?)

My plans for the day have escalated quite differently. We had a game night so after about 200 words I stopped writing for several hours and just before I head to bed I wrote up to 752 words. It's still not much, but I can't focus anymore. We'll se how tomorrow's going to be. I was planning to write all day, but I found out we're going to the ZOO. I'm very excited for our little trip, but at the same time I have no idea how the heck I'm going to get the wordcount I need. This challenge is going to be fun.

Wordcount: 752

Wednesday (7/3):

It's 10 pm and I just opened my laptop. This day could be divided into two parts – the awesomest one and the worst stressful nightmare. Me, my mom and my sister went to the trip to the zoo. It was a wonderful day. But after that there was a family matter that we had to solve so I didn't have time for writing...

Wordcount: 0

Today it's Tuesday, 9th of July... I'm so sorry for my delayed post but the thing is I am sick. I have the stomach flu since Saturday, but have been feeling so off most of the week so the last time I've written anything was on Friday and it wasn't much. Hopefully I'm going to be back on track soon but now I'm feeling so bad that the only thing I do is sleep and watch TV.

Also on Thursday I had an 11 hour long shift at work so very tiring day. On Friday my friend had a birthday party so I was with her all day and when I got back I started feeling sick but I didn't think it was something to worry about. On Saturday me and my dad went to visit my aunt and when we got back the stomach flu started in all it's power and hadn't left since.

I'm not sure how I'll get 45k words in my draft by the end of July but now health is my priority. So I'm going to get back when I'm feeling better.

#blog #writeblr #writer #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #creative writing #writers and poets #novel writing #writer stuff #camp nano 2024 #camp nanowrimo #camp nano july 2024 #nanowrimo #wip #writing #writing update

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thaliaisalesbian · 1 year

Text

i get myself twisted in threads

Chapter 14: it's the first thing i do

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 15

Ms. Byers—Joyce, he has to keep reminding himself—refuses all of his offers of help with the kids, and El ends up sitting on him to make him stay in place.

“Tomorrow you will go outside.” She tells him.

“I thought you wanted me to stay here?”

“You will come back.”

“What do you know that I don’t?”

“I cannot tell you. It is not a lie if it is a surprise.”

“Who taught you that one?”

“Max.” Steve would have guessed Will or Mike, or even Jonathan, before he guessed Max. Dustin can’t keep a secret to save his life and Lucas brought Max into the whole thing in the first place, so he’s probably out, too.

“Okay, so I’m not allowed to know anything.”

“No. It is time for bed, anyway.” El practically herds him into Hopper’s room—no matter what Steve says, he refuses to take his bed back—and when he’s done changing for the night, she stands at the side of the bed.

“Are you going to bed, too, or are you just going to watch me sleep?”

“Hopper will not be home until very late.”

“Yeah, I know.” It’s one of his late shift days, the first he’s taken since they moved Steve here.

“Can we read a story together? Hopper and I usually read one before I go to sleep.”

Oh, kid. Of course he can’t say no to that.

“Yeah, El, that sounds nice.”

“I will change and pick out a book.”

She’s back in a few minutes, but that gives Steve enough time to arrange the pillows so he can sit up more comfortably, and make a spot for El.

“This is the book I was reading to you before.” She says, holding it up. He’d never actually asked what it was, but it’s one he remembers trying to read to himself as a kid. ‘The Boxcar Children.’ “Hopper says that there are lots more of them, so I can keep reading them for a long time.”

She starts where they left off, apparently having marked the exact sentence. El finishes the chapter, then looks at him.

“Do you want me to read another one?”

“Yeah, you’re a good reader!” She doesn’t do much in the way of voices or character tone, but Steve hadn’t expected her to. It doesn’t matter, it’s still nice to listen to her read.

One of the kids gets sick, in this chapter, and if El wasn’t yawning, Steve would ask her to read another chapter.

“Okay, sleepyhead, it’s bedtime for real now.”

El sets the book down on Hopper’s nightstand and curls up under the covers with him. “Is it okay if I stay here?”

“I’m not gonna kick you out.” He’s pretty sure Hopper won’t say anything, either. He might take a picture, if he checks on them, but Steve doesn't think he’ll be able to bring himself to be too upset about that.

El wakes him up for Eggos the next morning, and then picks out his outfit for him. Steve’s not going to tell her that everything she does is only giving him more and more of an idea of what’s going on.

It’s a Saturday, Nancy and Jonathan don’t have school today, and El had seemed very eager to give Nancy that list.

If El thinks she’s keeping it a surprise, though, he’s not going to tell her otherwise.

Hopper’s awake by the time Jonathan and Nancy knock on the door. They obviously told El what outfit to have him wear, because they’re dressed very similarly.

“Do I get to know where we’re going now?” Steve asks, and El shakes her head no.

“Nancy and Jonathan will tell you.”

“Just be back in time for dinner.” Hopper says. “Or if you get too tired. You’re still recovering.”

“We’ll have him back for dinner. We’re hoping that what we have planned won’t be too taxing.” Nancy’s grabbed his crutches from where he’s left them on the far wall. He can do short distances without them, even though he’s not supposed to.

They don’t go anywhere crazy, though it is a bit of a drive from Hopper’s cabin. There’s a spot already set up in a secluded corner of the park.

“Is that a picnic basket?” He knows it’s on the list El wrote out for him, but he hadn’t expected them to actually… do any of it. Let alone this soon.

“Yeah.” Jonathan helps him out of the car, and Steve can’t help but look around and see who’s out at the park today.

This is only going to fuel more rumors about what’s going on with him. He doesn’t want to think about what school is going to be like for Nancy and Jonathan on Monday.

“Steve,” Nancy seems to know what he’s thinking. “Don’t do that. Jonathan and I can handle it. Besides, it’s not like anyone here will know the truth, and I don’t think they’ll stop us today.”

Nancy and Jonathan don’t just have food in the picnic basket—though even the short glance Steve gets tells him that they have plenty. They’ve also brought Jonathan’s camera and a book, with something he can’t quite make out underneath those.

He doesn’t expect them to do everything on his list, they were just ideas, and he certainly doesn’t expect them to manage them all in one date.

Especially not when Nancy’s got that dinner tonight.

“Do I get to know what else we’re doing today?”

“Not yet.” Jonathan hands him an apple. “Right now, this is just about us being out here together. If anyone bothers us, we can just say that you want your privacy. They’ll leave us alone for a little while then.”

“Are you sure about this?” Steve asks, looking around again. It’s not like he expects a crowd to show up, but he’s kind of worried that somehow, it’s going to get back to Tommy and Carol that he’s here—or worse, his parents.

Well, if they haven’t come back yet when he hasn’t been seen in public for weeks, they probably won’t come back for this.

“It’s going to be fine, Steve.” Nancy says, sitting on his other side, so that she and Jonathan are partially obscuring him from anyone who might be looking in their direction. “Jonathan and I can handle school, and Tommy, and all of that, okay?”

“As far as they need to know, we’re just here to help you get used to going out again.” Jonathan shifts a little closer, taking Steve’s hand discreetly. “Don’t get me wrong, it’d be nice to kiss you out here, but I think that’s a little too risky.”

“No shit.” Steve lets himself relax a little, though. They know the risks, they know what they’re doing.

Joyce said they wouldn’t have done this if they didn’t like him. He’s going to trust that, he’s going to trust them, and see where it goes.

Because despite everything that’s happened between the three of them, he really does want this to work. He wants them to make it through their first fight and college and everything else they’re going to have to deal with.

(He ignores the voice in the back of his mind that’s screaming ‘The last time you hoped for even that much, Nancy decided you were bullshit!’

It’s going to be different this time.

He’s going to make sure of it, no matter what it takes.)

finish on ao3 or continue reading

Nancy doesn’t know if Jonathan can tell—he doesn’t know Steve the way she does yet, even though he’s been learning quickly—but even when he’s relaxed, joking around and catching food in his mouth out here with them—he always seems to be a little guarded. Paying attention to something else.

She doesn’t know how to make him stop thinking.

Well, actually, she can think of a couple of ways, but they’re not suitable in public and Steve certainly can’t do any of them.

“El was watching us pretty closely this morning.” She says, trying to draw him out a little more. “Should we be worried?”

“Maybe.” Steve laughs, “You should have seen what she said to Dustin yesterday.”

“What happened? Will didn’t say anything last night.” Jonathan leans forward again, and she can’t see the boys’ hands but she can tell that they’re holding onto each other. She leans in, too, close enough to put her head on Steve’s shoulder. She doesn’t even care how it looks. Anyone watching can say what they want to.

“Oh, it was good. Dustin didn’t realize how unsteady I still am on my crutches, and knocked me over when he tried to hug me. She told him that if he makes me fall again, she’s throwing him off of a cliff. I wouldn’t be surprised if she and Dustin end up fighting about that sometime soon.”

“Hang on a sec.” Jonathan gets his camera out of the basket. “I wanted to get a picture of your first day out of the cabin, Steve.”

“You have to be in a picture then too, Jonathan. Don’t think I didn’t see those pictures of your mom and Will and few with you in them. Nancy can take one, and if you trust me to get a good one sitting down, I can get one of you two.”

“Let me take a couple first.” Jonathan sets up, taking a few minutes to mess around with it. “This has a timer feature, too, so I can set it up and we can get one of all three of us.” She’s surprised he wants to risk it; film is expensive, and the few times her parents have managed to get Holly to sit still enough for family photos, her dad is always complaining about how the timer on their home camera doesn’t have a longer wait option before it takes the photo.

“Okay.” Steve rests his cheek on her head as he exhales.

“Tired?” She asks. She hopes not, they don’t have much else planned for today—just some more food they haven’t pulled out yet, and the surprise she and Jonathan have been working on—but it is the first time he’s left the cabin since his ankle got infected. It wouldn’t be too surprising.

“A little, but I’m awake enough to stay out.”

“You don’t have to, Steve, I don’t need pictures.”

“But you want to take them.” Steve waves him off. “And besides, it’ll be a good keepsake.”

Jonathan mutters something too low for her to hear, but it’s only a few more minutes before he’s taking their picture. He doesn’t move them, doesn’t have them pose at all, but Nancy doesn’t think it will matter in this case. Just the way they’re sitting looks posed enough.

“Your turn.” She’s careful when she moves, so she doesn’t shift Steve too much. “Go on, you’re never in any pictures.”

“Yeah, Jonathan, I want a picture with you.” Steve needles. “And Nancy left, so I’m cold now. You wouldn’t let me get cold, would you?”

“Shut up, Steve.” Nancy doesn’t bother hiding her smile. Steve and Jonathan would see right through her anyway. Jonathan sits so he and Steve are shoulder to shoulder, but they don’t lean on each other.

Probably for the best, even if she thinks it’d be cute if they did.

She takes a few before Jonathan gets back up to set up the timer. “Nance, you’ll be in the middle, okay? And I don’t know how these will turn out.”

“Maybe I should get him a Polaroid.” Steve whispers. “Then we wouldn’t have to wait for the pictures.”

“No, he’d hate that!”

“Or maybe one of those new digital cameras—”

“Steve!” Jonathan slides in next to her, shoving her halfway onto Steve’s lap, and the flash goes off as she’s laughing..

“Oh, that’s going to be a bad one.” She groans.

“No, that’s going to be the best one.” Steve insists.

“I’ll get you a copy.” Jonathan tells him. Betrayal, that’s what this is. She can’t believe that they’re already conspiring against her.

“Thanks.” Steve says, smiling in that easy way of his that hasn’t seemed like it’s actually been easy since… well, since everything started. “Now do I get to know what else we’re doing?”

“Do you want to eat more than snacks first?” Jonathan asks. “It’s been a while since breakfast.”

Is it that late already? Nancy hasn’t been paying attention to the time.

“I like surprises, though.”

“No, you don’t.” Nancy says. “Once, I tried to plan a surprise date, and you hated that.”

“Okay, I like surprises when I know they’re coming but not what they are.” Steve counters. “And that was nice, Nance, I enjoyed the date. It wasn’t about you, or the surprise. My parents had called to tell me they were going to be home that weekend, and I didn’t want to turn you down so I could clean the house up.”

That… makes a little more sense, actually. But why hadn’t he just told her that?

“Let’s eat our actual lunch first, and then you can get your surprise.” Jonathan says. “Think you can be good and wait that long?”

“I can try. What’s that book you brought? You haven’t pulled it out yet.”

“We were going to see if we had time for that later.” Nancy answers. “After your surprise, and all. I was going to read out loud.”

“I’d say you’d be the first in a long while, but that goes to El. She’s reading me a series right now.”

“Really?” Jonathan hands her a plate, already full of food. A lot of it is from Dustin’s mom, who had heard that they wanted to give Steve a nice day outside, since he was healed enough for it, and had insisted on giving them a home cooked meal to bring along.

Nancy and Jonathan had made the cookies, though. Will had stolen more than his fair share of cookie dough as they did, no matter how much Jonathan threatened to tell Joyce about it.

Jonathan sets out the plate of cookies separately, and takes a few more pictures of them between bites.

“Jon, it’s your turn.” Steve holds his hands out for the camera, and Jonathan hands it over easily. “You’ve got so many pictures of us already.” Steve takes a couple of Jonathan alone, before he notices and ducks his head to hide his blush (but Steve gets a picture of that, too.).

“Come on, Nance, get in there.” She gets the feeling that Steve will just start taking pictures of her if she doesn’t, so she listens.

“Okay, okay, we’re done.” Jonathan says. “God, I’m going to have to develop like a million pictures now.”

“You mean you don’t like taking pictures of us?” Steve asks, almost pouting, and Nancy bites her lip. She knows this play. It’s going to be so much fun to watch him try it out on Jonathan. “What, are we not good enough subjects for you? Nance, Jonathan doesn’t like taking pictures of us.” It’s dramatic—not as dramatic as it would be if Steve could stand, he’d probably be doing a ridiculous pose against a tree—and it’s enough to start them all laughing.

“I’m just used to taking pictures of like, trees, man! Not people!” Jonathan protests.

“I think Steve’s going to make you change that.”

“I’m starting to figure that out, yeah.” Jonathan puts his camera away before Steve can get it again, moving the basket so it’s out of her reach, too.

“What, you don’t trust me, either?”

“I think that if I let one of you get the camera, I’m going to end up with a bunch of pictures of me.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Jon.” Steve says, softly, like he’s scared to say it any louder.

Maybe he is.

“I’m just not used to it.” Jonathan moves so that he can hold Steve’s hand again, though, without anyone else seeing.

It was smart of Jonathan to hide his camera away. Nancy wants to take their picture like this, even though she knows she shouldn’t. The school darkroom isn’t a popular place, but it’s not impossible that someone would come in and see Jonathan’s photos.

“Steve, tell Nancy how much salt you put in cookies.” No. No, he’s not allowed to use this against her—

“Only a little bit, why? Wait, did you find out how much of a disaster she is at baking?”

“So, we made these cookies for today, and on the first batch, Nancy switched the amount of salt and sugar.”

“Well, you didn’t realize until Will made a face when he stole our cookie dough!”

“You were in charge of the dry ingredients! Why would I have noticed anything was wrong? I tried to fix it, we added more sugar in, but they still taste pretty salty.”

“So what did you do with that batch? I don’t think you threw them away.”

“Well, my mom has been bugging me lately about being more active at her church socials.” Nancy starts. She can’t tell him that her mother thinks she’s finally started taking an interest in baking because of the way she’s been asking about recipes and tools. Her interest in baking doesn’t involve doing any of the baking herself; she’s a proven disaster waiting to happen. “So I told her I was bringing some cookies tonight, that I wanted to surprise her so I made them at the Byers’ house. I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes. It was an accident, and it’s not really that bad.”

“So someone’s trying to get grounded, then.” Steve shakes his head at her. “Why, Miss Wheeler, I can’t believe you would rebel in such a way! Salty cookies, you truly are a stain on your mother’s reputation.”

“I could have accidentally gotten someone drunk on current wine thinking it was raspberry cordial.”

“No, you couldn’t have.” Steve says. “You would never have been left unsupervised like that.”

“What are you two talking about? Steve, did that happen to you?” Jonathan looks between them like they’re crazy, and Nancy thinks that it’s as good a time as any to pull out the book she brought.

Her boys will feed her cookies when they’re in-between chapters.

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