#little notes: i did not want to draw all of the twists. apologies

[odysseys-blood]

im finally doing another overdesigned merfolk and i have to pick a name for it orz

i wanted to do another slug based merm like plum so this ones an alabaster nudi (*^^*)

[charliemwrites]

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl — part 3

(I seriously need to come up with an actual name for this series before it sets in)

Introducing his grand horniness- John “Soap” MacTavish

No Content Warnings

It’s been six, coming up on seven, dates with Kyle. A dwindling part of you feared that after the absolutely mind-blowing night you two shared, he’d ghost you or something.

But nope, the morning after was spent in one of his jumpers, receiving kisses and breakfast and tea. The two of you watched movies all day until he drove you home, kissing you at the door. He let you keep his jumper.

Not three days later, he invited you to a movie you’d both been excited to see, and giggled over the popcorn bowl like teenagers. He didn’t even mind that you leaned over to whisper during certain parts, or the ramble you went on afterwards. (When you apologized for overanalyzing and talking so much, he gave you a bizarre, almost offended look. “Don’t you dare stop,” he huffed, “you’re way better than radio. What did you think about that after credit scene?”)

A few days after that, he called with apologetic news.

“Being shipped out for a couple weeks. Shouldn’t be anything too dangerous, and I’ll call when I can,” he explained.

You told the nervous little twist in your gut that you knew this about him. That this is Kyle’s job, not a convenient excuse to ignore you.

“Stay safe regardless,” you murmured earnestly into the phone. “I‘ll… I’ll miss you, Kyle.”

“You’re getting the biggest hug when I get back, darlin’,” he promised.

He kept to it too. Called at odd hours sometimes - once during dinner with your fiance even. But Brandon is always taking random calls nowadays, so you figured, given the circumstances, it’s not such a big deal to excuse yourself either.

On the other end of the call, Kyle sounded a bit tired, but happy to talk to you. He couldn’t tell you anything about what he was doing, but shared some smaller, safer details. That the tea was shite because Soap kept over-steeping it. That his lieutenant was big enough to body slam him during sparring practice. That Captain Price wishes you well and promises to bring Kyle back in one piece.

You even heard one of his teammates in the background, asking Kyle if he was “chirping at his new bird.” Soap, as you found out. They sound like a good bunch.

When Kyle comes back, you offer to welcome him at his apartment. You bring a little plate of cookies and a pack of his favorite beer, hoping it’s not too much. But when he opens the door, his expression melts before he scoops you up in the big hug he promised.

“You’re a fuckin’ dream, ya know that?” he murmurs, tucking his face against your neck.

You spend the whole weekend with him, kissing at the stitched-up knife wound on his muscled arm. Otherwise, all in one piece.

“Would you… want to meet my mates sometime?” he asks as you’re getting dressed for work Monday morning.

“Of course,” you reply instantly. Realize that might be too eager. “If you want to introduce me, that is.”

“I want to show you off to the bloody Queen, babes.”

You giggle, crossing the room to drop a quick kiss on his lips. He tries to draw you in for something deeper, but you wiggle and swat at him, complaining that he’ll make you late.

It’s good, you think. Blissfully good. Honeymoon phase, maybe, but considering how far off your actual honeymoon is, you feel like you deserve this. Kyle is a wonderful partner - kind, attentive, respectful. He listens, he cares, he’s independent of you and respects your boundaries. Sometimes you can’t believe you were ever nervous about this open relationship thing in the first place.

On Wednesday of that same week, Kyle tells you that Soap is going to visit and is eager to meet you. He was thinking dinner and drinks, come back to Kyle’s apartment afterwards. You readily agree.

The next day, a bouquet comes in. It’s a beautiful, though not extravagant, arrangement. Calla lilies, roses, and hydrangeas. The note that comes with it says, “Wanted to make a good first impression in case Kyle told you lies.” It’s signed “Johnny.”

You send a picture to Kyle, amused and a bit endeared. It brightens the rest of your day so much that you barely notice Lucy’s usual snide comments.

On Friday night, Brandon is unexpectedly home. Usually he doesn’t even come home from work on Fridays anymore - or at least he didn’t before you met Kyle. Lately, you only pop in if you’ve forgotten something for your overnight bag. You had to stay late at the office today, though, and your apartment is closer than Kyle’s.

“Was thinking we could go out tonight,” he tells you.

“Oh,” you say, taken aback. Not just by the invitation, but by the mix of emotion in your gut. Some of it is excitement and relief, but not as much as you’d expect. It’s warring with unease and reluctance, a bit of frustration that now of all times he wants to reconnect.

“Um, raincheck?” you offer, smoothing down your dress. It’s a new one you picked out with Kyle; you’re hoping he (Kyle) will notice. “I have plans.”

Brandon’s brow furrows, smile going tight. “You can’t reschedule?”

God you hate confrontation and he knows that, doesn’t he? Why is he pushing?

“Well I don’t know when I’ll get to see them again,” you explain.

Suddenly the tension in his shoulders eases. “Oh, is it a few people then?”

“Just a couple. I’m meeting one of them for the first time.”

“Have fun then,” he says, fishing his phone from his pocket. Like you’re not even there anymore.

You blink, then your phone buzzes with a message from Kyle and you hurry out the door.

“I knew you’d look terrific in that dress,” he says as soon as he sees you.

Thoughts of Brandon, that strange interaction, and those churning feelings all disappear in an instant. Kyle just has a way of soothing you.

The restaurant is one that has quickly become one of your favorites with Kyle. Good food, good drinks, quiet and relaxed atmosphere. You like the funky artwork and squishy booths.

Soap (Johnny?) has already gotten your party a table, and stands as the two of you approach. You nearly stop right there, and then almost trip a bit as momentum urges you onwards. Manage not to make a fool of yourself, but you still boggle at him.

Because Kyle? You thought he was a fluke. Just too handsome to be real, never mind tall and fit and friendly and— well, anyway.

You thought he was a fluke.

But Soap/Johnny is goddamn handsome too! Trim stubble, pretty eyes behind thick lashes, a soft-looking Mohawk that gives him a boyish charm without seeming immature.

“There you two are, thought ye stood me up!” he greets, drawing Kyle into one of those friendly man-hugs with the shoulder pats that look like they hurt.

“Youre a cheap date anyway, MacTavish,” Kyle replies, gently easing you forward with a hand on the small of your back.

“Och, don’t bad mouth me in front of a lady,” Johnny/Soap complains, then turns his twinkling gaze to you and offers a hand. “John MacTavish, but this bampot calls me Soap.”

“Not Johnny?” you ask curiously.

You take his hand, find callouses similar to Kyle’s. But his palm is a bit broader, a scar along his thumb - from a burn it looks like. Just as warm, just as careful. A firm, but not tight shake.

“You can call me anything you like, lass,” he says. From the corner of your eye, you see Kyle choking back a laugh. Johnny it is, you figure.

“Wait ‘Soap’ is a callsign right?” you ask as Kyle herds you into the booth.

“Right-o,” Johnny replies, smiling.

“Does Kyle have one?”

The grin that he gives you would make the devil sweat. As it is, Kyle groans and shoots you a betrayed look.

“Oh does he, lass.”

You light up, grin right back. “Tell me?”

“As if I could say no to a pretty face like that!”

And so begins a long, warm, perfect night. Johnny is great company. Welcoming and friendly, quick to smile, sharp witted. You could sit all night listening to him and Kyle quip at each other, but they’re so careful to keep you included and engaged.

Johnny even offers you some of his chips when his order comes, and you’re too delighted to say no. Not that Kyle seems to mind, encouraging you to steal a couple for him since Johnny keeps whacking his hand away.

The night ends back at Kyle’s. You whip up another batch of cookies with some suspiciously new-looking baking ingredients. The boys keep you company while you work — Kyle mixes the batter when your arm gets tired and Johnny keeps your wine glass full. In the end, you let them each get a lick of the dough spoon.

Eventually, you move to the couch, climb on together. Kyle, for some reason, scooches you into the middle instead of one of the ends, but you don’t mind and neither does Johnny, it seems. They argue over a movie to put on, but it doesn’t matter because the three of you talk through most of it anyway.

The second movie is your pick, which is your downfall. You barely get halfway through before dozing off. End up stirring to muffled laughter and harsh whispering. You’ve slumped into Johnny, you realize, seeing Kyle’s broad smile.

“Oh,” you hum, trying to sit up. “‘M sorry…”

“You’re alright, lass,” Johnny murmurs, gently nudging you back down.

“Kyle?” you ask, yawning.

“Still watching the movie, sweetheart. You can go back to your nap. Soap’s nice and warm, yeah?”

You hum, snuggle in again. He is comfy. “So are you.”

Another quiet chuckle. “I know, love.”

He rouses you later — the movie must be over, you think blearily. Kyle scoops you up, plants a kiss on your cheek as you tuck in.

“Say good night to your teddy bear, baby.”

“‘Night, Johnny,” you mumble, nuzzling your face into Kyle’s neck.

“‘Night, bonnie.”

You wake first the next morning — rare and precious. Kyle is lying behind you snoring softly, arm around your waist. You wiggle around to watch his sleeping face for a minute, appreciating the peace in his features. Drop a whisper-soft kiss on his cheek and then slip out of bed.

He grumbles a bit, but you coo at him to go back to sleep and he subsides quickly. Once you’ve freshened up in the bathroom, you pad out to the living room. Johnny is up as well, watching tv on low volume with a coffee on his knee.

“Mornin’,” he says.

“Good morning,” you chirp back, continuing for the kitchen.

“You’re up early,” he observes, following.

“Slept well,” you reply, grinning. “Thanks in part to you. I hope that wasn’t uncomfortable.”

He ducks his head a bit, a light flush blooming across his ears and cheeks. “Nah, can’t complain about a pretty girl fallin’ asleep on me. Means I must have made a good impression, eh?”

“Oh! That reminds me - those flowers were gorgeous. Did you know calla lilies are my favorite?”

“Aye, Kyle’s been talkin’ about ya nonstop since ye met.”

It’s your turn to flush, and much brighter. You hurriedly turn to the cabinets.

“Well, thank you. I loved them.”

“Yeah? I’ll send you more then.”

Startled, you whip around on him, mouth stupidly open as you try to find a response. “You really don’t have to do that!”

“But what if I want to?”

And if you were struggling for words before, you’re hopeless now. So you just throw your hands up with a little “gah” sound and turn back to gathering ingredients.

“What are we making?” Johnny asks, taking mercy on you. Not that using that sly “we” isn’t devastating to your composure.

“My super special flapjack recipe,” you answer. “Could you get that big bowl down for me?”

He steps past you to do so while you dig out the measuring spoons from the dishwasher.

“If they’re as good as your cookies, then I’m gonna need extra PT after this weekend.”

“Good,” you reply, smug, “that’s my goal.”

“Dangerous woman.”

You snort, holding up a wooden spoon. “Oh yeah, I’m a real threat brandishing cooking utensils at a special ops guy.”

“Och, don’ sell yourself short - my nan used to be a menace with those things!”

Kyle exits the bedroom fifteen minutes later to the smell of cinnamon and his best friend with a face full of flour.

“…Do I even want to know?”

“Just be glad she’s on our side, Garrick.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[sugar-coat-it]

Body piercer! Matty

Part 2 , Part 3

May I present my pride and joy (and first AU), body piercer Matty <3, based on the 2020 NOACF mohawk era

Fem! reader

****CW! Needles, pain****

Contains: Matty piercing reader’s nipples*, lustful fantasies, praise, Matty has a tongue piercing, HELLA tension and pining, Matty being a sweetheart through the whole thing

*note, I don’t have nipple piercings lol, apologies if any of this is inaccurate.

Word count: 5313

—------------------------------------------

PART ONE- Fate lands you in Matty Healy’s capable hands when looking to get your nipples pierced. Tension ensues.

—-----------------------------------------

The thought of getting your nipples pierced had been in the back of your mind for what felt like years. It nagged at you every time you saw a pretty girl with barbells poking out under her tank top, you wanted to be her. You’d done all the research, article after article on the healing period, the pain level, and the kinds of jewelry you can get. You also knew fairly well how they enhance sexual encounters, which had a whole draw of its own. You’d done everything except actually make the appointment. That is, up until a few days ago. Fresh off of a breakup and tired of feeling sorry for yourself, you’d called your local tattoo parlor and scheduled a slot with a body piercer named Maddie, then hung up feeling rather pleased with yourself for finally getting it done. The anticipation of the leadup to the appointment had you biting your lips raw. You’d gotten other piercings before, but never in a place so intimate. Never one that required taking your top off, that’s for certain. But friends had been encouraging you nonstop, telling you what a “hot girl�� move it was, and who were you to argue? 

Finally, the day comes, and you’re swinging open the parlor door a little too hard, evidently very tense. The bell that jangles when the door opens clanks against the wall, making the man behind the counter startle. Wide-eyed and wincing, you shoot him an apologetic look, embarrassed that you’d practically ripped their front door off the hinge. Great start!

Slowly, after making sure the door is safely shut, you approach the counter, absentmindedly toying with the rings that adorn your fingers, twisting them between your thumb and your forefinger. The man at the counter is exactly who you’d expect to be working at a tattoo and piercing parlor, but an even more stunning rendition if you were being honest. His slightly sleepy-looking eyes brighten a little at the sight of you, a fluffy mohawk of chocolatey waves sitting atop his head. He’s adorned with inked patterns along his skin, a patchwork of symbols across his arms that you restrict yourself to only glancing at for a moment. His eyes crinkle at the edges when he greets you with a warm smile, offering a little wave before you start to explain why you’re here, your voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

“Hi, I’ve got a 1:00 appointment?” you explain before providing your name, trying your hardest to stop fidgeting.

Your mind is in about 20 places, and it doesn’t help that your heart just fluttered at the eye contact he’s holding with you. The man nods at you, a low hum rumbling in his chest as he picks up the scheduling book, sifting through the pages with black polished nails. When he turns his head, you catch a glimpse of the single silver hoop earring that he’s sporting quite well. Curiosity creeps up like a slinking cat, making you wonder what other modifications he might have. His narrowed eyes scan the book, toffee-colored irises flicking over names until he finds yours penciled in, jabbing his nail against the page.

“Yeah I see you, you’re with me then. And, you did your paperwork and payment stuff, it looks like,” he says, snapping the schedule closed definitively.

“Oh, no I don’t think…” you start to correct, tilting your head at him with confusion until you trail off into quiet.

 That’s when it catches your eye, the nametag on his white tank top reads “Matty”. Then it clicks. Matty. Not Maddie. You’d scheduled your appointment to get your tits pierced with a guy. A very attractive guy that was now going to watch you squirm like a child. Your jaw drops slightly, a sinking feeling in your gut starting to fester as you realize your mistake.

“Everything alright there? Second thoughts, perhaps?” Matty prompts, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at you. 

“No… no second thoughts. To be honest, I thought I had an appointment with a female piercer,” you answer, preemptively grimacing before you’d even finished your sentence.

“Oh, shit. Well, that’s not ideal. Listen, we can get you in here another day then, no problem. Tell me what works for you,” he says, already scrambling for a pencil to put your name elsewhere in the book. 

“Actually, I think it’s fine. I’m already here, right?” you offer, shrugging to try and appear more nonchalant about the whole thing (your palms are sweating).

“Are you sure? Seriously, I don’t want you uncomfortable on my watch. It’s not a big deal to get you a different appointment,” he frowns, absentmindedly twirling the pencil between his fingers. 

His eyes are strangely soft for someone with such an intimidating job, you can only describe the feeling they give you as melting. You can’t quite place why, but his presence alone is somehow quelling your nerves, even if it’s just a bit. Your hands start to still, dropping to rest at your sides as you decide to let him do it anyway. He looks trustworthy, right? 

“Yeah, I’m sure. But thank you, truly,” you say, a soft smile pulling at your lips at how keen he seems on making you comfortable. 

Matty nods slowly, rising from the chair while eyeing you like he’s not sure if you’re going to turn on your heel and run out the door if he looks away. He asks you to follow him to the back, you’re trailing close behind as he pulls his baggy camo pants further up his hips by his belt. The room he leads you to is small and fairly chilly, but only in temperature. The space itself feels homey, plastered with stickers and posters of various punk bands, it doesn’t feel like some sterile hospital room. 

“Stay standin’ for me, just need to get some things,” he instructs, turning to reach for his supplies, including the jewelry you’d selected over the phone, “and, whenever you’re ready you can take your top off, okay?” 

Without the pressure of his eyes on you, it takes a moment before you slowly ease your shirt up and over your shoulders, setting it beside you. You take a slightly uneven breath as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra, suddenly forgetting the muscle memory from doing it for so many years. The moment it’s off, the rush of cold air instantly sends a shiver licking up your spine. You lean back against the counter, trying to appear as casual as you can as you eye the piercer. Your eyebrows slope with admiration, softening your expression as you realize that he’s now aimlessly fishing through a drawer, trying to give you time to ease into undressing while he’s still turned around. He stays with his back to you until you clear your throat, signaling that you’ve finished. His expression is unphased as he turns around on the heels of his platformed lace-up boots. God, he really is beyond cool, isn’t he? 

“Right, I’m gonna put these on, and then I’ll mark the placement,” Matty explains, holding up a pair of latex gloves. 

Matty pulls the gloves over his sizeable hands, the bulging veins catching your eye as he flexes his fingers to test that they’re taught. He’s taking a few steps closer to you, now only about an arm's length away as he explains that he’s not going to touch you without the gloves, though of course, your first unfiltered thought is that you wish he would. His eyes hadn’t strayed from your face for even a second this whole time, being remarkably neutral despite the fact that you were topless. Though, you suppose that sort of thing must not phase him since he’s probably pierced tons of nipples. That doesn’t stop the odd tinge of disappointment that he hadn’t even glanced at your body. You swallow the feeling like it’s bile, knowing that it’s totally unreasonable to want him to gaze at you with anything but professionalism. 

“Is it okay if I put my hands on you? Need to clean the area,” he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, it’s making you slightly weak in the knees, he’s just so fucking gentle. 

You nod, rolling your shoulders back in preparation for him to touch you while he pours solvent on a cotton pad. His disciplined, gloved hands reach out, and only now does he allow his gaze to dip down to your chest. You could swear his breath hitches just a little, the quiet room allowing for the smallest sounds to be heard. Maybe he is just a man after all. The thought makes pride simmer in your chest, but you’re not dwelling on it for long, your mind going blank the moment he starts to swiftly swipe the pad along your nipples, sanitizing your skin and also effectively making them harden from the stimulation. You tense up, standing straighter than before as you bite back any semblance of a reaction. Matty throws you a glance to assess your discomfort, soft brown irises following the slopes of your features. He places the sanitizing supplies to the side, now uncapping a purple skin marker. This was going to be a long process if he kept looking at you that way.

“Nothing's happening yet, okay? Just gonna draw on where they’re gonna go,” he says, holding it up while raising his eyebrows as if to say “Look, it’s harmless”. 

Matty leans in again, his eyes narrowing with concentration, gloved knuckles brushing the side of your breast as he marks a dot on the side of your nipple. Watching Matty stare at your tits with such laser focus has your cheeks flushing just slightly, heat prickling at the bridge of your nose. He runs the tip of the marker from one side of the hardened bud to the other, marking a symmetrical dot. Tingles spread under your skin like wildfire, he’s barely touched you and yet you can feel yourself buzzing at the slightest sensations. His pretty brown eyes meet yours and he just smiles at you sympathetically, knowing how hyperfocused on his every movement you must be.

“You’re not breathing,” he whispers, playfully jabbing the capped end of the pen against your arm. 

Your eyes widen as you realize that he’s absolutely right, you’d been holding your breath this whole time. You release your bated breath, your chest heaving slightly as Matty keeps looking down at you, giving you a moment to regain your senses. You swear the eye contact while being inches away from him is making you more lightheaded than the lack of oxygen. With a satisfied nod, he resumes, repeating the same process of drawing the dots at the peak of your other breast. Then, he takes a step back, biting the cap of the marker between his canines while he evaluates his work. This allows you another moment to admire him as he eyeballs the symmetricalness of his markings. Your mind is wandering, perhaps trying to distract you from how intently this man is studying your breasts. You’re wondering what it would be like if he wasn’t so gentle with you. What if he touched you instead with greed, the need to satiate himself? In your head, you imagine the warm, honey tones of his eyes darkening like tinted glass as he drinks you in not as his client, but as something to desire, to want to feel flush beneath his calloused fingertips. This version of Matty doesn’t try to limit every graze of his working hands, he’s starving; groping, and mapping every part of your skin that he can reach. You’re jumping the gun now, the image flashes through your mind like a ricocheting bullet: Matty’s got you pressed up against the wall, his hands are mean as he grabs a handful of one of your tits, his thigh is hitched between your legs, keeping your thighs parted. His head dips down, his shaggy mohawk tickling at your neck as he tugs on the silver barbell through your nipple with his teeth, pain melding with pleasure till they’re impossible to separate. And, oh, fuck, does he have a tongue piercing? Your eyes flick down to his mouth now, mind reeling as you spot the silver stud on his tongue revealed by the way he’s chewing on the cap of the marker. You are losing yourself, and fast, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Alright, looks just about even. Would you go ahead and lie down there, darlin’?” he asks, cocking his head towards the reclined padded chair next to him. 

Now is where the nerves are starting to kick in, it’s all fun and fantasizing about your body piercer until you actually have to sit in the chair. You were hardly able to mentally fawn over the pet name as you took unsure strides to situate yourself in the cold, plastic parlor recliner. Matty busies himself with preparing various metal objects while you stare up at the ceiling, squinting at the fluorescent lights and wondering why you wanted your tits pierced so badly in the first place. Then, his unreasonably darling face is in your field of vision, peering down at you with a consoling smile.

“Comfy?” he prompts, a needle in one hand and a small pair of forceps in the other.

It’s not a comforting sight, no matter how lovely the man holding them is. 

“Sorta. I’m actually kind of a chicken about these things,” you admit with a wobbly smile in return.

“No… really?” he grins boyishly, clearly being sarcastic with you. 

You shoot him a look for that, but it melts away into a little laugh, you can’t seem to even fake a cold stare around him, it’s sort of pitiful. Standing over you, Matty raises the forceps close to your breasts but doesn’t touch you with them just yet. You bite your lip, lifting your head to get a better look at what’s happening, even though you’re not entirely sure you even want to watch. 

“Now, this is just going to feel like a little pinch, shouldn’t hurt,” he says, his voice lowering a little before he slips in a: “You’re doing really good.”

The praise tears your gaze away from his hands and onto his face, blinking in disbelief at the way he’d caused a fizzling pang of desire inside you so effortlessly. That feeling doesn’t get any weaker the moment you feel the cool metal clamp around your nipple, your lips parting with a soft gasp, hands tensing with the urge to hold onto something, to hold onto him. Matty’s pierced tongue darts out past his lips in concentration, soothing over his bottom lip as he lines the needle up next to the hardened bud. You jolt at the sharp tip of the object against your sensitive skin, your hand shooting out to grab onto Matty’s bicep in a moment of pure reaction. Both of you seem equally shocked that you’d suddenly clutched his arm, your nails slightly biting into his skin amongst the spattering of pretty freckles that mark him. There’s a moment of the loudest silence you’ve ever heard, his stare feels like it’s searing you. You’re about to rush into apologizing, but then he’s placing his tools back down onto his tray of supplies, tentatively reaching to rest his larger hand over yours, enveloping it in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m just lining up my shot. I’m gonna tell you when it’s time, okay? Just breathe with me for a moment,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing tenderly over the back of your hand. 

He takes an exaggerated breath, encouraging you to do the same, his chest rising beneath his white tank top. You mirror Matty, taking a deep breath in of, well… him. He smells like a dizzying combination of Marlboros and woody aftershave because of course, he does.

“That’s it, much better. It’ll be a whole fuckin’ ordeal if you pass out on me, so stay with me here. Can you do that?” he questions, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“Yeah… yeah, I can. Thank you,” you say softly, trying to disregard the sparks radiating under Matty’s palm. 

You stay like this for a few breaths longer, Matty doesn’t look away from you and you’re not so sure that it’s only because he doesn’t want you to conk out. His gloved hand gives yours an encouraging squeeze before letting go slowly. The heat still lingers as he retrieves his tools a second time, the flexing of his bicep under your grasp reminds you that you should probably let go of him now. But, the moment you start to retract your hand, he glances at you and speaks in that silky tone of his.

“You don’t have to let go, s’okay. You can use me like a stress toy, or something. I don’t really care,” he shrugs, winking at you. 

You just nod dumbly, your eyes going a little wider as you settle your hand over his bare arm again, right over the top of his Newcastle United seahorse tattoo. You’d like to use him in other ways too, but that’s not very appropriate, now is it? 

You let out a sigh as you come to the same point in the process again, Matty lining up the needle diligently while keeping your nipple clamped with the metal forceps, but this time, you get to cling to his arm. You don’t want to distract him, because it would be your loss in the end, but there is a sense of satisfaction when you feel his bicep flex slightly as you trace your thumb along the symbol inked on his skin, following the curve of the seahorses mane with your nail. 

“Okay, love. Here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m going to do it on three, and when I say three, I need you to take a sharp breath in for me, like this,” he instructs, then shows you what he means with a harsh inhale through his nose. 

You breathe out a weak “okay”, already gripping his arm harder from the anticipation building up to a high. You decide it’s best not to watch, especially since you’d promised you wouldn’t pass out. You let your head rest back against the chair, your nose scrunching as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. Matty begins to count down, increasing the pressure of the clamp. 1. 2. 3. You inhale sharply through your nose at the same time that an unprecedented amount of burning pain reverberates through your chest, your eyes snapping open. You’re clawing at his arm, a cry ripping past your lips while tears well up and blur your vision. It’s a feeling so intense that it’s seeping through you to your stomach, crawling like the meanest sunburn. Of all the piercings you’ve gotten, you can say without a doubt that this takes first prize for the most painful.

“Oh, fuck!” you sob, the sound being embarrassingly close to a full-bodied moan. 

Matty slides the jewelry through while swiftly retracting the needle, trying to stifle the way the sound you’d made was affecting him, echoing in his skull in a way he knows it shouldn’t. He doesn’t even flinch despite the way your nails are leaving angry, red crescents marred on his skin. He quickly screws the barbell together before completely retracting his hands from you, taking one more glance at his handiwork before consoling you, his heart seemingly aching for the pretty girl in his chair.

“I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, but you’re halfway done. Doing so good, you’re alright,” he murmurs, reaching the gloved back of his hand to your face to wipe some of the stray tears on your cheeks.

You just whine, the radiating pain only now starting to subside as you keep your hold on his arm, now smoothing over the marks you’d left with your fingertips as if you’re kissing them better. His thumb grazes along your cheek for a little too long for it to be accidental. Matty’s praise while he wipes away your tears is making your mind fuzzy, it’s like he’s numbing the pain; the sweetest morphine. 

Your gasps for breath are slowing, the pain like a dull pulse, easing its grip on you. Mortification is starting to sink in now that you’re not reeling from shooting pain. One of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen just watched you in one of your most vulnerable moments, and there’s still one piercing to go, much to your dismay. 

“Fuck, this is embarrassing,” you admit with a breathy laugh at your own expense. 

“Nah, don’t be embarrassed. You could’ve done much worse, probably,” he says, looking amused as he shakes his head at you.

“Like what?” “I dunno… like, socked me in the face as a fight or flight response.”

You laugh at that, a bright sound filling the room that makes Matty’s smile grow fonder as he gazes down at you with those pretty, sparkly eyes. The moment lingers on for a few beats, tension blooming between you that almost makes you forget about the throbbing ache of your left breast (almost). 

“You do know I have to do the other one right? Unless you’re a bit odd and like the one-piercing look,” he reminds cautiously over the clinking metallic sound of him picking up his tools. 

“I know,” you sigh, “can you do it fast?” 

“Erm… I’ll do it as quickly as I can without making it cockeyed, but I reckon you’ll be fine. Besides, the second one’s always easier from what I’ve seen.”

He doesn’t seem like the type that would elude you for the sake of false security, so you take his word as gospel, settling in to prepare yourself for what’s hopefully a more tolerable experience. His next words have your heart thrumming against your ribs.

“Can you handle it?” he asks, more of a challenge than a question.

You nod at him quietly, absentmindedly drawing little feather-light swirls on his bicep. The incentive of his praise is becoming all too tempting. You want to handle it, you want to show him that you can do it. There’s a new, honeyed kind of heat seeping into your bones. 

“Good girl. You’re a strong one, love,” he praises, sensing just how eager you are.

The next pulse you feel doesn’t come from your chest. Good girl? He has to be fucking with you. Jesus, does he talk to all of his customers like this? Does he wipe all of their tears too? Something in you wants to believe he doesn’t. He watches as your lips part slowly, your lashes fluttering as you look up at him. You have to know.

“Do you call all your customers that?” you whisper, blinking up at him coyly.

“Not really, no. Only the pretty ones who deserve it.”

Your breath comes out as a shudder, it’s unfair how easily he leaves you stunned. He clicks his tongue casually before getting back to work, all too pleased by the look on your face. You know the routine by now, Matty makes quick work of clamping your nipple and arranging the prodding tip of the needle just so. You’re still clinging to his arm, or your personal stress toy, something you’ve grown very familiar to the feel of throughout your time here. The countdown starts, he’s not giving you as much time to prepare. 1. 2. 3. What was more like a shriek from earlier comes out as a whine this time, a high-pitched, whimpery noise spilling from you. You don’t curse or practically maul his arm this time, but it’s still painful, you can’t say you’re fond of how vividly you can feel the needle go in and out amidst the burning sting. 

“Beautiful, atta girl,” he whispers, screwing the end of the barbell on before leaning back to admire his work, his eyes unabashedly glued to how the jewelry sits prettily on your breasts.

You have no clue if he’s talking about you, your tits, or the job he’d done, but it makes your skin warm all the same. 

Finally, you allow yourself to look at your chest, gently sliding your hand off of his bicep to prop yourself up on your arms and get a good look at the two new adornments. Shit, they look good on you, better than you’d hoped, and perfectly symmetrical thanks to him. He smirks when he notices the way you’re gawking at the piercings, knowing that the pain is barely a thought in your mind now, too distracted by how newly desirable you must feel. Matty likes knowing that one, he’s good at his job, and two, that he’s just helped you feel sexier. He’s really enjoying watching you admire yourself and in turn, his work. There’s a slight stir beneath his baggy pants, which he knows should never happen while he’s with a client, but you might just be the sweetest thing that’s ever been in his chair. He’s allowing himself a pass.

“Shit, Matty, they’re really nice,” you gape, your stomach swooping when you glance up to see the smug look playing on his lips.

“Yeah, they came out mint. Suit you nicely, don’t they?” he says, daring to dance along the line of being unprofessional as he then glances down at your tits and whistles. 

What a boy.

“Thank you… for everything I mean.”

“Don’t mention it, you were great,” Matty smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he waves off your gushing.

Butterflies are rampaging in your stomach, god, why does he have to be so lovely? He looks like he has something he wants to say, but it goes unspoken, rattling around in his head instead. His expression is hard to read, but would you be deluding yourself to say there’s a tinge of longing? A few beats of quiet tick by, and you’re now becoming acutely aware of the fact that you no longer have a reason to be topless, awkwardly crossing your arms. Always so attentive, Matty suddenly straightens up and reaches over your body, his chain dangling in front of your face as he grabs your shirt and bra from the counter. He places them on your lap and politely turns away as if he’s never seen you undressed, clearing his throat like that will clear the thick tension in the air. 

You wince as soon as the cups of your bra meet your immensely tender breasts, sucking in a sharp breath through your teeth as you power through clasping it. The sensitivity is something you’d been warned about, and now you get to joyfully experience it firsthand for the next however many weeks. Your eyes are on Matty’s back as you slip your shirt over your head, taking note of how rigid he seems as he gathers the after-piercing care papers for you. But maybe it’s in your head. You haven’t known him very long at all, it’s a dangerous game to assume any of the tension of this afternoon was real when you were freaking out for more than half of it.

“Right, any questions for me?” he asks, striding over to hand you the pages.

Are you single?Can we go out?Should we make out right now?How are you real?

“No, I think I’m alright.”

“Okay, well, if you’re not woozy, you can go ahead and stand up when you’re ready,” he says, clasping his hands together as if he’s wrapping up his job well done. 

With the care pamphlet in one hand, you start to slowly swing your legs over to the side, noticing the way Matty stands at attention like he’s ready to catch you if your legs give out. But they don’t, you’re able to stand with minimal wobbles, shaking out your hands to try and relax your poor, recovering body. 

The walk back to the front of the parlor is quiet, the both of you trying to grapple with the tension you couldn’t quite leave behind in the chair. There’s not much else to say, is there? You’re both standing next to the door now, and Matty retracts one of his hands from within his pockets to hold it out to you. Nothing says “I just blurred the lines of professionality while piercing your tits and now this is goodbye” like a good old handshake, does it? You try to keep your expression neutral even though this all feels quite bittersweet, grasping his hand with a firm shake. It’s the first time you’ve felt his hand without the latex glove between you, they’re soft, but you can tell he works with his hands, the callouses on his fingertips grazing your skin.

“Lovely to meet you, sorry I wasn’t a chick,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, you too. And don’t worry about that, I’m glad it was you,” you reply, perhaps being a little too sincere, but it feels right to say. 

“... well, listen, get home safe, alright? Take care of yourself, call if you have any problems,” he says, once again seeming like he’s biting his tongue, keeping himself from saying something to you. 

You reach for the handle of the door, but you don’t open it. You look back at him like you’re giving him one more chance to tell you what you’re hoping to hear, but he doesn’t, he just offers a nod with an unreadable expression on his face. Heartache.

“See you, Matty,” you nod in return, opening the door and shutting it behind you.

You evaluate your situation on the walk back to your car. You’ve rid yourself of the urge to get your tits pierced, and they look fantastic, but your new problem is that you have a massive crush on your body piercer that you’re likely never going to see again unless you get another piercing. It’d be a rather expensive hobby to get a piercing just to see his face, so scratch that. Your only option is to be reminded of him every time you take your shirt off, how miserable is that?

Little do you know, the moment the shop door closed behind you, Matty groaned with his face in his hands, mentally kicking himself for not asking you out, or at least getting your number. Sure, you were a client, he had to be careful, but shit, you weren’t just any client, now were you? What was wrong with him? Something about you left the body piercer stiff and tongue-tied, replaying every moment of your encounter back in his mind. Never in his life had Matty Healy felt anything for a customer.

—---One month later—----

After a hellish month of healing, scabbing, and getting your piercings caught on things, you’ve decided that there’s no real point in having nipple piercings if no one gets to see them but you. You’d like to tell yourself that you don’t think about Matty as much anymore, but that would be laughably dishonest. Dating apps are just about one of the most aggravating wastes of time ever, and you’ve had no luck meeting people naturally, so here comes the next best thing: blind dates. Your close friend fancies herself to be somewhat of a matchmaker, she’s been talking up this guy to you for days now, telling you how funny and totally your type he is, and nothing could possibly go wrong if she set you up. You have your doubts, but still, you find yourself in a cafe waiting for your mystery man to sweep you off your feet with his supposed punchy one-liners. What you don’t expect, however, is to watch a very familiar mohawked man stride into the place, the eyes that have patronized your dreams every night scanning across the cafe until they lock onto you. 

—----------------------------------------------

Don’t you worry, I won’t leave you hanging with just tension, ofc there’s going to be a smutty part two <3

Thank you very much for reading, I hope it wasn’t underwhelming! And thank you to any other writers that I reached out to to consult about my ideas, ily, mwah!

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Gojo x Reader Fanfic Part 4 (Final)

You sell yourself to the Doll House to pay your mom’s medical expenses, only to discover your trainer is the guy who bullied you relentlessly in high school: Gojo Satoru.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Gojo’s. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Chubby Reader. Dubcon. Pet Play. Bullying. Collars/Leashes. Fingering. Anal sex. Vaginal sex. Bondage. Dildos. Humiliation. Oral sex. Tons and tons of cum. Gojo being an asshole.

Gojo looks confused, as if you just spoke a different language to him. “Hurting you? Was I too rough with the training? I’m sorry, I thought you liked-“

“No, not the training!” you yell. The training was the only part of this whole thing you enjoyed. “It’s all the sarcastic remarks about me being cute or little or ‘highlighting my best features’! Saying all those things when I know what you really think of me! And now saying you love me?! You want to keep me?! How stupid do you think I am? How cruel do you have to be to try to get my hopes up just so you can laugh at me?!”

“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Why would I try to trick you? I wasn’t being sarcastic! Fuck, why are you so insecure?!”

You stare at him with your mouth dropped open, totally stunned. “You made me this way!” you scream, tears flooding your eyes. “You gave me this insecurity!”

He actually looks offended. “How?!”

“You made fun of my looks for two years! You, the most beautiful person in the school, laughed at me, said horrible things about my clothes and body, gave me that awful nickname, made me feel ugly and disgusting… made me hate myself!”

“I never made fun of your looks!” he says, his voice getting loud. “I thought you were beautiful! Why would I make fun of your looks?!”

“You called me Chubby Bunny!”

“It’s a cute nickname!”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Even if you thought that, didn’t you notice that everyone was laughing at me because of it? You started that! And you laughed right along with the others! You made my life hell!”

He draws back as if he’s been slapped. “I… I just teased you… I-“

“That was more than teasing, Gojo! I was terrified of you! You were my boogeyman. If I heard your voice coming down the hall, I ducked into a room or hid around a corner until you were gone, because I was so afraid of what you would say or do to me!”

“What? No! I never hurt you! I couldn’t have… I was crazy about you!”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Is he actually rewriting history to make himself feel better? “What about when you tripped me in the hallway? I twisted my ankle. I couldn’t even get up by myself. Geto had to help me! And while I was on the floor, another boy walked by and said I looked like a seal! A few of them made seal barking noises at me for days after that!”

The outrage in his expression is gone, replaced by a look of uncertainty. “I didn’t know anyone said that. I was just joking around. I tripped my friends all the time, even Shoko! I just wanted to see your reaction.”

“So you saw it,” you say, your voice a little more quiet now. “Did you enjoy it? Watching me limp away in tears?”

“No! I actually felt bad about it, I swear! I even thought about apologizing, but Suguru said I should just leave you alone.”

“But you didn’t leave me alone, did you? You took my things, you made constant comments about my clothes. You laughed so loud whenever I made a mistake in class or even dropped a pencil, which got everyone else laughing too. You made me the laughingstock of the class! Why did you do that to me?! What did I ever do to you?!”

He looks hurt, almost sad. “I wanted your attention. You always ignored me. Every girl in the whole school paid attention to me, except the one girl I wanted. And the only way I could get that was to make you mad. I just… wanted you to look at me.” 

“I did look at you then, didn’t I?” you ask. “I looked at you with fear. You made me dread going to school.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking one step toward you. “I didn’t realize I hurt you so much. I was just a dumb kid back then. I can make it up to you, I can-“

“No, Gojo, you can’t.” Tears are running down your face. You wipe them with the back of your hand before going on. “Do you remember when you grabbed that love letter I was about to put in someone’s locker, and read it out loud?”

He flinches. He definitely remembers. “Yeah, and I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have done that, I know!”

“There’s something you don’t know about that letter,” you say. “I actually wrote it two years before that. I wrote it for you, back when I was in love with you. But I was too shy to even anonymously sneak it into your locker. I was afraid you would somehow find out it was from me, and be disgusted. But I couldn’t throw it away, just like I couldn’t completely throw away my feelings for you, no matter how badly you treated me. So I held onto it. And when I started liking someone else, I realized all those same feelings applied to him. So I tried to drop it in his locker. But you grabbed it, and read it, and laughed. What you were laughing at, Gojo, were my feelings for you!”

Horror is written on his face. He has the same expression as someone who has just been informed that a family member has been in an accident. “I didn’t know… I was jealous… I’m so sorry!”

You don’t engage with his apology. You don’t have the mental strength to do that right now, so you continue airing your feelings. “Even after graduating, I had a complex about my body. I wouldn’t let anyone see me naked, not even my boyfriend. He probably broke up with me because of my hang ups. Eventually I was able to bury my feelings for you, the love and the hate. But then… I came here…” you say, your voice breaking as you begin crying again. “And all those feelings came rushing back to me! I worked so hard to forget about you! And now… now my heart is in tatters!”

There’s a flicker of light in his eyes. “So you do have feelings for me! Even now!”

You scoff, wiping your eyes again. “Yes, but that’s the problem! Loving you is hurting me! Because it makes me feel low and weak and pathetic. I even started feeling lucky that someone as perfect as you could hold back their disgust long enough to fuck me.”

“Don’t say that!” he practically yells, his face twisted in pain. “This whole time I thought I was the lucky one! Fuck, I’ve practically been permanently hard since you got here! I spent my high school years dreaming of touching you. Even when I’ve been training dolls, even when I was fucking them, I imagined they were you!”

You shake your head. “It’s too late. You already did the damage. I can’t be your doll. Whether you knew it or not, you’ve owned me for far too long. I can’t let you literally, legally own me for ten more years. It would destroy me.”

He seems to be at a loss for words, his eyes shimmering and wet, like he’s about to cry. 

You wipe your face again. “I can’t stay in here tonight. If you touch me, I might crumble. If you’re serious about feeling anything at all for me, you won’t do that to me. I’ll ask the owner if I can sleep in one of the empty rooms.”

“No, I’ll go. You can stay here,” he says, his voice unusually gentle. He grabs a few things and then heads for the door. Before stepping out, he looks at you again. “I really am sorry,” he says to you, and then he’s gone. 

************************

Not long after, Gojo is knocking on Suguru’s door, not caring what he might be interrupting. It takes a few minutes for his friend to answer, his long hair slightly messy and his face annoyed. “What is it, Satoru?” 

Gojo doesn’t even say anything, just looks at him. 

Suguru’s eyes narrow. “Let me guess. You told her you’re keeping her and she told you to go to hell.”

“It was so much worse than that!” Gojo practically whines. 

With a sigh, Suguru says, “Let me clean up in here and I’ll meet you in the dining hall.”

An hour later, the two friends are sitting at a table, cups of tea in front of them. Gojo has told Suguru every word of the conversation he had with his doll, twice. 

Suguru takes another sip from his cup. “I tried to warn you when she first got here, but you wouldn’t listen. You never listen.”

Gojo is leaning over the table, his head on his arms. “I thought it would work out. I thought making her fall in love with me again would be easy. And it sort of was. She said she still has feelings for me!”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that part a dozen times already,” Suguru says, sitting his cup back on the table. “But for her, you’re the person who ruined her life just to get attention. Loving you only makes her feel worse. I don’t blame her for wanting to get away from you.”

Gojo looks up. “But I didn’t know! I didn’t know so many other people were making fun of her because of stuff I did, I didn’t know about the letter. I didn’t know I was hurting her so much!”

“Now you know,” Suguru tells him. “The question is, now that you know, what are you going to do about it?”

************************

The next morning, you wake up in Gojo’s bed. It smells like him, and you can’t help remembering all the things you’ve done in this bed with him. 

But it’s over now. You’re going to talk to the owner and tell her to find a buyer for you as soon as possible. Gojo can move on to his next doll and hopefully both of you can put this whole mess behind you. 

The owner agrees to meet you in the welcome room to discuss your situation, and you find her standing in the center of the room. A folder is tucked under her arm.  

You open your mouth to speak to her, but Gojo suddenly rushes in. “Did you bring it?” he asks the owner, not even looking at you. 

The owner opens the folder and pulls out a paper. “Here it is, her contract. She is now your doll.”

“Wait!” you yell, confused and angry. How dare he do this after everything you said last night! You read your contract, you know you can reject him as your owner if you give sufficient reason. You’re pretty sure your history with Gojo would qualify. Still, the fact that he’s ignoring your wishes makes you livid. 

Before you can approach him, he turns to face you and holds your contract up in front of him. “You probably won’t believe me, but I planned to do this from the very start.”

With that, he rips the contract into tiny pieces and lets them fall to the floor. 

You freeze, watching the shreds of paper falling before your eyes. 

“You’re free,” he says. “You’re not a doll anymore.”

Your eyes widen. The owner sighs and shakes her head, saying, “Gojo, do you understand what you’re doing? This was your one doll to keep. You can’t ever pick another.”

“I know. I’ll never want another doll anyway,”

he says, then looks at you again. “I know this doesn’t make up for what I did to you, but I hope it can be a start.”

You feel your eyes becoming wet again. You’re free! You don’t have to give up ten years of your life after all! You glance at Gojo, unsure of what to say. 

“I never wanted to own you,” he says, his face a little sad. “I just want you to be happy. If you believe anything I’ve told you, believe that.”

“I… uh…” you flounder for a moment, trying to decide what words to use before finally settling on, “Thank you.”

He smiles at you. “Maybe someday, if you want to, we could try being friends? No pressure or anything. Just think about it.”

You nod, somewhat dazed. In the end, you leave with his phone number and return to your normal life. 

It takes over a month for you to text him. Just an awkward, “How are you?” that he replies to within seconds. You can almost feel his excitement to hear from you. 

“I quit my job as a trainer,” he tells you. “I just wasn’t all that into it anymore.”

You wonder if it’s because of what happened between the two of you, but don’t ask. A small part of you is relieved that he doesn’t currently have some other woman on a leash in his room. 

For the next couple of weeks, you and Gojo talk via text and phone calls. He never asks to meet up, and never tries to pressure you in any way. You do discuss your past some more, calmly this time. He listens quietly to everything you say, apologizes over and over, and (only when you’re ready to hear it) explains why he did all those things. 

His reasons were so childish and petty, it makes you realize he was just fifteen or sixteen years old when he did those things. Maybe it’s not fair to keep punishing someone for things they did at that age, if they’re trying to make it right as an adult. 

One night you have another anemic spell, and your friend is at work. The only family you have is your mother, and she’s still hospitalized. Nervously, you text Gojo. He’s already told you to let him know if you ever need anything, but the thought of seeing him face to face again makes you uneasy. 

Still, he shows up at your door in a flash, a bag full of food and DVD’s hanging on his arm. Seeing him standing there in your living room, so tall and so beautiful, makes your heart race.

“Did you faint again?” he asks, looking so worried. 

“No, I just felt dizzy and weak,” you tell him. 

“Then just relax,” he says with a smile. “I’ll take care of you.”

And he does. He cooks for you, brings you hot tea, and sits on the couch with you watching movies. He stays until the next morning, and you’re a little surprised that he never tried to tempt you into sleeping with him. You remember that the last time you weren’t feeling well, he did the same thing. 

To be honest, you’re a little disappointed. 

After that, the two of you are officially friends. You talk often, always checking in on each other’s days, getting to know each other’s habits and schedules. 

The friendship doesn’t last long. 

The first time you go to his place to “hang out just as friends”, both of you give in. 

One minute you’re sitting on his couch, laughing and talking, and the next you’re wrapped in his arms, his tongue in your mouth, his hands tugging at your clothes. 

He spreads you out naked on the cushions and eats your pussy like a man starved, saying how much he missed you, missed tasting you, missed watching you cum. He goes at it for over an hour, making you climax so many times you practically forget how to speak, only able to whimper and gasp. 

Then, he fucks your ass, absolutely railing you. You’re so overstimulated by this point that you just want him inside you, no matter what hole he uses. Overwhelmed by your own feelings, you start crying. Gojo holds you close to him, hugging you gently, rubbing your hair, whispering sweet words into your ear as he fucks you relentlessly. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re so beautiful. Feels so good inside you… Fuck, you’re incredible!”

You know what he’s doing, and it only makes you even more emotional. He wants you to know what he thinks of you. He doesn’t want you to question how attractive he finds you. He doesn’t want you to feel insecure. 

The two of you begin dating after that. You couldn’t ask for a sweeter, more supportive boyfriend. He takes care of you, pampers you, treats you like a queen. He even goes with you to visit your mom in the hospital. And through all this, you feel like you’re finally beginning to heal. 

And when the two of you are alone, and very horny, sometimes you go back to being his Bunny. Not Chubby Bunny, he’s never called you that since finding out how much it bothered you, but just Bunny. 

Right now, you’re in the living room of his apartment, all the curtains closed and the door locked. You’re wearing your collar, bunny ears, and thigh high stockings, and nothing else. Your hands are handcuffed in front of you, and you’re on your hands and knees, your legs trembling as you crawl toward Gojo, who is tugging on your leash. 

It’s hard to crawl with two huge dildos shoved inside you, one in each hole, both of them vibrating and rotating wildly. Earlier, Gojo got on his knees behind you and jacked off until ready to cum. Then he stuck just the tip into your pussy and filled it full. With his fingers, he scooped up the cum that leaked out and pushed it into your ass. Then he put the dildos in, leaving them to churn and stir up his cum, telling you not to let them fall out. 

It feels so good, being full of his cum, the sensation of it swirling inside you. But there’s one more hole that hasn’t had any yet. So you crawl between his spread thighs while he sits on the couch, looking down at you lovingly. You nuzzle his clothed crotch with your face and say, “Please fill my mouth, Satoru~”

You’ve only recently started calling him that. It felt a little weird at first, after calling him Gojo for all these years, but you love the effect it has on him when you purr out his name like that. 

You hear his breath catch in his throat, but he manages to compose himself. “Such a naughty, greedy Bunny! I’ve already filled two of your holes! Why don’t I just put the third dildo in your mouth?”

“No, please! The real thing… in my mouth… please,” you whine, staring up at him with glossy eyes. “Your cock tastes so good, Satoru… please feed me your cum!”

His eyes go wide, and you can just barely hear him mutter, “Holy fucking fuck!”

You’ve leaned by now that he’s totally weak to your begging. You’re the one handcuffed and leashed, but Gojo would move heaven and earth to please you, to watch you lose yourself to pleasure. 

“Th-then I guess I’ll fill that pretty mouth,” he says, his hands fumbling with his pants in his hurry to get them open. He stands up, towering over you. There’s a faint blush across his pale features, and he’s breathing a little harder than usual as he pulls out his cock. You open your lips, your tongue partially out. He grins. “You’re gonna have to open wider than that, Bunny, or this huge dick won’t fit.”

You lick your lips, then open your mouth wider, and he immediately shoves in. He fucks your mouth, thrusting into it, hitting the back of your throat, groaning when your tongue laps at every inch it can reach. 

“F-fuck! Your fucking mouth… so good…”

These moments together are so much hotter now that you can fully enjoy them, knowing he finds you irresistible. It makes you feel sexy, desired, loved. Knowing you can make him lose his mind gets you wet every time. 

Just when your jaw is starting to get sore, he pulls out so that he’s barely in your mouth, and shoots his load inside it. There’s so much! 

“Don’t swallow it yet,” he says, his face slightly red, his hair messy. He grabs the third dildo and pushes it into your mouth, turning it on low so that it can slowly stir his cum in your mouth, spreading it to every inch. Then he stands back and watches as all three of your holes, full of his seed, are fucked by the gyrating toys. 

You moan around the dildo in your mouth, locking eyes with him. He’s panting, his eyes wild with desire. Before your eyes, his cock gets hard again, standing tall and gorgeous just like him. 

He drops to his knees behind you and uses his hand to pump the dildo in your ass, in and out, making obscene squelching noises. With his other hand, you feel him pull the dildo out of your pussy. He holds it up, and you look at it over your shoulder. It’s dripping with his cum and your wetness. 

“Gotta be inside this pussy,” he mumbles, and then he’s thrusting into you, deep and hard enough to make your body jerk with his motions. You’re sore from being fucked by the dildos, which are almost as big as Gojo’s cock, but you wouldn’t pass this up for anything in the world. He pushes the dildo into your ass to the same rhythm as he fucks your pussy, making your eyes roll back as you release muffled cries. 

Gojo is grunting behind you, losing himself, babbling out words. 

“Fuck… fuck… I love you so much… this cock belongs to you… every ounce of my cum belongs to you… everything I am… yours…”

He thrusts in deep enough to make you scream, and shoots loads of hot cum into your core. After pulling out, he quickly pulls out the dildo in your ass, sticks his cock in, and shoots out the rest of his load. 

He’s panting as he turns you over, so that you’re lying on your back, your legs splayed, creamy cum dripping out of both holes. He reaches over and gently pulls the dildo from your mouth, watching as your tongue continues to lick at it, collecting any remaining cum from the sticky object. 

“Just how much do you love my cum?” he asks, staring down at you in awe. 

You run your tongue around the edge of your mouth. “It’s delicious,” you say. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, pulling you up and unfastening the collar. 

You snuggle into his arms as he helps you to the bathroom, enjoying how incredibly sweet he is during after care. 

The two of you have come a long way.  Even now, you’re not certain you’ve one hundred percent forgiven him. And occasionally you remember something terrible he did to you and it makes you uncomfortable around him for a few days. But he’s putting in the work to make it up to you, and you’re having a wonderful time enjoying being his girlfriend. You couldn’t ask for a happier ending than that. 

Tag List:

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[eskir]

dusk - sunday x gn!reader

warnings - nsfw, smut, dubcon, and slight yandere?

word count - 864

a/n | i have no clue what i'm doing with this tbh and i apologize if there are any mistakes. this is probably one of my first writing bits for him and my grammar is off, i will admit. was also unsure of whether to keep it in third person or second so i just choose the latter. no explicit details and the first paragraph was just me trying to get into the mood of writing. thanks for reading if you do! oh, also took some inspo from sleepingelvhen's and mimisplayground's posts. i am also so embarrassed by what i wrote at 11pm so take this fever dream.

He smiles down upon you, playing the role of an angel as he extends a hand, a helping hand, as if he had nothing to do with your current situation. As if he didn’t orchestrate it so that you would gratefully take his hand, run into his arms and cling onto him as if he was the only safe thing in your world. And Sunday relished feeling like he was the only thing that mattered. Even more, he loved controlling and twisting events and words so successfully to fulfill his own desires. Sunday loved that you never found out, and he would do anything to keep it that way.

He loved it when you were under him, panting with your face painted a deep shade of red. He enjoyed looking over you, touching you in places that he knew would elicit little sounds. Dragging his finger down your spine slowly, watching your back arch and not caring if you begged for him to hurry. ‘you want me to go faster? you’ll have to earn it,’ he’d whisper in your ears, his voice soft and a smile adorning his face that doesn’t reach his eyes.

He's ruthless, bringing you to the edge, watching you writhe underneath him with a coy smile. Sunday doesn’t do anything except continue, wearing you out. If small tears form, he'll wipe them away and coo at you in a sickly sweet way as he continues. He draws out begs and whines, almost pushing you over the edge until he stops suddenly, a pleasant smile on his face as if he had no clue what he just did. 

He'd make you beg even more, persuading, almost forcing, promises out of you. Making you swear that you'd never interact with those individuals again or that you'd stay by his side forever, whichever suited his mood. And if Sunday wasn’t in the mood to draw out promises? He'd tease you instead, maybe bringing out some toys with the promise of continuing if, and only if, you put it on. So you let him tie you up, placing a gag over your mouth and a blindfold over your eyes. Blind to both what's happening and the manipulation occurring.

And he wouldn’t stop once, he’d do it multiple times over the course of hours. Enjoying the way that you broke down, nearly begging for his touch. He'd find small things to critique you over, like the way that you talked to that one person for just a little bit too long, or the smile you flashed to the person that was obviously flirting with you. Sunday paints those events as things requiring punishment, and what better punishment than delay? After all, you wouldn’t ever want to experience what other punishment he has to offer, no?

The only thing stopping him from continuing this cycle is the exhaustion that he can see building up. Be that the way that your eyes start to close or the subtle shift in your tone, he notices it all. So finally he brings pushes you over the edge.

And at the end of it all, he’s barely tired. You can feel the way that your legs will barely function the next day, a numb jelly like feeling spreading throughout your body. But he doesn't, only watching and finding a certain amount of joy, knowing that you'll have to rely on him the next day. But it’s still nighttime, so he caresses your flushed face, tracing your cheekbones and jawline ever so softly. He takes note of the way your eyes close from exhaustion, wiping away sweat and drawing circles on your skin idly.

He doesn’t often take you this far, but today he didn’t feel like using honeyed words to keep you near. Instead, he now brushes his fingers over your body, a grin forming as you flinch and ultimately move into his touch. Sunday knows that you enjoyed his touches, no matter how little or tiring, still seeming to crave his love. So he uses it against you, under whatever righteous guise he chooses.

But as long as you remain devoted to him, like a worshipper to a god, he will stay patient, follow your whims, and be a 'good' person. As long as you were devoted, he would persuade you in the gentlest way, through soft touches and sweet words. Never mind his demeanor toward others.

So he picks up your tired body, pressing kisses to your forehead as he draws a bath. Letting you rest in warm water, he massages your head, soap bubbles forming. He scrubs your body, maybe a few teasing touches, but nothing more. Sunday understands that you're tired. 

After the bath, he bundles you up in blankets, preparing to clean himself as well. He does it quickly, not wanting to miss out a single moment with you. When he comes back, if you're still awake, he'll cuddle with you, kissing you more. If you try to kiss him back, he'll smile, shaking his head as he motions for you to go to sleep. So eventually you do, warm and comfortable, knowing that the next day will be decided based off of Sunday’s whims.

[something-tofightfor]

Fool's Gold 6: Storms Will Pass and I'll Remain

Pairing: Pirate Oberyn Martell x Female Reader (with a twist)

Rating: M.

Word Count: 9,954

Summary: With the pirates taken care of and the truth revealed, you and Oberyn have a lot to talk about. There's only hours to go until you reach Dorne, which means that everything's about to change ... again. Even with Oberyn's assurances, your fears get the better of you, and there's no hiding it.

Author's Note:

IT'S PEDROTOBER 2024 OBERYN MARTELL DAY!!! I couldn't let the day pass without posting.

This is a little longer than expected, but I didn't want to drag out the final hours on the ship more than necessary. I cannot wait to get to Dorne - and hope you're excited, too.

If you want to talk about this story (or any of my others) please feel free to pop into my inbox or DMs!

Chapter title comes from "The Stormchaser" by Caligula's Horse.

Fool's Gold Masterlist

You went back onto the ship’s top deck, Oberyn walking a few paces ahead of you. 

Even in the short time you’d been down in his quarters, the crew had made progress with cleaning up after the attack. 

The wood had been scrubbed free of blood, crates and barrels were stacked back into place, and the prisoners were nowhere to be found. There are no bodies either. You wondered what had been done with them - if they’d been moved back onto the other ship or simply tossed into the water, made into meals for the creatures that lurked below. 

The smell of smoke filled the air and you turned toward the source, watching as the pirates’ ship burned in the distance. “It was necessary.” He touched your arm, drawing your attention back in his direction. “They would have chased us if we’d just let them go back onboard.” 

“And now if they make it to one of the islands and are rescued, they’ll just talk about how they need to find the Blood Adder’s ship.” He nodded. “And this ship won’t be sailing anywhere anytime soon, will it?” 

“No.” You made your way to the same area you’d first spoken in, Oberyn gesturing for you to sit. “No, she’ll need some repairs, and new sails. The next time anyone sees her…” He looked up, eyes lingering on the wheel. “She’ll be a Dornish pleasure ship again.”

“That’s been true this whole time, though.” He smiled at your words, taking a seat next to you. “I understand why you didn’t tell me the truth right away, Oberyn, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t upset.” 

“I know.” He clasped his hands together, one thumb spinning the golden ring on the other. “And I am sorry for lying to you.” He paused long enough to let the apology sink in. “I thought, at first, that you knew who I was.” What? “I thought you were pretending to have no memory and that you recognized me since you knew so much about Oberyn. I assumed it was all a ruse, and because I was finally on my way home, I was … worried.” 

“I didn’t, and it wasn’t.” You bit your lip, wincing as you felt the wound on your side pull. “I thought … I thought that some things about you and this ship didn’t seem right, but I never thought you were Prince Oberyn Martell.” He smiled at that, still staring out at the horizon. “Now, it makes sense, though.” 

“How?” He angled his body toward you, eyes narrowed. “What wasn’t right?” 

“Your hands aren’t rough enough to have lived a life on the sea. You spent far too much time with me to captain the ship.” You looked down at your hands, thinking. “You and your crew are too kind, especially to a woman like me.” You pointed at the plume of smoke. “If they’d found me? There would have been no question about what my future held.” 

He didn’t disagree, but Oberyn did say your name then, reaching over to take one of your hands. He held it gently, eyes downcast to focus on where you were connected. 

“I left the drawers unlocked and the journals out, even in the beginning. But you didn’t read them. You could have at any time, but you didn’t.” He was right - and that reminder made his reaction to you not reading Oberyn’s letters much more understandable, too. He tried to tell me even when he had no reason to trust me. 

“Your promises make more sense now, too.” You held up your other hand, his ring still on your finger. “To keep me safe and to give me choices?” You wiggled your fingers, his gaze rising briefly to watch. “This has a version of the Martell sigil on it, doesn’t it?” He nodded. “Do the people in Tyrosh know that -”

“There are rumors.” He smiled, the expression smug. “The only people that truly know are Doran, Ellaria, my oldest children, the crew on this ship, and a few friends in port cities that I couldn’t avoid.” Of course. “And now you.” 

The gold glinted in the sunlight, and for the first time, you realized exactly what it meant that you were under the protection of the Dornish Prince. “You meant it. You meant that I had a choice about Perle and Oldtown. You meant that I didn’t have to go, and -”

“I did. I do.” He tightened his grip on your hand. “I will invite that Lord to Sunspear and lie to his face about finding pieces of your ship and an empty raft if remaining in Sunspear with me is what you choose. I know you’re worried about your parents, but as I said before, there are options, even though in my opinion they don’t deserve them.” 

Hearing him speak about your parents that way hurt - but not as much as you’d thought it would. Because I think the same, too. They didn’t care where they sent me as long as it meant they survived.

He was right. It wasn’t just that you’d been picked up by a pirate and had a chance at a new life in a far off land when he set you free. Oberyn had promised you a place to stay and whatever type of life you chose in Dorne, including a job. “But if you’re Oberyn Martell, that means that your … that when we get to Dorne, Ellaria will be there. And I’ll just be …” 

If he’d gone back to just a woman he was in love with, that would have been one thing. But Oberyn and Ellaria’s devotion to each other - and the lengths they’d go to prove it - was one of the best known facts in the realm. But so is the understanding that they seek others out often. That realization brought up another thing for you to consider, though. 

“Ellaria won’t like that you’re returning after so long with someone. I know you two don’t have a conventional relationship, but -”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” He moved closer, changing his grip on your hand so that he could slide his fingers between yours. “She will understand, especially when Nymeria and Obara tell her what they know.” You thought back to their surprise when they’d seen his ring on your hand, and that memory made you react almost violently. 

“Take this back.” You pulled your hand free and removed the jewelry, holding it out to him. “I have no business wearing this when we return to your home. It served its purpose, and I’m thankful, but …” But I cannot arrive in Dorne wearing a piece of your jewelry on my finger when Ellaria doesn’t. “But I won’t need it in Dorne.” 

“No, you won’t.” He took the ring back and slipped it on, flexing the digits a few times. “You must have many questions. What’s on those pages answered some things, but … there is so much I couldn’t put into written words.” 

“You were injured in the attack.” He nodded, swallowing. “How did you survive that?”

“When I was stabbed, I went overboard. I’m a good fighter, but in those moments, it was safer for me and my crew to let them think they’d won. I am a strong swimmer, even injured, and I managed to reach one of the below deck windows and climb back onto the ship.” He paused, thinking. “I hid for hours behind a stack of crates, waiting until we were underway again before I snuck out and found some of my men.” 

“I bet they were surprised.” He cocked his head to the side and winked at you. 

“Not as surprised as you might think.” That made you laugh, and when he reached over to take your hand again, you let him, curling your fingers against his. “It was much easier than you’d imagine to overtake the pirates in the darkness and take my ship back.” He nodded. “I killed the man who took this ship with the same weapon that Cersei’s lapdog thought he killed me with. And once they were all gone, the healer finally tended to my wounds.” 

“And you’ve just been sailing around since?” He nodded. “No one wanted to go home? Your whole crew just decided to -”

“A few of them did, and we let them. They were how we got word to Doran and Ellaria and my daughters that I survived. They were the proof my family needed to prepare for the news from King’s Landing and Cersei fucking Lannister.” He snarled the words out and then lowered his head, scoffing. “And we have been sailing ever since, waiting for the right time to go home and reveal to the world that I am still alive and still angry.”

“And now’s the right time.” He nodded twice. “Because of Prince Doran’s health.”

“It has worsened.” Oberyn closed his eyes. “A Martell has ruled Dorne for as long as it has existed, and that will not change. If … when my brother is no longer able to remain in power, my nephew will need guidance.” 

“So you’re going home for good.” He nodded again, his eyes still on the horizon. “Will Cersei try to kill you again?” 

“She’s got bigger problems now.” He smiled, the expression almost soft. “The Dragon Queen. Her own people rebelling against her. Losing two of her sons to death and her daughter to us.” He turned his head, meeting your eyes. “My daughters tell me that Princess Myrcella has fallen in love with Trystane, and does not want to leave Dorne.” 

“A Baratheon and a Martell? That’s quite the surprising pairing.” 

“Hmm.” He nodded, taking a deep breath before his smile turned into a smirk. “It will surprise you more to hear that Baratheon isn’t even the girl’s correct name.” 

There had been rumors that had made their way to Braavos; whispers of Cersei and her own brother together, but you’d never believed any of them. It wasn’t because you didn’t think it possible, instead it was because there’d only been the whispers - and nothing certain. 

“Oberyn, are you saying …” You moved slightly closer, head shaking back and forth. “That the rumors are truths? That the King Robert isn’t actually -”

“I am.” He cleared his throat. “And you can believe me when I say that in Dorne, we care very little what a child’s parentage is, or how it impacts their status or who anyone chooses to love … but a brother and sister passing their children off as future kings or queens under another banner?” His jaw was set. “No. Even that is not acceptable in Dorne, and even a Lannister child deserves better.” 

“But Cersei will want to attend the wedding.” You crossed your arms. “And if it’s in Dorne, then you’ll be in danger. Again.” You didn’t want to think about it; Oberyn fearing for his life in his own home just because a woman was hellbent on revenge.

“We will make those plans when the time comes.” Oberyn reached over and settled his hand on your knee. “They are still a few years away from marriage. And Cersei … she may not have that much time left.” 

You didn’t know what he meant by that. You wanted to ask, but didn’t want to overwhelm him with questions or get overwhelmed with his answers - and so you chose another route - and entirely changed the topic of conversation. “When we get to Dorne tomorrow, what … what will I do?” 

“You’ll come with me to my home. You’ll greet my brother. You’ll meet Ellaria. We’ll tell your story, and then you’ll go off and take a real bath and eat a real meal. You’ll sleep in a real bed, but still have the sounds of the sea coming in through the window, and then …” His smile grew, one of Oberyn’s hands rising so that he could cradle your cheek against his palm. “And then I will show you the place where I was raised.” 

“The palace?” He nodded, swallowing. 

“And the Water Gardens, and the orchards and the markets. All of it. I’m going to make you fall in love with Dorne.” 

“It sounds like it won’t be that difficult for you.” He grinned at your words, shrugging as he pulled his hand back and rested both atop his thighs. “Oberyn, I know … I know that you haven’t been home in a long time, and when you get there, you’ll have things to do.” You paused, looking down at your hands and then back over at him. I might as well say it; we’re both thinking it. “You and Ellaria have a lot of lost time to make up for.” 

“We do.” He said nothing else for a long time, and you watched the smile on his face as it was replaced with a frown. You hated being responsible for putting that expression there, especially when he was so excited about going home.

“I don’t want you to feel responsible for me once we get there. You don’t need to pull yourself away from your family to make me feel comfortable. I’ll just …” You looked away and out over the water, forcing a smile. “I just need a place to sleep and to know where to go for meals, and -”

“Stop.” He reached for you again, whispering your name. “I know what getting back to Sunspear means. I’ve been looking forward to it since the day I pulled myself out of the sea and back onto this ship. But me being back home doesn’t mean that every word that has come out of my mouth to you was worthless.” 

“I never said -”

“No, you didn’t. But for some reason you seem to believe that once I step foot back into Sunspear, you’ll be forgotten or that I won’t want to spend time with you.” He leaned in, locking eyes with you. “That could not be further from the truth.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that the honesty in his eyes - and the seriousness of his tone would matter when you reached Dorne. You wanted to believe that even after Oberyn got his hands back on Ellaria, there’d still be enough of a place for you in his life for what he was promising to become reality. But I can’t count on that. 

“Oberyn, I’m just trying to be realistic. You’re a Prince. You have a woman that is your wife in, as you put it, all the ways that matter. You’re going to have things to do and people to see and stories to tell. You’ll have responsibilities to the throne, even if you’re not in line to inherit. You say that you want me to fall in love with Dorne, but what happens then? I stay and rely on your kindness for the rest of my life just because I find Sunspear or the Water Gardens agreeable?” 

“Tell me what it is that you’re not saying.” He stood abruptly, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw anger in his eyes that was directed at you. “I want the truth.” He didn’t reach for you. Instead, he let his arms hang loosely by his sides, his fingers curled in toward his palms. 

“My fate in Oldtown with Perle would be to become his wife and bear his children and sit silently and take whatever abuse he deemed appropriate as my husband. I wouldn’t be happy, but I’d know that my parents and their business were alright.” You wet your lips, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “In Dorne? What is my future there? No matter how much I enjoy a place, I still need to make a living if I won’t be married off to someone that is expected to support me. And I’m afraid, Oberyn, that my staying would make it seem like I was taking advantage of your offer or trying to force something impossible. I don’t know that I could accept that.” 

That wasn’t even everything that you weren’t saying - and he knew it. “There is more.” He crossed his arms, waiting. You didn’t want to admit the depth of your worries, because it wasn’t fair to him. “I’ll stand here all night if I need to.” I know you will. 

You weren’t getting out of it, and after a few more moments of thought, you nodded, covering your face and taking a breath to steady yourself. The sooner I say it, the sooner he can set expectations. “I have become attached to you in the time since we’ve met, and I’m not sure how I’ll react when there’s more space and more people between us, Oberyn.”  Ellaria. I’m not sure how I’m going to react to seeing you with the woman you love, even though I knew it was coming. “And going to Dorne may not prove to be as perfect a solution as I hope it will be.”

“What changed?” His tone softened slightly and his posture loosened, Oberyn shifting his feet. “You were excited to go to Dorne and to see it, and now … you’re anticipating the worst before you even get there.”

“I didn’t know you were a Prince. I thought … we’d get to Sunspear and even if you were wealthy or had a large home, we’d still… cross paths occasionally after things settled. I am excited to see Dorne. I’m looking forward to it, but I also dread it because who you are? It changes everything. What you’re going back to? You’re not just returning home to a woman you love. You’re returning to Ellaria Sand, I don’t belong anywhere near -”

“You do if I say you do.” He held out his hands and you took them, letting him help you to your feet. “And I say you do. You will not be a prisoner in Dorne. You will not be expected to marry or have children or serve any man. For as long as you wish to stay, you are a guest of the Martells - my guest. And between you and me?” He leaned closer, the warmth back in his eyes. “I would be happy to have you stay for good.” 

“What do you gain from it?” You pulled free, turning away from him and shaking your head as you stepped toward the railing. “I still don’t remember everything about myself or my past. I can’t offer you coin or an army or -”

“Stop.” He reached out, gripping your upper arm. “I don’t care about any of those things.” He tightened his hold, and even though it wasn’t painful, it was still more tightly than he’d ever held you before. “Turn around and look at me.” 

You did, and were ashamed to realize that there were tears in your eyes. “Oberyn -” His fingers loosened, though he didn’t pull his hand back. 

“You are not the only one who has become attached.” He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as it moved back and forth. “The thought of you going anywhere that is not Dorne saddens me. The thought of you returning to your home and letting your parents choose your future or going to Oldtown and letting Perle do what he pleases sickens me.” He lifted his other hand and cupped your cheek with it. “You deserve better. You deserve to have what you want and who you want. I can give you that. Dorne can offer that.” Can you? 

“But why? Why would you do that for me with everything else you’ll return home to? We only met each other weeks ago. I -”

“Because I want to.” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Because you gave me a chance, even when you didn’t trust me or know who I was.” He opened his eyes and there was sadness in them. “My whole life has been one opportunity after another because of my lineage. I’ve made the most of it, and like to think that I’ve proven that I am more than the Martell name, but …” He looked down and then raised his head, meeting your eyes. “It was new to meet someone new without any of those expectations hanging over my head.”

You hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made total sense. It doesn’t change anything though. “Everyone will just think that I’m one of your -”

“Fuck what they think.” He stepped closer, the sadness in his eyes gone. “It only matters what we think and what we know. ” 

“It’s going to take some getting used to.” He nodded, and you could feel your heart racing. “But will you promise me something?”

“Of course.” He wet his lips. “Anything.” 

You didn’t doubt that he meant it, but you were unprepared for the surety in his voice and the steely look of determination he gave you. It threw you for a few seconds but when you recovered, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, holding it before you let it out slowly. 

“No matter what happens, please don’t lie to me. I know there will be things you can’t tell me about your family’s dealings and that’s to be expected with your position, but I can handle truths. They might hurt, but I need them.” He looked confused. “For example, if Ellaria is unhappy I’m in Dorne, I need to know. I don’t want to cause tension between you, so -”

“If she’s unhappy you’re in Dorne, she will tell you.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And you’re so concerned with her being displeased that you’re coming home with me, why? We have done nothing wrong.” 

“I forget just how different things are between you two sometimes.” You looked out and over the water, needing a few moments to think. “When it comes to sharing each other, anyway.” It was the truth, and even though he’d told you over and over that what was happening between you wouldn’t be a problem after going home, it was difficult for you to believe it. Even after finding out who he is. 

“I would be a fool to believe that Ellaria hasn’t found someone … or many someones to keep her busy in the time that I’ve been gone.” He shrugged, stepping next to you and turning his body so that he was facing the water. “I certainly kept myself occupied. I will not hold that against her in the same way she won’t question my behavior when it comes to you.” 

It confirmed what you’d thought about him even before learning who he really was - and the truth to the reputation of Oberyn Martell. But. “Bringing someone home is different, Oberyn. And even though we haven’t… even though it’s just been…” You struggled with your words and he saved you, turning his head and murmuring your name. 

“You want the truth from me?” You nodded. “It would be easier to explain things if we already had slept together. But I am not welcoming you to Dorne only to warm my bed, and that is different.” That set off a new flood of panic within you, and you were angry that you hadn’t thought of it at first. Of course us being together just for sex would complicate everything less. That’s what they do.

“We still have tonight.” You rushed the words out, heartbeat racing as you gripped the railing. “We can change that. We can -”

“No.” He settled his hand over yours and squeezed. “The time for that has passed.” You wondered if he meant on the ship or in totality, but couldn’t force yourself to ask. Instead, you opted for humor. 

“Oberyn Martell, turning down a lover? Are you sure it’s really you?” That made him laugh, which eased your panic slightly - but then it went elsewhere and reared back up. “If you’re not bringing me back as that, what will we tell people about who I am and why I’m with you?” 

“That depends on you.” He straightened up and then leaned against the wood, recrossing his arms. “You may want to think that over and decide what you want the story to be after you meet my family. But all we have to say is the truth: I found you in a raft, floating in the water, and I couldn’t just leave you there to die.” It was good advice, but it still didn’t answer exactly who you were or where you’d been going. You still had the token you could use if you chose to disappear, so even if you told the whole truth, you weren’t trapped. “Are you hungry? It’s getting late, and they’re making a feast to use as much of the remaining food as possible.” 

“I am.” You closed your eyes, thanking him for the distraction. “Are you?”

“Very.” He stepped away from the railing and motioned for you to take his hand. “Will you have dinner with me?” 

“Of course, Your Grace.” He rolled his eyes but linked his fingers with yours and pulled you closer, his other hand finding its way to your waist. “Oberyn, what -” 

“Ellaria is going to like you,” he whispered the words, angling his head so that he could speak them directly into your ear. “Because it seems as though you share her enthusiasm for teasing me.” That made you laugh, but it turned into a sharp inhale when he pressed his lips to your temple before pulling back, his smirk full of mischief. “I will have my hands very full between the two of you.” 

You hoped he was right. 

You hoped that when you met Ellaria Sand, you’d get along with her. You desperately hoped that she understood that even before you’d known who he was, you’d cared for Oberyn. And that he cares about me. “We’ll see. Maybe it’s going to be us that have their hands full.” Swallowing back a lump in your throat, you squeezed his hand before he could respond. “Food, Oberyn. I want to hear all about your weapons training.” 

— 

You ate with a large group of the crew and halfway through, Obara and Nymeria breezed in, both of them giddy. 

They sat with you and spent the better part of the evening telling you stories about Oberyn and their upbringing in Dorne. It was clear that despite the way things had begun for them, they’d adapted to the life he’d offered and flourished under his care - and with his love. He’d never send them away only for his own benefit.

Everyone was excited; the room was buzzing with conversation, and even though you were focused on what Oberyn and his daughters were saying, you couldn’t help listening to the others, too. They’re all so happy to be going home.

“Are we boring you?” He was leaning back in his chair, a goblet of wine dangling from between two fingers. “You seem distracted.” Oberyn went quiet, arching a brow and staring you down. It was a look that you hadn’t yet seen from him, and you could feel the heat in it, his eyes bright. 

“Of course not.” You picked up a small handful of berries and ate one of them, gesturing with your hand. “This is the most excited I’ve ever heard or seen the crew, and I’m just … it’s hard not to pay attention to them, too.” 

“They deserve long rests.” He finished the wine and set the cup down, his eyes moving away from you and over the other people in the room. “And they will get them. We all will.” He stood suddenly, clearing his throat. What is he doing? “Everyone.” He held up a hand and the room went silent almost immediately. “I want to thank you.” 

You turned in your chair to stare up at him, watching as his posture changed - shoulders back, head held high. He looked around the room, nodding, and you watched the set of his jaw change too, his lower lip jutting out slightly as his lips turned downward in thought. 

“I have kept you away from your homes and your families and your lives for far too long. I am sorry it took many months. I never intended -” He sighed. “If I didn’t want to be away this long, I can’t imagine any of you would, either.” 

There was murmur of agreement, but no one actually spoke up. It didn’t surprise you. Even though they were likely closer with him than was typical with a member of the Martell family and sailors, it was clear that he’d shifted from pretending to be Daavos to once again being Oberyn in the hours since the Dornish port had become the next destination. And they respect him. They respect his position. They don’t fear him like so many others would fear the ones they serve. 

“You have my gratitude. It has been an honor to spend so many months in such close quarters with people like yourselves who are so loyal to my -”

“For Dorne!” One of the men stood, lifting one hand to his chest and then bowing his head. And  then another man stood, adopting the same position. 

“For the Martells!” Slowly, the others joined them, rising to their feet and making their own declarations - a combination of  the two phrases you’d heard already, accompanied with a few indecipherable ones, too. Even Obara and Nymeria stood, turning their attention toward their father. He reached out and put an arm around both of them, and you could feel the pride he had in them - and what they’d accomplished.

You rose, too, curling your fingers inward before you pressed your fist to your chest. He held power over the crew - and so did his daughters, despite their origins. It impressed you. You were certain that you’d seen the arrivals of nobility in Braavos, and even though you couldn’t remember your entire life, you knew that if you’d seen anything similar, it would have stuck with you. They love him. They love him in a way that the Lannisters could never begin to imagine anyone loving them. 

His daughters were watching the room, their smiles broad. But Oberyn was eyeing you, waiting. And instead of using something that the others had said, you took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders and met Oberyn’s eyes. “Fuck Cersei Lannister.” 

That made him laugh, his head tipping back to expose his throat as his eyes closed. 

It was short lived, though, because Oberyn returned his attention to the crowd and held up his hand again, waiting until the noise had died down slightly. “What are our words?” 

“Unbowed!” The voices were a chorus, with no hesitation. “Unbent!” Oberyn and his daughters joined in, their smiles never faltering. “Unbroken!” It repeated, over and over, the volume growing as people began to bang on the tables and clap their hands together. You didn’t join in - you weren’t Dornish, and it didn’t feel right, but that didn’t seem to matter. 

Oberyn pressed kisses to the tops of his daughters heads before releasing them and beginning to move into the crowd. He circled the room slowly, thanking people one by one. When he made it back to where you stood, he stepped behind you, the heat from his body apparent even through your clothes as you both faced the entirety of the room. 

It was an intimate position, and though everyone’s eyes were on you, you felt no judgment from them at their Prince’s display of affection. Instead, you felt peace - leaning back into Oberyn and allowing yourself a small smile. I can’t get used to this, but there’s no harm in this one moment. He cleared his throat, inching closer.  

“Tomorrow we will be home. Tomorrow we will feel the Dornish sun and smell the Dornish air and gorge on Dornish food and wine. Tonight?” You felt his hand on your hip, his chest pressed against your back as he inhaled deeply. “All I ask is that you make sure we get there safely.” 

Everyone laughed, some shouting out their promises to him. Moments later, the attention fell away from where you stood as people returned to their food and drink. But Oberyn didn’t step away. Instead he urged you to turn around, his hand remaining in place. 

“That was an impressive show, Oberyn.” He winked at you, his lips twisting upward into a smile.

“That was nothing.” He sighed. “Let me walk you back to your room.” Gesturing to your side, he frowned. “It must be painful.” You hadn’t noticed it throughout his speech, but your side did ache. “Obara. Nym. I’ll see you in the morning?” 

Both of them nodded, Obara’s smirk directed at both you and her father, but then they turned away and toward a table where a group of sailors were laughing heartily. “Thank you. But you don’t have to. I can get there on my own.” 

“I insist.” He led you from the room and down the hall, footsteps quiet on the sleek flooring. Both of you stopped to use the commode and washroom, and then resumed your path to his quarters. “I meant what I said in there. All of them - the crew and my men - will get the rest they deserve once we’re home. They have lives and families to get back to, and I’ve stolen enough of their time.”

“They all want to be here, Oberyn. They love you.” You were getting close to the doorway, and your steps slowed, trying to drag out the time until you said goodbye. “They’re all loyal. I’m sure they’ll be happy to be back on land for longer than a few days at a time, but …” You turned to face him. “I very much doubt that any of them hold it against you that they’ve been away for as long as they have.” 

“You may be right.” He took a deep breath, looking over your shoulder at the door to his quarters. “If I was out of line in front of them with you, I apologize. I should not have … put my hands on you, at least without knowing if it would make you uncomfortable.” 

“It didn’t.” Closing your eyes, you lowered your head. “I liked it. I know that’s not how it’s going to be in Dorne, but it was nice to feel so wanted.” He stepped closer, keeping his eyes on you. 

“You really think I won’t want you in -” He was interrupted by the ship’s movement on the waves, and much like the first night you’d been in the same position, you lost your balance. You took two steps forward, both hands shooting out to steady yourself. 

He caught you, keeping you upright, but that night, he didn’t hesitate to hold you close. He said your name quietly, one hand on your elbow and the other pressed to your back. You had every reason to push him away - the fact that he was a prince, the fact that he was going home to Ellaria Sand, the fact that he’d already told you that there was no chance for sex on the ship and letting yourself get even closer was a dangerous game - but instead of that you curled your fingers in his shirt and sighed. 

“I’m not going to stop you from kissing me like I did the first night, Oberyn.” 

His eyes flashed but he didn’t keep you waiting. His hand slid up to the back of your head and angled it so that when he leaned in to press his lips to yours, the connection was perfect. The kiss didn’t linger, though, and it was Oberyn that backed away first, clearing his throat. “Goodnight. We should arrive in Dorne before midday tomorrow, so -”

“I thought you said you wanted to stay.” It was a risk, but if you were going to believe what Oberyn said to you, you needed to begin with accepting the things that he’d said before you knew who he was. Because he said nothing was changing. He said he still wants me. “Just this morning, you said you wanted to spend the night. Has that changed?” 

Questioning Oberyn - even in private - wasn’t something that you’d ever expected yourself to do, but in the darkness of the hallway, you did it anyway. All he can say is no. “Even though I lied to you for weeks?” You nodded, heart pounding as you tried to keep your breathing steady. “Even though you believe that after tomorrow, nothing will be the same between us?” 

“Especially because I know that once we’re back in Dorne, it may be some time until I see you after sundown, Oberyn.” It stung, but it was the truth. “Between Ellaria and your duties and all of the Dornish pleasure houses that have certainly missed your patronage for the last two years, I’ll have to wait my turn.” 

He blinked a few times before taking a deep breath, and then Oberyn reached around you and pushed the door open, nodding. Reluctantly, you turned away and walked in, the realization that it was the last time you’d enter for the purpose of sleeping hitting you all at once and stopping you in your tracks. 

“What’s wrong?” The sound of the door closing behind him was soft, and then his arms were around you, Oberyn’s mouth next to your ear. “Is everything alright?” 

“This is the last night I’ll… we’ll spend in this room.” You looked around, eyeing your surroundings. “I remember much of my home, but this room… this ship, and you, Oberyn…” You turned to face him again, your lower lip trembling. “I feel safe here, with you. And I know that Dorne is safe, too, and that people will help to reassure me of that.” But it scares me. “It’s not just about us being different once we’re on land, it’s everything.” 

He was frowning, his eyes searching your face, but Oberyn didn’t answer you. You wondered if you’d said the wrong thing, wondered if you’d voiced the thing that would make him regret inviting you to his home. But when his expression softened and Oberyn closed his eyes, sighing, instead of pushing you away he pulled you closer, urging you toward him. 

“I did not consider that, and I should have.” He spoke against your hair, his chest rising and falling steadily. “It will be different. It will be new. But you will not be truly alone. Even if I am not with you, or one of my daughters aren’t beside you, you’ll have everything you need. Anything you might want. I hope … I hope that one day, you will feel as at home in Dorne as I do.”

It was an offhand comment, but you understood the significance of it. You feeling that comfortable in Dorne would only happen if you were there long term, and that was only possible if you chose to stay for good. You closed your eyes and hugged him tightly, hissing out in pain as the wound on your side rubbed against your clothing. 

Oberyn immediately let you go, holding you at arm’s length and letting his eyes drop. “I need to see that.” You lifted the material without thought and Oberyn dropped to his knees, the tips of his fingers gently skating over your skin and then removing the bandage. Staring down at the crown of his head, you tried to stay still as he examined you, though it was difficult because of the pain - and because of the way your stomach bottomed out at the way he touched you. 

“Despite my best efforts, this may require an actual healer.” He glanced up, and you saw the worry in his eyes. “It is deep, and if the blade was filthy, it will need to be thoroughly cleaned.” 

“You cleaned it.” Wincing as he touched the skin just below the injury, you let out a shaky breath. “You studied poisons, and -”

“I do not think he poisoned you.” Oberyn reached for more bandages and re-covered the area, securing it with a small knot. “But I do think the blade was dirty. And while supplies on this ship are limited, they’re plentiful on land.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to the dressing, his hands on your hips. 

It was a position that you’d never have even dreamed to find yourself in - the Red Viper of Dorne on his knees in front of you - and so when he pulled away enough to look up and meet your eyes, you savored the sight of him. 

There was need in his gaze, and you didn’t try to stop yourself from lifting your hand to drag your fingers through his hair. “You should get up, Oberyn. A Prince on his knees for a commoner?” 

He stayed in place, lips splitting apart in a toothy grin. “There is nothing common about you.” That made you laugh, and a few seconds later he did stand, his hands sliding up your body so that both of them could cradle your jaw, tilting your head back. “And you will find that I enjoy being on my knees far more than the average man. Give it time.” 

You gasped, but it was a quick sound, Oberyn’s lips meeting yours again - and that kiss wasn’t slow or gentle. Despite the pain in your side, you melted into him, hands grasping at his shirt as he repositioned both of his to hold you even closer. 

With his hands on your body and mouth on yours, it was easy to forget what was coming and what would change once you arrived in Dorne. And though you knew it would only make things harder for you, you let yourself forget - let yourself kiss him back, one hand slipping under the deep neckline of his shirt, nails scraping against his chest. 

Oberyn only broke the kiss long enough to breathe and then he resumed it, urging you to draw his full lower lip between yours as he turned both of you toward the bed, the groan he let out when your lips turned into teeth dragging over that same lip long and low. 

You wondered what other sounds he made, and what sounds he’d be able to pull from you, but before you could get lost in those thoughts, he let you go, whispering your name. “Someone is feeling adventurous tonight.” You inhaled deeply, lips parted as you looked at him. I got carried away. “I wish I could let you continue.” 

“I understand.” You let out your breath, closing your eyes. “Oberyn, I’m -”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” He laughed, the hand on your hip tightening. “We should get some rest, though.Tomorrow will be a long day.” He was right, and when you moved away from him to sit on the edge of the bed to remove your boots, he began to undress, too. 

You watched him - eyed his movements in the low light, the candles casting a warm glow across his skin once he removed his shirt. His pants hung low on his hips, and when he loosened them, they dropped even lower, exposing more of his lower back. He was teasing you - tempting you, and though in the coming days, you figured the memory of his bare body would make waiting harder, you were thankful. 

You climbed into the bed first, rolling onto your uninjured side and waiting until Oberyn had joined you to speak. “Will I be watched while you’re doing whatever it is that you need to do, Oberyn?” He smiled, inching closer and carefully draping an arm over your side. “I’ve never been in a castle before, and I don’t know what to expect.” 

“My words will never do it justice,” he started, moving his hand up your arm slowly. “I can tell you that it is beautiful. I can tell you what I love about it and why, but until you see it? Until you’re there? You will never understand.” His fingers danced over your skin, the tips of them dragging along the curve of your neck before he flipped his hand over and trailed his knuckles over your jaw and then up and over your cheek. “You will only be watched if you wish to be.” 

“What does that mean?” You yawned, turning your face toward the pillow and closing your eyes. “If I wish to be?” 

“There are many people employed by House Martell in Sunspear.They attend to our needs - whatever they might be. And as my guest, someone will attend to you, too.” What? “I have a confession to make.” That got your attention, but it took a few seconds for Oberyn to continue. “I have been away from home for so long that I am … worried about what will happen when I’m back in Sunspear.” 

That admission - moreso than anything else he’d said or promised - convinced you that Oberyn truly trusted you and cared for you. You had a feeling that there were very few people who ever saw the vulnerable side of the Red Viper, and even though it would have been a great tactic to use to win you over, you were certain that he wasn’t trying to do that. He’s admitting something to me that he won’t tell anyone else. 

“What are you worried about?” He wet his lips and then squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sure they won’t expect you to -” 

“As Daavos I was free to live my life however I wanted to.” He sighed. “And in Dorne, it is much the same, but with Doran’s health, I … I’m worried that I’ll be asked to immediately return to politics and be much more involved than before. I have so much to catch up on, and I don’t want to fail after I’ve already asked so much of them.” 

“Oberyn, they’re going to give you time to adjust to being home.” You stroked his beard, shaking your head. “They have to. All of the news you’ve gotten has been secondhand or delayed. I don’t know your family, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Leaning closer, you rested your forehead against his. “They’ll give you time. They need you. And they need you at your best.” 

His uncertainty should have shattered your image of him. Coming from anyone else, it would have diminished his reputation - put doubt into your mind about just how intimidating he was, or what he was capable of. But it doesn’t. It makes me … respect him more. 

“You barely know me and you have so much faith in me. Why?” 

“Because you’re the Red Viper of Dorne.” Backing away to meet his eyes, you said his name. “Because you fought a mountain of a man to avenge your family and walked away from a fight that no one thought you’d survive…and you did it twice.” His eyes flashed and you continued. “Because you pulled me from the Narrow Sea and helped me when you had no real reason to.”  And you’re still helping me. “You haven’t given me a reason to doubt you.”

“I lied to you. I let you think I -”

“Your name and status were a lie, but everything else was the truth.” Smiling, you shrugged. “I hope, anyway.” 

“It was. It is.” He shifted closer, one of his legs rising from the bed and bending at the knee before it settled over yours. “I told you everything about myself without revealing who I was, and all of that was true.” 

“Then let yourself enjoy going home. Your family has been waiting for two years. Ellaria has been waiting for you for two years. And I’m sure she’s going to tell you the same thing I am right now.” 

“She will.” He smiled, eyes drifting closed. “The two of you together …. I’m in trouble.” 

You wondered what he meant by that. Was it possible that he thought that you and Ellaria would become friends? Did he want that to happen? And if he does, why? You’d known that Wyllam had been with other women before you. You’d understood that some of them were from Braavos, but you’d never entertained the thought of friendship with them. Even if I knew who they were, I don’t think … 

But Oberyn and Ellaria were a different story - and their relationship was also different. You weren’t naive enough to believe that spending time with Oberyn in Dorne would be time spent between just the two of you, but you’d never actually considered that he’d want you to get to know Ellaria, too. Or if she’ll want to get to know me. 

“Oberyn?” He opened his eyes, waiting to see what you’d say. “I’m … sorry that I’ve been the way I am about… where I fit in with you and in Dorne. All of this is a surprise to me, and finding out that you’re who you are only complicates it more.” 

“It is a lot to take in.” His hand moved back down your body and came to rest just below where you were injured. “I just ask you to give it a chance before you decide that you can or cannot be a part of it.” 

It was a reasonable request. And despite the way you felt about him, and the fact that you’d never dreamed of possibly sharing a man’s attention long term with others before, the truth was that you didn’t know what would be more difficult for you: only having Oberyn in your life in a small way, or not having him there at all. 

“Sleep now. You’ve had a busy day.” He leaned in, taking a short breath before brushing his lips against yours. “And tomorrow will be even busier.” 

He was right. Even though you knew your day would be less demanding than his, it was still going to be a change from the life on the ship that you’d gotten used to over the previous weeks. “Goodnight, Oberyn.” You whispered the words, inching even closer to him so that you could tuck yourself against his chest, forehead resting against the top of his shoulder. 

You didn’t know what was going to happen once you got to Dorne. There was no way to predict what you’d feel - or what Oberyn or Ellaria would feel - once you were on land and everyone had settled in. 

But you did know that if it was the last night you’d get to fall asleep next to Oberyn, you were certainly going to make the most of it. 

— 

When you woke up the following morning, he was still in bed - but his eyes were open, and he was staring at you. He looks tired. He shouldn’t, because - “Oberyn, did you sleep?”

“No.” He blinked, chuckling. “I couldn’t.” 

“Too excited?” His laugh got louder, Oberyn’s eyes closing to show off the crow’s feet at the corners. “I didn’t think it was funny, Prince Oberyn, so -”

“I am excited. But like I said, this ship? It has been home for a long while, and I will miss it.” He let out a breath and then said your name. “And I will miss these last weeks with you, too.” His words hit you hard, but you were quick to speak, rushing your own reply out before you could give yourself too long to think about what they meant. 

“As soon as you set foot on Dornish soil, none of this will matter.” Backing away, you took a deep breath. “All you’ll feel is excitement to be back home and with the people you love.” It was easier that way - to set expectations for him, but also for yourself. “You won’t have time to miss this.” You gestured to the room with one hand, smiling at him. “And speaking of that, I wonder how close we are. I should get up and get dressed, and -”

“We have time.” Oberyn leaned in, kissing your forehead. “Plenty of it.” 

“I think that’s the first actual lie you’ve told me.” Both of you laughed, and you let yourself enjoy the closeness with him for a few moments longer before sitting up, careful of your bandaged side. “I need to get into the dress Nymeria and I chose, and it might take me a while. It’s not as straightforward as Braavosi attire.” 

“I can stay and help.” He propped himself up on one elbow, arching a brow. “I am very skilled with -”

“I need to put it on, Oberyn, not take it off.” That made him laugh again, but instead of arguing with you, he sat upright and then stood, stretching before he began the process of tightening his pants and putting his boots back on. “Should … I come to the top deck once I’m dressed? Should I bring my things? I -”

“You can leave everything.” He turned to look at you over his shoulder, nodding. “Pack it together, and someone will bring it to your room later. It will be safe here, you have my word.” Thanking him, you looked up at where he stood, watching as Oberyn turned to face you again. “But yes. Get dressed. Find something to eat. I’ll be topside. My daughters will, too.” 

He didn’t say anything else before he left the room, your eyes following him until the door shut and obscured him from view. It was a strange goodbye, and unlike any of the others he’d given you, but you figured he was just distracted by the fact that he was so close to home after so long. 

As you got out of bed and carefully packed all of your things into a small satchel, you wondered if he was beginning the process of distancing himself from you in preparation for reuniting with his family. You hoped he wasn’t. You hoped that he wouldn’t. It is a possibility, though, even if it’s temporary. 

It didn’t take as long as you expected to redress yourself in what you’d chosen. Once you got the straps and ties situated properly, you let out a slow breath. More of you was exposed than you were used to, but you still felt good in it, the soft material flowing over your skin in a way that your other attire hadn’t. You wondered if you’d have the opportunity to choose more clothing in Dorne, or if the outfit was a one time thing, meant only to impress Prince Doran and the royal council upon your first meeting. I have coin. I could probably buy … Looking down, you smoothed your hands over the fabric, smiling at the way it felt against your palms. Hmm. 

You hadn’t chosen a pair of shoes to go with it, though. So before you headed to the galley to find something to eat, you went back to the room that you and Nymeria had visited and opened a trunk, digging through it. You ended up with a comfortable pair of slippers in gold, sliding your feet into them and wiggling your toes at the freedom they afforded you. I could get used to this. 

With one last look at your boots, you bit your lip and turned away from them, heading for the door.

You were hungry but too anxious to eat anything substantial, and after grabbing a stonefruit, you headed up to the main deck, stepping out and into the sunshine. Tilting your face upward, you inhaled deeply, eyes closed. 

He’d told you that you’d still be able to hear the sea from your room in the castle, but you wondered if you’d be able to smell it, too. I’ll ask him. I - Your mind went blank as you opened your eyes and saw that the largest sail had been replaced with a new one, the Martell sigil in the center of it and unmistakably visible. 

Your heart raced at the sight, and you moved one hand to cover it, pressing your palm against your chest as you stared upward. It’s really happening. He’s going home, and he’s making an entrance. Blinking twice, you lowered your eyes and scanned the deck, looking for more changes. 

Some of the crew were wearing armor, their chests and shoulders covered in what looked like reinforced leather pieces. Others had changed from the attire you’d grown accustomed to into more flowing garments, though there were a few that had kept the casual dress that you and Oberyn had also adopted. 

You saw Obara and Nymeria first, both of them leaning against the railing on the deck up and near the wheel, their backs toward you. He can’t be far. There was a flash of yellow to your right, and when you turned to look and see what it was, you gasped, mouth hanging open. Oberyn. 

He’d changed clothes, too, and you recognized the new ones immediately. The yellow coat from the wardrobe. He strode toward you, arms swinging by his sides, and all you could do was stare. The coat reached mid-calf, and was held closed by a belt that sat low on his waist. His chest was still bared, the tanned skin visible between the panels of golden material and the slightly darker underlayer. 

But what was completely new was the thick golden chain and large pendant he wore around his neck, the metal glinting in the sunlight. You realized that the formal dress was for show, and while you understood why he’d opted to wear it as you sailed back into Dorne, you wondered what Oberyn preferred. He looks comfortable. He looks… like a prince. 

He’d wet his hair down, too, combing through the tousled curls and then pushing them away from his face, but one of them wasn’t behaving like the others. Instead, it had caught the wind and was hanging over his forehead, reminding you that even though he was dressed differently, he was still the Oberyn you’d met weeks earlier. I wonder if he’ll keep it long once we dock. I wonder if he’ll shave his face, or - 

“Dornish clothing suits you.” He stopped just in front of you, eyes moving up and down the entire length of your body. “You chose well.” 

“Nymeria helped.” You used one hand to adjust your skirt. “I think she pulled this one out because it …” You eyed his robe from up close, breath catching in your throat. Oh, Nymeria. What were you thinking? The stitching on your dress matched what was on his robe - the golden threads woven into sun shapes that were broken up by tiny spears. “It matches. Oberyn, I didn’t mean to -”

“Do not apologize.” He reached for your hand, fingers curling around yours when you took it. “I would have chosen the same one for you.” His smile widened. “Come. There is something I want to show you.” 

You let him lead you up to where Nymeria and Obara stood, both of them giving you quick glances before they turned their attention back toward the horizon. Oberyn stepped behind you as you gripped the railing with both hands, his chest flush with your back. He lifted one arm and used his finger to point ahead of you. 

It took you a few seconds to see what he was focused on, and when you did, you felt your heart skip and tears well up in your eyes, even as he used his free hand to pull you backwards and toward him, his fingers splayed over your stomach.  

“There.” He rasped the word into your ear, his voice thick. “That is Dorne. We’re almost home.” 

—  

[pocket-thrawn]

Crossing the Stars

A pretty self-indulgent fic, warming up my Thrawn writing muscles.

Thrawn x f!reader

Music swirled around you, painting dazzling notes of clear flutes and heady cellos all merging into a beautiful symphony. You smelled the fine wines and the decadent foods being passed around on silver platters by carefully dressed servants.

Despite the rich atmosphere and numerous happily chatting guests, all that filled your mind was the injustice of such rich frivolity when there remained such desperate suffering in the Galaxy. Acts of atrocity spurred on and, in some cases, encouraged by the very Empire you had to pretend to support.

Naboo was your home world, and you had fought tooth and nail to keep your people as protected from the Empire’s influence as you could. Your fellow senators had become little more than puppets dancing luridly on the end of Palpatine’s strings after the fall of the Republic. It was with a heavy heart you took up the mantle of Naboo’s senator after the last Queen had so tragically passed away.

So many uniformed individuals, your heart twisted at the sight of the Stormtroopers and Imperial officers milling around. Your own traditional dress brushed velvet against your skin as you turned and walked unhurried to a part of the grand hall that was sufficiently unoccupied.

“Oh, I do apologize.” You said, brushing against another body as you maneuvered around a rather gaudy potted plant.

“It is quite alright.”

You turned your head to offer the gentleman a commiserating sort of look at the state of affairs here, yet the small smile froze upon your face. Your eyes widened slightly, knowing immediately the identity of the blue-skinned alien you’d carelessly knocked into.

“Grand Admiral.” You said, fluidly moving to an appropriate distance from the Chiss.

Thrawn looked down upon you, a small tensing of his lips the only indicator of his amusement. “It seems you already know who I am. I would be remiss not to ask for your identity miss…”

“Erys.” The false name you’d created rolled easily off your tongue as you politely extended your hand, unsure if he would take it. “Senator and representative of Naboo and her people.”

Thrawn did indeed take your hand and shook once before relinquishing it. You noticed immediately how unusually warm his skin was against yours. “Grand Admiral Thrawn, of the Imperial Navy. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, however abrupt in nature.”

“Yes…” You pulled your skirts fully off the offending plant and gave it an aggrieved glance. “Again, sorry about that.”

Thrawn simply gave a small smile. His glowing red eyes unnerving in the emotionless quality they lent.

“Enjoying the gala?” You ventured, feeling obligated to keep the conversation going. You were almost on auto-pilot at this point, going through the motions of a political representative.

“Not entirely.” Thrawn’s smooth voice was almost hypnotic, you found yourself leaning in to hear better as he cast a look around the crowded room. “I am of far better use on the command deck of the Chimaera.”

“Your Star Destroyer, of course.” Something in your voice must have betrayed your disdain for the Imperial vessels because Thrawn’s piercing gaze flicked back to your face.

“Indeed.”

“You had art specially commissioned for the body of your ship, correct?”

“I’m surprised you are aware of my personalization.” Thrawn seemed to be growing ever more interested in this banter.

You chuckled, making sure to not make excessive eye contact with him. You didn’t want gossiping whispers following you back to Naboo. “I’m not sure there’s anyone who doesn’t know of it.” You met his eyes again, he was making no such tactful attempts. “It’s quite the statement.”

“There’s little about me that isn’t.” Thrawn intoned, drawing a surprised chuckle from you. “May I ask after the nature of your clothing?” He continued, hands tightly clasped behind his back and yet his gaze almost felt corporeal on your person as he studied you.

You swallowed a little thickly through your nerves. The points of brighter red you guessed served as Thrawn’s pupils followed the movement of your throat as you spoke. “Yes, of course.”

Thrawn held up a quelling hand for a moment, smiling politely. “I do not wish to impose my presence if unwanted.” It seemed he wished to clarify his intentions. “The conversation you lend is proving to be the most tolerable of this evening.”

You gave him a dubious look. “I get the impression that’s not saying much.”

He chuckled, short and quiet, but yet an actual expression of mirth from a man rumored to be implacable and cold at all times. “No, you are quite correct.”

“Still…” You decided to capitalize on this congenial moment. “I thank you for the compliment. My dress, as you already suggested, is fashioned after the regal regalia of my home world.”

“Excellent play on words.” Thrawn turned his body fully to face you and despite yourself, you did the same. “Please, continue.”

You explained the meaning behind the colors and the artistry woven into the fabric of your dress and hair ornaments. Thrawn listened with rapt attention, seeming to genuinely be interested in your every word. You couldn’t tell if it was simply politeness on his part, in a desire to be distracted from the endless chatter of political machinations around you. Yet as you spoke and he prompted you from time to time, you felt the tension between you slowly ease and drop into an easy companionship.

“Your planet has quite a rich history.” Thrawn said, inclining his head politely when you’d finished speaking. “My condolences on the passing of your late senator.”

Your lips pursed, lingering melancholia tugging at your heart. “She was the best of us.”

Thrawn was silent for a moment, his mouth turning slightly downward in thought. “You strike me as an intelligent and capable individual, you will do well.”

“What of you?” You asked the question that’d been burning in the back of your mind since bumping into him. “Where are you from? What brought you to serve the Empire?”

“A story, perhaps, for another time.” Thrawn said, giving you a smile to indicate he wasn’t offended by your prying.

“It’s quite unusual to see someone non-human to rise within the ranks of the Empire, and so quickly too.” You mused. “Though I am sure you’ve heard such a sentiment quite a lot.”

Thrawn nodded slowly. “Indeed, I have.”

You wanted to ask so many questions but got the sense he was not open to answering them.

“You are not fond of the Empire.” Thrawn said, it wasn’t a question, and it caught you off guard.

“I…whatever gave you that impression?” It was near impossible to keep the irony out of your voice. You clasped your hands behind your back, mirroring his posture, suddenly careful. Amidst the ease of your light banter, you’d forgotten just what Thrawn was and who he served.

Thrawn studied you silently for several seconds. “It is quite evident. Whenever you speak mention the Empire or look at the Officers in this very hall, the distaste is clear upon your visage.”

“You’ve been scrutinizing my ‘visage’ hm?” You asked coyly, deflecting.

“Indeed. Am I correct?”

You hesitated, your shoulders tensing as you looked around the room for a ready excuse to exit this suddenly uncomfortable encounter. You got the sense that it was no use lying to this Chiss man. You gave a terse nod. “Yes.”

“May I ask why?” Thrawn was unlike any Imperial you’d heretofore encountered. He had proven to be polite and respectful, even though you were a senator; a position that drew disdain and condescension from the majority of Palpatine’s servants. You felt like you could open up to Thrawn, which might have been his game all along, there was no real way of knowing.

The fact he would ask your reasons for disliking the Empire surprised you into answering. “There are aspects that I do not agree with, the utter abolishment of democracy being one of them.”

“It has not been abolished as of yet.” Thrawn intoned, lowering his soft voice so you could not be overheard. “The Senate remains, you are proof of this.”

“We are little more than puppets, extensions of Palpatine’s will. And the Senate, as it remains, is slowly being dissolved.”

Thrawn listened to your words, he didn’t argue back. Again, surprising you.

He waited, so you continued. “I don’t condone slavery or the rape of worlds for their resources, displacing millions of people from their homes.” Your words lapsed as you became dangerously close to speaking treason.

“I will not say the Empire is perfect.” Thrawn’s voice remained gentle, no condemnation coloring his words. “However, it is stronger than the Republic, more capable of protecting the Galaxy.”

“I won’t argue that the Republic was perfect.” You rubbed anxiously at your neck before folding your hands politely in front of you. “However a totalitarian regime that relies on fear to govern isn’t the answer.”

“Yes, I had heard rumor the senator from Naboo was quite vocal in her political stance.” Thrawn murmured, his hand found the small of your back causing you to jolt slightly. “Come, peruse the gallery with me.”

Intrigued and not wishing to draw more eyes than had been already, you allowed the Grand Admiral to gently guide you out of the crowded gala hall and into a more secluded marble corridor. Your footsteps echoed as you walked together in silence, Thrawn’s hand no longer at your back.

“After you, please.” Thrawn opened the glass door and bowed slightly as you passed.

You instantly noticed the plush carpet beneath your thin shoes and sighed in relief at the ease it gave your aching feet.

“Yes, a much more comfortable setting. One I quite prefer to political decadence.” Thrawn said behind you, and you turned to see him calmly observing a vivid oil painting framed by the door.

“You did mention your fondness for art.” You joined him and looked at the splash of color that made little sense to you.

“I am equally fond of truth.” Thrawn glanced sideways, you could feel the burning of those red eyes upon you like a weight before he shifted his attention back to the painting again. “What do you see upon this canvas?”

“A…lot of color all thrown together.” You said, mildly peeved, you folded your arms across your chest. “It’s quite an abstract piece.”

“Indeed.” Thrawn turned to face you more fully, causing you to step back on instinct. “To me it describes chaos, anger perhaps, a purposeful lack of care to hide the true meaning beneath.”

“You know…” You remained poised and standing straight, your shoulders back as you inclined your chin to look up at him. “It is very impressive what you can sense from someone’s art, or what they’ve named as art. However, I will remind you that art is up to the viewer’s interpretation. You cannot draw concrete conclusions from art the way you can from the sciences.”

A small smile tugged the corner of Thrawn’s mouth, it gave a self-satisfied impression. As if you’d said exactly what he’d expected. “Very astute, senator Erys. And almost entirely correct. However, even with art, there are certain patterns that become predictable as one studies the nature of sentient beings, particularly humans.”

You arched a brow. “Such as what, may I ask?”

“Emotion.” Thrawn said, leveling his glowing gaze at you. “I would suggest art is always produced by the emotion of its creator. That is why, to understand an adversary or an ally one must study all aspects of their culture, including their art.”

“Which am I, adversary or ally?” You asked, unable to help yourself, even as your hands clenched briefly.

Thrawn smiled and shook his head slightly. “I do not yet know, senator.” His smile faded as he lent down more into your space. “There are many rumors surrounding you, however I know firsthand how such gossip can be entirely inaccurate. For this reason, I am giving you one opportunity to tell me the truth.”

“The truth?” Your heart dropped like a stone; your hands became clammy as you realized how you’d walked right into his trap. The tilt of his head indicated he’d read and recognized all your reactions as the dread coiled within you.

“About yourself, and the organizations you are affiliated with.” Thrawn said softly, his every muscle holding very still, like a spider in its web. “Now, shall we start from the beginning?”

[merotwst]

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!!!

DEADLINE EXTENDED TO JUNE 10!!!

IMPORTANT NOTE: hello everyone! happy may! i recently did a poll asking whether you guys would prefer a raffle over a contest. and contest won! i'll be hosting a writing AND drawing contest and my friends @cvlutos and @cleumuu will be helping me judge the entries! please keep in mind, this is my frist time hosting any sort of event like this so if you see any mistakes or anything out of place, i apologize! let me know and i'll get it resolved. im constantly looking for ways to improve so please be gentle and kind. this is only my small contribution to the jamil kissers and enjoyers and i want to bring a little bit of fun to the creative twisted wonderland community! reblogs are greatly appreciated for this post! now, onto the details! click on read more to expand the post.

FANART SUBMISSIONS OPEN!!!

written entries masterlist

a masterlist will be created for all the works (separate art and writing) and will be featured in my blog! thank you for ur patience with me and we look forward to your entries! have fun!!!

original pinned here

[unfortunate17]

A lil fic about Wille following Simon out after the "on the table" scene about Felice in Season 2

There are footsteps behind him, quick and sharp. 

There is blood roaring in his ears, nose burning from the humiliating hurt that’s no doubt splayed across his face for all to see. 

Simon rounds the corner, ducks under an archway, and tries to make himself as small as possible. The shadows in this little corner of hell are deep and he allows himself to sink into the blackness for a single, blissful moment. 

The footsteps at the end of the hall, pause, halting, like they’re not sure what their next move should be. 

The reality of his situation is sobering: Wilhelm’s hands on someone else. Those lovely, brown eyes trained on another, gentle fingers holding them close as he smiles into a kiss. 

Simon’s stomach lurches. 

“Simon?”

He clenches his eyes shut, hard enough that color bursts across the back of his eyelids.

The footsteps draw closer and Simon sinks to the floor, knees curling into his chest in defense. 

“Leave me alone.” The words sound too much like a plea for his liking. 

“Can we talk?”

Simon swallows down the wet clutch of tears in his throat, buries his face in his knees. “What’s there to talk about?”

He feels Wille slide down the wall to take a seat beside him, the heat of his body a tantalizing edge of desire. Simon wants to press into him, lean on him, demand that Wille assure him that everything was going to be okay. 

“Are you okay?” One of Wille’s hands lands on his back and Simon jerks away like he’s been burned. 

Simon lifts his head, scrapes his soul for all the anger he can muster. “It would’ve been nice to have a heads up, you know,” he spits, “about Felice. Really nice to hear that at lunch.”

Wilhelm shrinks at the venom in his words. He twists to face forward, stretches out his legs. His face is stoic, though, pale and hard in a way that Simon has never really been privy to. It makes panic claw up his chest and dig nails into his throat. 

For a heartbreakingly hopeful moment, Simon thinks Wille is going to apologize. 

And then, Wilhelm scoffs. He picks absentmindedly at the skin of his fingers. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

Something in Simon’s chest crumbles. He wonders briefly if it’s possible to die of heartbreak. “You’re right,” he manages, “it’s not. I’m sorry.” His eyes are welling alarmingly quickly and Simon blinks rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “Can you leave me alone now?”

But Wilhelm is stubborn if nothing else. His jaw tightens resolutely. “So you can have a boyfriend behind my back, but I’m not even allowed to try and move on?”

Simon closes his eyes. “Wille,” he begs quietly, “please leave.”

“I don’t think so,” Wille shakes his head, gets to his feet. He’s breathing hard, Simon notes with a kind of numb concern, “Do you know how fucking unfair this is? You don’t get to make me feel like I did anything wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Simon tells him miserably. “I’m just being a fucking idiot. Is that what you want to hear?” 

“Fuck you, you have a boyfriend.”

Simon looks up at him for a long moment. Wille’s shoulders are wound tight with hurt, heavy with whatever godforsaken title he’s been made to carry. He thinks of standing across from Wilhelm behind his house all those weeks ago. 

You need to figure out what you want, he’d demanded then, so brave and stoic, as if all of Sweden hadn’t heard him beg for Wille to love him. To choose him. To want him with even a fraction of the sincerity Simon feels for him. 

Wilhelm could live in a palace of solid gold for all he cared as long as he came to visit Simon in whatever rundown apartment he could afford. He could be prince, king, wizard, warlock, as long as they could spend languid afternoons and evenings together, basking in their love.

He wonders if Wille had heard what he’d been trying to really say. Figure out what you want, figure out how to fix things, then come be with me.

He wonders now, if any of it even matters. 

Wilhelm thinks Simon has a boyfriend. A boyfriend that isn’t him. 

The idea is laughable. 

It doesn’t stop him, however, from twisting the knife. “At least Marcus accepts me for who I am. He wants to take me out, he likes it when I sing – ” 

It’s the wrong thing to say. 

Wille’s eyes flash with a kind of anger that Simon has never seen directed at him. “And I don’t?”

The ferocity of the statement is enough for Simon to fall silent. 

Wille turns in a half circle, rubs at his mouth. The laugh that escapes him then is a bitter, hollow thing. “In that case, at least Felice likes me for who I am.”

Simon jerks. For a moment he thinks Wilhelm has struck him, has reached out and kicked him in the ribs, knocking the very air from his lungs. Silence crests between the two of them as, finally, the first of Simon’s tears begin to spill over, streaking twin tracks of despair across his cheeks. 

“Is that what you think?” Simon asks quietly. He needs to get to his feet, needs to dry his face, needs to gather whatever shreds of dignity that he still has. “That I don’t – that I didn’t love you?”

Wille’s mouth trembles, something raw and unreadable pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean that.” 

He reaches out a hand, and Simon takes it, exhausted beyond belief. He lets Wilhelm pull him to his feet, pull him a step closer, pull him into his chest. 

“I didn’t mean it, Simon, I swear. I promise I didn’t mean it.”

The words are pressed into the crown of his head, warm hands rubbing up and down his back. Simon clutches him in return, buries his face in Wilhelm’s shoulder and simply allows himself to breathe. The sweater under his pillow is but a poor imitation to this. It doesn’t capture the full dimension of what it feels like to be held by Wilhelm, the way he nuzzles Simon closer with a hand at the nape of his neck, the way his chest stutters with uneven breathing. 

Simon noses up Wille’s neck, presses a kiss to his cheek, and relishes the way he shivers from the contact. 

“I pretended she was you.”

Simon laughs wetly. “Don’t tell her that.”

“No, I’m definitely going to tell her that.”

Simon shakes his head, rests his cheek on Wille’s shoulder. “It’s so unfair,” he tells him, “that you get walked in on with her and it’s all like – but when it was us – ”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Simon shrugs, “it’s just how it is.”

“I’ll do something about it. I promise.”

“Okay.”

Wille peers at him. “Do you trust me?”

Simon curls closer. “Yeah, Wille, I trust you.” 

Wille kisses his forehead, the motion warming Simon down to his very toes. “It was better with you,” he confesses then, a teenage boy’s honesty. 

Despite everything, Simon smiles, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” a pause, “everything’s better with you.”

And perhaps, all was not lost after all.     

[ketrin1607]

(The concept of a set for an idea in different clothes: sleeping), combat and palace. And the concept of Horus Senior: only sleeping and combat. The palace is not required in the plot)

I read a book on comic book creation at my leisure. There is a good idea there - if perfectionism torments, you can postpone a more important project/ comic for a while, so that the inner "critic" calms down and stops trying so hard to sort everything out. Instead of the main story, you can switch to a more secondary project that you would like to draw after the main story. I thought it would suit me perfectly)

The first comic, Fiasco, is more complex in genre, it will be based on drama with a dash of fantasy, since the basis is mythology, and only a small part of comedy, to defuse the atmosphere. But the second project that I would like to do is based on a comedy with fantasy, without drama. This project would be more suitable for a start. Maybe you should still try to draw it and not really worry about plot arcs, as now with "Fiasco", where there are quite a lot of characters, come up with a simple plot and work with only one main character?

Earlier I wrote about an idea, where the plot revolves not around some kind of community, as in the "Fiasco" around exorcised demons, but around one hero, on whom the focus of attention will be Set. The idea is as follows:

What if the god of war Seth, under circumstances unknown to him and the viewer, is killed, and thus falls into the world of the dead - Duat. In the Duat, the local master will not be Osiris, but the god of chaos and darkness Apop (where else would the god of darkness be, if not underground? The sun just doesn't reach there), who "sharpens his teeth" at Seth, since in mythology Seth used to fight against Apop on the side of Ra, the enemy of Apop. But despite the mutual dislike of both, they will make a temporary alliance to get out of the Duat. Apop will allow Seth to get out of the world of the dead by "borrowing" his power/Ka go and look for the killer. In exchange, Seth must help Apop in capturing Egypt and overthrowing Ra (without a body, Apop cannot get out of the Duat).

The main storyline will be Seth's confrontation with part of Ra's retinue in order to maintain power in Egypt, otherwise Apop will return him back to the Duat. And the secondary one is Seth's search for his killer. It would be possible to make this line the main one, but given how the god of chaos and wars will rule, other gods will want to get rid of him for such a rule)

This logline / tie can be submitted in the genre of comedy, with an admixture of fantasy, adventure and a little detective. The mood and atmosphere of the comic can be set, as in the cartoon "The Emperor's Adventure". I recently reviewed it and thought exactly this mood would be perfect for a parody comic) Plus one of my friends noted that my character style, because of the sharp corners, is somewhat similar to this cartoon)

The main source of jokes is to make gags and parodies of the "Ennead" manga (in principle, because of its reading, such an idea was born), ridiculing logical inconsistencies in it. To make it not a simple copy, add your own plot, although simpler. Not with as many twists and turns as in the Ennead.

Alas, I do not know if Mojito is writing the script herself. Does she write it alone, did she write it in advance and draw a comic based on it, or does she come up with everything along the way. But despite my dislike of the main genre of the Ennead, I want to take off my hat) If she taught her own script writing courses, I would be happy to sign up)) If I had to spell out all the conflicts and character plans for each other, like Mojito, my head would explode)

I apologize for the abundance of text, but I find it difficult to give short descriptions) I would like to know the opinion from the outside - does the idea of the plot of such a comic book sound interesting? The theme of the parody? In advance about the rating, despite the age rating of the Ennead, I still will not draw such explicit shots, respectively, and a parody based on it will not go further than 16+.

[slytherheign]

WORTH THE PAIN | tasm!peter parker

PART 4/5 OF WORTH: THE SERIES.

PAIRING: tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

SUMMARY: trusts are broken and tensions rise as everyone’s secrets start to reveal themselves.

WARNINGS: sexual assault, character death, manipulation, stalking, cursing, violence, and canon-typical injuries. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: 17+]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: please remember that this is fan fiction and so some characters here will not act exactly the same way as their original material. this is my own twist and take of those characters.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO TO SERIES MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

"Peter, please calm down,” Charlene pleaded with worry evident in her tone.

To say that the apartment was a mess would be an understatement. 

Peter spent the last 15 minutes frantically trying to find his missing phone while Charlene tried to calm him down. Carlos merely stared at the mess, completely frozen. It was the first time the couple had seen Peter like this. And him crawling around the place with his spider-like abilities made the situation more intense.  

“Oh, for the love of Go–PETER!” she bellowed. Peter stopped for a moment, glancing at her before going back to making a mess. Charlene had enough; she knew Peter was not in his right state of mind, and panicking would not help them make any progress on the case. She slightly nudged Carlos for help, but her partner was glued to his place, still shocked by the sudden change in Peter’s behavior. 

And to think that all it took was a name for Peter to behave like this.

“Peter, please,” she tried once again. “We can’t draw conclusions immediately. I know you’re really worried about her right now, but we have to be smart about all of this.”

Carlos seemed to be back on track. “She’s right. Come on, Parker. Let’s talk about what you know first, and then we’ll worry about your phone later, okay?”

Peter stopped all at once, drawing a long, shaky sigh. They were right. He had to calm down. He turned around, facing the couple, only to see them staring at what was once their living room. Confused, he followed their line of vision only to see the chaotic result of his trance earlier.

Every single cabinet door was open, with the stuff inside disorganized. The center table, its centerpiece, and the books Charlene kept under it were also not spared. And the couch… well… the pillows were out of their pillowcases, which were now on the floor along with the cushions. To keep things short, the room was not looking good.

“Shit–sorry,” he apologized, feeling embarrassed. How could he let himself act like that?

“We’ll fix it later,” Charlene reassured him. Peter looked at her like she had grown a second head. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she smiled, a hint of sadness in her voice that did not go unnoticed by her husband. Carlos knew damn well why Charlene was so kind and understanding to Peter, and it made him feel a little sad for his wife. “So, what do you know?” she asked Peter.

“Y/N works at a marketing company, and she once mentioned her HR manager was named ‘Mitch.’ If I’m correct, Mitch is Mitchell Gargan, who just happens to work at Greta Marketing Co.”

“That makes sense. But again, he’s innocent until proven guilty. We need proof that it’s really him. Besides, there’s also his twin… Mac Gargan. MG could be him,” Carlos added.

“Where’s Mitch now?” Charlene asked.

“I don’t know,” Peter’s shoulders slumped. He was beginning to think that maybe he wasn’t much help to them. He desperately wanted to help more, but even his knowledge was limited. And because the case was extremely personal to him, he wasn’t exactly the best person to lead the team. He was left with one last option now: to let Charlene and Carlos lead the entire thing.

“Then let’s start with who we know. Mac Gargan. You said he was hired by Jonah Jameson, right?” Carlos asked.

He nodded. “A private investigator hired to inspect me. But I have no idea where he is now.”

“That may be true,” Charlene started to think of another way, “but we know where Jameson is.”

“There we go. A starting point,” Carlos agreed. “Let’s start planning.”

DAYS LATER.

“I still have no idea how we got past the guards so fast,” Carlos mumbled. The three were walking down the hallways inside the Daily Bugle building.

“We’re in New York. People don’t really care about you as long as you look decent. Plus, the fake IDs helped a lot, too,” Charlene retorted. The married pair wore security guard outfits, their fake IDs stapled on the chest pockets. 

“Remember the plan,” Peter reminded them. He was wearing his usual outfit with glasses and his camera. He didn’t need to wear a disguise. He had worked here before as a photographer, and some people still recognized him enough to let him in. He brought a fake ID, too—an edited and updated one to make it seem that the company decided to hire him again.

The plan was simple. Carlos would look out from the first floor, round the halls, and check the people who got in and out from the entrance. They had memorized Mac’s face before leaving the apartment, and Carlos was in charge of checking if that particular face entered or left the building. Charlene would accompany Peter to the 7th floor, but she would stay outside Jameson’s office, looking out for whoever or whatever hindered their plan. Lastly, Peter would enter Jameson’s office, ask him where Mac Gargan was, and leave once it was answered. He hoped there would not be a need for interrogation or threats but only a simple answer to their simple question.

However, Peter and the word ‘simple’ never had a good relationship. Jameson did not care that Peter was in the room. In fact, he mindlessly believed Peter’s story and didn’t even get suspicious that the company decided to hire him back. But as soon as Peter asked the question, Jameson was quick to reach towards the telephone and call security, only for Peter to grab it first and cut the wires with the scissors he found atop his desk.

“Do you know where Mac Gargan is?” he repeated.

Silence.

Jameson suddenly stood up and decided to run out of his office, yelling for security to get Peter out of the building. Unfortunately for him, Charlene was waiting on the other side and caught him before he could even get past the door. She pushed the man back inside the room; this time, she stayed inside the room and decided to join Peter in handling him.

Once Jameson knew that he had no chance against the tough woman, he stopped resisting and faced Peter—only to see that it was now the Spider-Man in front of him. Unbeknownst to them, when Charlene was struggling to get Jameson back inside the room, Peter took the opportunity to put the Spider-Man suit on. If being Peter was not intimidating enough for him to answer, then he was sure that being Spider-Man would do just the job. He wasn’t scared that Jameson knew his identity now because the information he had on Jameson relating to Scorpion would threaten him enough not to speak about his real identity to the media.

“You’re Spider-Ma—” Jameson could not believe that the answer to the mystery he had been trying to solve for years was right in front of him. It made sense to him now. The reason Peter had so many interesting shots of Spider-Man was because they were one.

“Look, I’m not gonna repeat this again,” Peter started slowly, “where the fuck is Mac Gargan?”

Jameson was scrambling through his mind on ideas how to escape the man in front of him. It was evident that he was feeling uneasy. It seemed that the mere thought of Spider-Man knowing that he had something to do with Scorpion was intimidating him. 

“I have no idea who Mac Gargan is,” he tried to play dumb, but Peter had enough of his bullshit.

“C’mon, man,” he scoffed. “We all know that’s bullshit. Remember when you hired him to investigate me before?”

Silence.

“Alright. Let’s change the question, then. Where the fuck is Scorpion?” he was staring daggers at the man. If looks could kill, Jameson would already be buried 6 feet underground right at the moment.

“What do you want?” 

“For you to let us know where Scorpion is. It’s really that simple.”

“I don’t know,” he stepped backwards as soon as he saw Peter grabbing the scissors again.

“You don’t know?” Peter mocked him, walking towards him at a slow but threatening pace. “Really?”

Carlos, on the other hand, realized that he was not making progress just walking down the halls and looking at people’s faces. He decided to go against the plan and went straight to the room where they monitored the cameras in and out of the building. Thank God that he did though, because as soon as he entered the room, he saw a glimpse of his wife and Peter in his suit at Jameson’s room interrogating the man. He had to do something and act on this fast, but the problem was two guards were monitoring the cameras. Thankfully, one was sleeping, and the other was distracted by playing Candy Crush on his cell phone. It wasn’t hard for him to convince them to leave the room.

“Hey, man! Why don’t you all rest for a bit? I think I saw a couch there outside. I’ll go watch over these,” Carlos suggested happily.

“Are you sure? Wait—I haven’t seen you before,” one guard stopped in his tracks.

“Oh! I forgot to introduce myself,” he replied. “I’m new here, sorry–I just noticed you getting bored and your friend here sleeping and thought you might want some rest, you know? I’m Carl, by the way,” he smiled.

“Well, Carl,” the guard tapped his shoulder, “we’ll accept that offer. I’m Chip,” Chip nudged his friend to wake him up, “Dale, let’s go.”

Carlos smiled while the two left the room, muttering ��thanks’ on their way out. As soon as they left, he wasted no time and manipulated the footage. This was all he could do for now, deleting and manipulating all footage of the three of them being suspicious. He prayed Peter and his wife would be done the moment Chip and Dale returned.

Jameson still managed to stand his ground despite being terrified of him, but Peter knew he would soon break. “So?” he taunted, playing with the scissors by spinning them around his finger.

They soon played a staring game that neither wanted to lose. That was until Peter threw the scissors just inches above his head, and Jameson finally broke. “Wa-wait! Fine! Mac is in my basement. He’s staying at my house. I-in the b-basement,” Jameson had his two hands up in surrender.

“I have a feeling that’s not the only thing you know,” Peter pushed. Jameson stared at him—almost begging. But Peter had no intentions of backing down. He flicked his hands, webbing the door handle and the windows shut. If it wasn’t clear to Jonah before that there won’t be any chance of escaping the circumstance, it was clear as air to him now. “Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you everything when w-we get t-there,” he bargained. 

“Lead the way,” said Charlene as she cleaned up the webs Peter had so graciously put on almost everything. Meanwhile, Peter took the opportunity to put away the suit and dress as an employee yet again. On the other hand, Carlos was still monitoring the cameras, observing their every move. As soon as he saw the three exit the building, he made sure to corrupt the footage before leaving and following the other three.

Jameson was a fucking maniac. He had to be—because no sane person would keep a lab underneath their house. Oh, and to make things even worse, a large glass cylinder cell stood in the middle—and alas, Scorpion was inside it. 

Peter observed the passed-out entity before immediately turning to Jameson. “Explain. Now,” he demanded.

“MacDonald Gargan,” Jameson pointed at Scorpion. “When he failed to find out how you obtained those Spider-Man pictures years ago, I decided to hire him as a subject of an experiment. I wasn’t alone. With the help of Dr. Farley Stillwell, the goal was to give him the beneficial traits of a certain animal—a scorpion. We were aiming to create someone powerful enough to be capable of defeating Spider-Man. Defeating you.

“But the mutagenic treatment was too much for him; it began to affect his mind. The entire process was barely tested. We should’ve known it would happen.”

“How long ago was this experiment?” asked Charlene.

“3 years ago. Right after he failed to do the initial job we hired him for.”

“If this was years ago, why is he only attacking now?”

“Stillwell and I spent the majority of time developing the mutagenic treatment. We had no means to test it, so we just went with our guts to continue developing and developing until we thought it was perfectly done. And then, not until weeks ago, I remembered this guy right here,” he glanced at Mac. “I remembered this man and how eager he was to prove himself to anyone. So I decided to call him up and hire him for a new job. And because he had failed me before, he was so eager to prove himself to me and accepted instantly.

“For a while, everything was going well. We believed it worked. And it did work—only it made him insane. Stillwell and I tried to contain him, but we failed. The next thing we knew, he was on the news attacking a neighborhood. So Stillwell and I created this cell—one that’s strong enough to contain him—and with the help of some trusted friends, we were able to lure him inside. But we lost people in the process.”

“You mentioned ‘trusted friends’, who are they?” Carlos asked. Jameson was skeptical to answer. These ‘trusted friends’ were highly important and powerful people who could kill him at any moment if he decided to reveal their identity. But at the same time, he knew that these three people were no different. They may not come in many numbers, but he knew that Spider-Man and his two friends could also kill him. He had no other choice.

He sighed exasperatedly. “They’re really powerful people. Some people are from the government, the military, the media, the news, and the police. It’s a secret group that wants to kill Spider-Man. They cover up the mess that Stillwell and I make.”

Carlos and Charlene eyed each other. If what Jameson said was true, some of their colleagues at the station were a part of this secret group too.

“You haven’t talked about his suit. Can we remove it? Maybe make him weaker by removing it?” Peter asked this time.

“No,” Jameson shook his head. “He’s stuck in the suit. You can’t remove it, he can’t remove it, we can’t remove it. Mac and his suit are permanently bonded.”

“How long has he been contained here?”

“He’s been in here since his first attack.”

Now, everyone was confused.

“If he's been here since the first attack, and the first attack was back in the neighborhood, then who did I fight on that street?” asked Peter.

“Why can’t the city cameras see him? He always disappears,” asked Carlos.

“What happened to Dr. Stillwell? Where is he now?” asked Charlene.

“Dead,” a hoarse voice spoke from the cell. In an instant, Carlos and Charlene’s guns were raised and pointed at him. “Stillwell is dead. I killed him when they contained me here,” Mac smirked.

Peter, being the one who fought Scorpion on that street, was the only one in the room who realized that his voice was different from the Scorpion he had fought before.

Mitch was starting to make you uncomfortable. 

When you started your day and decided it was time to visit the Greta Marketing Co. building in the country, he started to ramble and admitted that work would not begin until next week.

You were not aware of that.

He then went on to say that the reason he had you leave New York a week early was to get you used to the country and the new environment. He even showed you a list of activities to do for a week with him before starting work next week.

That alone was already suspicious. But you still gave him a chance. Maybe he meant well, you thought.

Only he didn’t. Little did you know, everything would turn even worse. And spending a couple of days more with him would prove it.

Mitch has changed. He was not the same person you knew. Or maybe you never knew him all along.

It started with weird glances. 

The plan was to take a week-long tour to see the famous tourist spots in the country. You must admit, it was pretty exciting. There was so much fun in discovering cultures and getting enlightened by their traditions. Mitch glanced at you every once in a while, but you let it go. You thought that he was just checking up on you.

Which turned to staring.

He was definitely not just checking up on you. You realized that when you noticed it took him at least 4 minutes to get his eyes away from you. You knew because you felt it every time. He was also eyeing you up and down and checking you out.

Which then turned to forcing you into holding hands with him.

He would try to hold your hand and intertwine his fingers with yours. Of course, every time, you would reject it, but that never stopped him as he still kept on trying it every moment you two were in a room—which was every fucking moment because he simply would not leave you alone.

And now, stalking.

You were able to convince him to take the third day off by yourself. At first, he was hesitant to let you wander off alone, but you eventually got him to let you go. You went to the Greta Marketing building once and for all, to ask some questions about your new position and inquire about the adjustments you need to make to get settled. However, along the way, you started to sense that someone was following you. When you turned around, you were able to get a glimpse of someone with a white shirt and khaki pants behind a utility pole texting or pretending to text someone on their phone. You decided to let it go for a while; you didn’t want to immediately point fingers. What if that man was just a normal guy going to work and stopping to rest on a pole to text his family or friend? Besides, he was gone after you crossed a road.

You were fucking pissed when you left the building—you couldn’t believe what you just discovered. Suddenly, you found Mitch running towards you as soon as you stepped out of the exit. He was breathing heavily but you couldn’t care less. “What happened to you?” you asked.

“I just ran,” he answered. 

“Why?” 

“I-uh–well-uh, it’s not important,” he shook his head. “Did you go in there? Who did you speak to? What did they tell you?”

You debated on whether to tell him the truth or lie. You decided to lie, just as he did to you. 

He lied. He fucking lied. That’s why you were pissed the moment you left the building. There was a branch of Greta Marketing in Japan—that part was true—but they did not need you. You were made aware of that the moment you went there and asked for your position.

“I just spoke with the receptionist. The person I was hoping to talk to wasn’t there, so I didn’t get to know anything,” you lied. Mitch let out a breath of relief he tried to hide with a yawn. He thought you didn’t notice, but you certainly did.

And that wasn’t the only thing you noticed. You observed his outfit. He was wearing a white shirt with khaki pants.

“Let’s go back to our apartment?” he offered his hand.

You were disgusted, but you hid it with a smile. You had a plan. “Sure.”

You immediately went straight to the bathroom after entering your apartment. He joked about how you were so desperate for a pee, and you faked a laugh, saying it was because you were holding it in for quite some time. 

You didn’t pee. What you actually did was open your phone and try to book the soonest flight back to New York. You were hoping there was a flight today so you could leave as early as possible, but luck was unfortunately not on your side as you discovered that the last flight from New York to Japan and vice versa was actually yesterday. So you instead booked the next one. It was tomorrow. You flushed the toilet before leaving the bathroom.

And the waiting game began—only one more day.

“Do you know someone named Mitchell Gargan?” asked Peter.

Mac Gargan chuckled hoarsely. “My twin brother.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Everything.”

“Go ahead then,” Peter dared.

“Mitch and I used to be inseparable. We played the same games as children, watched the same cartoons, went to the same school and stuff, even fell in love with the same girl once—you know, the usual twin things. We were partners in crime. We protected each other, we cared for each other, and we lifted each other up. But everything changed when our mother died, and we were left to live with our father. We were still in school at that time, Mitch wanted to be a scientist and I wanted to be a detective or an investigator.

“We were always at the top of the class but he has always been the smarter one. That’s why he always excelled in his subjects. He was forced to stop it, though, because our father wasn’t very into the idea of science. He didn’t believe in any of the science shit and did not want to support Mitch in his dream of becoming a scientist, so he didn’t have any choice but to pursue a business-related course. He started changing after that. He rarely talked to me and started being reclusive. He always preferred to be alone and would only get out of his bedroom when it was time to eat. Our father didn’t care. He never fucking cared about our well-being. 

“When our father died, Mitch started talking to me again, but he was not the same. I started my investigation and discovered that he had a made-up lab in a secluded area where he was mixing chemicals and experimenting on animals. It turned out that he still continued living his scientist dreams despite not getting education for it. I let it slide. I thought that he was just doing that to compensate for the dream he would never accomplish. 

“Everything got worse when we graduated. He was jealous and angry because I graduated my dream course and he didn’t. To be fair, it was understandable that he felt that way. His way of coping was downing countless bottles of alcohol. One time when he had been drinking too much, he let it slip that he fantasized about stalking women, trapping them, and doing things to them—the worst part was he imagined that they would eventually end up dead. From the way he spoke about assault and murder in such a calm way, I didn’t recognize my twin brother anymore.

“I planned on informing the authorities about his fantasy, but I had no proof that he said it, and he then threatened me when he found out that I knew. He had a knife in my throat, threatening me that if I ever told someone he would do much more than that. That was the moment when I outsmarted him. You see, I learned my lesson that night when he was drunk, so I always wore a hidden camera just to catch him the next time we would talk. And guess what? I recorded the entire conversation of him threatening me. He was sentenced to prison, and we never talked again.”

“Is he still in jail?” Peter asked. He thought that if this Mitch was still in prison, maybe the Mitch that was with you in Japan wasn’t the same as Mitchell Gargan. It was a possibility that even Peter himself found it hard to believe in.

“No,” Mac coldly admitted.

“And how are you sure?” Carlos interrogated.

“Because the son of a bitch once paid me a visit. I thought he was going to break me out of here but no. He wanted something else.”

Peter held his hand up, causing everyone in the room to look at him. By this moment, Peter immediately knew the next words Mac would say, so he needed to act fast. He pulled Charlene and Carlos into a corner, instructing them to leave the city and get to you as soon as possible. Once the couple had left, Peter turned back to the creature behind the glass.

“What did he want?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

“The formula.”

Mac then glanced at Jameson with a knowing look. 

“He got it. And with his science background shit, I assume he was able to modify it to make him turn from human to Scorpion and from Scorpion to being human again.”

You should’ve known to run the moment he planned this entire trip and kept it a secret from you.

The moment you stepped out of the bathroom, you knew you weren’t safe anymore. Your choices were limited, and time was running out fast.

Only a day had passed, but it was excruciatingly long because Mitch started to get touchy. He was adamant about invading your privacy to the point that it was hard to pack your bags without him noticing. And every time you asked for space, he would turn the tables figuratively and make it seem that you were being impolite and ungrateful for his efforts.

So now here you were, at your shared apartment, having that same argument over again. Only this time he actually apologized. Like sincerely apologized.

Or so you thought. 

He stepped towards you, asking for a hug, which you did not want to give him at first, but he proposed a deal that if you gave him one last hug, he would be gone in your life forever. And for some reason, you agreed to do it.

Your mind has once again failed to stop your ever-kind heart as you proved to be a fool of his calculated offenses.

He was hugging you too tight, you couldn’t even breathe anymore. While his left arm was suffocating you in a hug, his other hand started to roam your body before it settled on your clothed ass and squeezed it. You froze entirely while his hand continued to feel your body until it stopped at your crotch, and he started rubbing it with his fingers.

You managed to push him away, and with all your might, you grabbed your bag under your bed and headed towards the door. You successfully passed the bedroom door, hoping to get to the main entrance as fast as possible, but you were stopped when a hand threw your whole body away from the door. You had never seen Mitch this angry and powerful before. 

Mitch was not the type of person who worked out. He was lean, tall, and he wore glasses. His hair was always a ruffled mess, and he talked in such a slow and soft cadence.

You should’ve been wiser not to let yourself be deceived by appearances.

You stood up with shaking knees and a trembling body, hoping to get through the door, but you were interrupted once more when he caught your throat with his hand. You soon found yourself getting lifted up by the throat every passing second. Your eyes were closed as you tried kicking him and scratching his arm, but he was unbelievably strong. You opened your eyes to look at what was once your friend, but you were met with the sight of him turning into the monster you saw on television.

You gathered every last bit of strength you had as you screamed as loud as you could, forcing him to release his hold of you and cover his ears. 

And you did the only thing you’ve known to do for years—whether from your problems, from threats, or from love…

You ran.

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST:  @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @writingstoraes @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20​ @the-quiet-observer

THANKS FOR PATIENTLY WAITING FOR THIS PART! SEE YOU SOON FOR THE FINALE :)

[venture-through-the-mist]

Tennotober 2024

My collection of works based on the Tennotober 2024 prompts.

Hi all! I wanted to take part in Tennotober 2024, but I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to draw 31 art pieces, so I’m doing some fics instead!

The Warframe Tennotober 2024 Prompt List can be found here: https://forums.warframe.com/topic/1412660-official-tennotober-2024-megathread/

Day 15: Wedding: Fondness Lingers, Even In Wounded Souls

The Entrati family has changed drastically, has lived through wrath and loss and pain. They will never again be who they once were, yet perhaps there is merit in who they are now, and their connections to one another — new and old alike.

TW:

Mentions of paranoia, anger issues, and other mental health issues.

Going off of the above warning, there are brief, non-graphic mentions of the canon-typical domestic abuse—mainly physical, though you might see verbal if you squint—that comes with this family, as well as the lingering emotional impacts of that.

Memory issues due to the Infestation.

Just as another note, this piece does switch from Vilcor’s POV to Gomaitru’s POV about half(ish)way through. I tried to make the transition pretty smooth so it didn’t break up the flow of the story, but I do apologize if it’s a little unclear. Also, as I’m sure y’all might’ve gathered by now, this will have spoilers for Rank 5 with the Entrati family.

With everything out of the way, the fic begins under the cut.

She’s still the woman he married.

Somewhere, locked away in the far recesses of his mind, in one of the few places that hasn’t been consumed by the Infestation that worms its way into his thoughts, is a memory. It’s muddled, faces blurred and names obscured, but it’s still mostly intact. Or, rather, the important parts are.

It was a lavish ceremony—no, it wasn’t…was it? That doesn’t sound right, somehow—, but his focus hadn’t been on the sea of experts, nor had it been on their parents—his, he manages to recall…her father was already gone by then—, no. He had paid no attention to them, to the saccharine smiles and the practiced niceties that their kind was so well known for. 

His eyes were solely on her.

Her expression had been seared into his mind, those sharp, azure eyes boring into his soul, the corner of her lip turned into the faintest hint of a smirk. The dress she wore was flawless, of course, milky-white with golden accents, and her hair had been done into a style not much different from what she normally wore, save the ceremonial rings and beads adorning it. She hated it, he remembers. She had despised taking time away from her precious research to be primped and preened like some ornamental songbird. It didn’t matter anyways. Not to him.

He would’ve married her even in peasant’s clothes.

He remembers sitting next to each other, late that night, after everyone left, after all the superficial flatteries were done with. She had scoffed at him as he placed his hand next to her own. One hand rough, calloused, its nails cut short—and cleaned of oil and other debris, for once. The other, thin—not delicate, never delicate—, with sharp angles and even sharper nails, manicured so they were flawless. Despite their differences, both were united by the thin, ornately-carved gilded bands that wrapped around their ring fingers. 

That damn ring had been a bitch to find, something that wouldn’t be cumbersome as she worked, but was adequately stunning for a being of her station. He’d eventually turned to one of his colleagues—an engineer with an odd knack for metallurgy—to create it.

The ghost of a rare, genuine smile had danced on her lips, covered by a pointed insult that he knew she didn’t truly mean.

He did love her. He still does.

That’s why it hurt so much, watching as her paranoia heightened, her descent quickened by the Infestation that stole her memories, that had twisted those which remained into something toxic.

It was easier to bear the brunt of her fury than it would’ve been to break what was left of her heart.

It was easier to pretend that he hated her.

Regrettably, a part of him wasn’t pretending for a long time. He learned from his wife, learned to do what she did, to lean into his anger—his hurt—, let it consume him. Only when their Ayatan gave them the opportunity to mend the cracks did he realize that it did no one any good to keep blaming her for everything.

One mistake doesn’t change his love for her.

Not if he doesn’t allow it to.

His wedding band is gone, lost somewhere in the Necralisk with the long-decayed remnants of his left arm. He doesn’t know if she kept hers, what with all the animosity that’s gone around. It doesn’t matter, he realizes. Those bands symbolized who they were, but they’ve all changed. Perhaps not entirely for the better, but that doesn’t make it any less true. They’re scarred, and sometimes he finds himself unsure that he feels entirely comfortable with her, after everything—his body still aches on bad days like it did all those years ago.

But they’re together.

So, he finds himself moving through the tunnels, slipping around the corner towards her post. He finds himself under the scrutiny of those piercing, ice-cold eyes—the eyes that still ignite something within him, some feeling of warmth that fights its way from beneath the weight of his scars—, as he holds out his hand to her. He hopes that he isn’t imagining the way the edges of her gaze soften slightly, her jaw relaxing just barely.

His hand hangs in the air.

Waiting.

Her husband is flawed. She knows that well. She has punished him for it countless times—the uncomfortable feeling of regret is one that she is still learning to endure—, and yet, she has only recently begun to let go of her rage in an attempt to understand. 

He had only wished to help her, in his own misguided—idiotic—way. She recognizes that now, though a part of her still does not wish to accept it. That part of her still screams of betrayals and conspiracies and plots against her. 

He will leave her. He will destroy her.

Just like all the others.

She can stop that from happening if she strikes first.

With some difficulty, she ignores the voices which threaten to send her back into her fury. She decides that, for the first time in a very long time, she will not hide behind her anger. She will no longer use it as a weapon to destroy what has finally started to mend. Her tongue will remain sharp, her words pointed like the thinnest of blades, but, she rationalizes, they are used to that. She never was a weak-willed being. One can be coarse without being cruel. It is time that she remembers how. 

She did trust him once.

Her memories have fallen prey to the Infestation—more-so than the others’, evidently—, and she finds that she is unable to recall most details from before. Whenever she seeks them out, she only finds glimpses, fragments of larger moments, the context unknown to her. 

His warm, ultramarine gaze is in more of those shards than she would care to admit.

The thin, gold band presses against her neck, hidden from view behind the larger pendant. She does not remember when she had placed it there, nor the reason why. She attempts to deny the fact that her skin prickles uncomfortably at the thought of losing it, similar to how it had burned at the thought of giving up the only connection to her father.

But that shard had never been a connection to her father at all, had it?

The ring is, however, a link to her former self. It is a link to him. 

In her darkest moments, she had contemplated tearing it from its place, discarding—destroying—the ring and thus her connection to the pathetic being that she had married. 

She knows not of why she never followed through with that thought.

She is secretly relieved that the ring remains where it is.

Her gaze narrows as he moves towards her. Suspicion and fury and disgust coil around the recesses of her mind, scratching at her thoughts, attempting to provoke her wrath once more. He holds his hand out, and something new flickers through her, winding through the negativity, forcing it to quiet. It forces her to confront her more difficult emotions. 

She still cares for him.

After a few patient moments, Gomaitru slowly takes Vilcor’s hand. Her fingers entwine with his, the callouses feeling familiar beneath her skin. His muscles are slightly tense, holding a wariness within that she doubts will disappear simply because his mind has begun to forgive her. She feels the pendant on her neck shift slightly, and notices surprise dance through his gaze, his warm eyes lingering on the strip of gold that lies behind it. She fights back the urge to snap defensively, to build up that barbed shell once more, the armor which harmed others in the interest of self-preservation.

She used to think herself incapable of regret, a mentality which nearly cost her everything.

She prides herself on her intelligence, yet it had become twisted into paranoia.

Her husband has his flaws, it is true. But, although her stomach twists uncomfortably at the admission, she is finally realizing that she does as well. As she releases her grip, huffing a remark that she knows he is aware that she does not fully mean, a tiny ember of a thought ignites amidst the hissing voice of the Infestation.

He is still the man she married.

[lychniis]

DAY ONE ;

note. tagging @xianyoon hahahaha. this is going to be fuuun.

“It’s cold.” she grunts. Rosaria draws a hand back, her gaze lidded, her lips pursed.

“Apologies.” she mutters. Aastha doesn’t seem to hear her, or care. The weather is different, different from the blinding sun in Sumeru. How did she even get here again…? She can’t quite remember. There were bits and pieces torn away and left to burn in her memory. She may as well be grasping ash now. 

“Rosaria…”

“Yes?” the woman’s words are quick. Aastha tilts her head groggily. 

“Do we know each other?”

“Yes.” Rosaria nods, stiff all over. A little frost edged. Aastha thinks of the ice that tempers her fingertips. “You came here to Mondstadt a good while ago for your research.” Her gaze clears a bit. Aastha watches her, then blinks and leans into her touch, just a bit. She thinks she hears Rosaria’s exhale sharpen. “Don’t move too much.”

She knows why. There are bandages on her. Her body hurts. Aastha would like to think of anything else but that. 

“When will i get better.”

“With some rest, I'm certain you will be fine.”

Rosaria’s stern words elicit an annoyed grunt. “I remember nothing. What happened to me?”

“Bandits.”

She thinks she understands that much at least. But the unease remains. She wants her answers. “I’m a doctor, yes?” she asks softly. “Rosaria, am I a doctor?”

“You never elaborated on that. But I suppose you were.” she pulls the sheet over her body. The cold touch of her’s rests on Aastha’s shoulders. “You’ve received some mail you might want to answer…maybe that should help lighten your spirits.”

Beneath the flickering candlelight, Aastha squints at the few envelopes on her table. There wasn’t much. Something in her sinks. She wonders if she had much of a life to begin with.

It’s an ugly feeling. It tears into her. It’s suffocating.. Rosaria grounds her again. Aastha squeezes her eyes shut and the dark little room returns. “Why is it so cold?”

“It’s winter.” Rosaria replies easily. “If you won’t rest, maybe you should eat. I’ve got some soup. You’ll get used to the weather.”

She feels warmth bloom at her fingertips and her gaze flickers down to the bowl. Something in her chest twists. She takes a sip.

[the-white-soul]

Backup, huh? Don't you know humans are stronger than monsters? This should be easy for you.

*A rampage of vines suddenly burst out if the ground surrounding the flower, stealing weapons and stabbing and slicing and ripping apart anything that comes close. Blood stains the sand. He smiles in amusement. If anyone stays back, paralyzed by fear at this point, the vines reach out towards them and drag them in before he crushes their skulls. Except for Jack. Throughout this, all he did to Jack was tie him up and steal his gun/ whatever other weapon he might have and add it to his pile underground. He gives a tinkly laugh as he reapproaches the last man alive.*

Wowza~ What happened to all your men~? All you had to do was kill me. A weak, pitiful monster. *The vines are nearly crushing him with the strength. Flowey's smile fades into a blank yet intense stare as he growls harshly to Jack.*

Now what do I do with you?

*Yet another vine snakes up to his face this time and makes a slow and deep cut in his face right below his eye.* What I will do to you will be a fraction of the pain you've inflicted onto monsters, let alone your own kind.

Don't worry, I'm not giving you the satisfaction of killing you yet. Now stay still. I'm going to make a little note to remind me of something for later. *The vines holding Jack extend to hold his head still as Flowey soaks his vine in the blood leaking from the cut. He drags the along his skin, painting a line over his throat.*

If you live through this and I see you anywhere near Chara, I won't hesitate to fill in that mark and listen to the sound of you choking on your own blood.

*He threads the end of a vine around the fingers of Jack’s dominant hand and stretches one back further and further until it cracks with a burning pain. One by one he goes along. He makes sure to speak slowly and viciously, so that his words would get through to the head of anyone despite how distracted by pain they are.*

You won't be touching them ever again, even if it's not in the same way. You're not Chara's father. You're not a policeman. You're a waste of life, and I want nothing more for you to bleed out and rot away at a funeral that no one would care to even put together. They despise you.

*Flowey looks down and points to the space between Jack’s legs.* There's the male reproductive organ in humans, right? *He stares him in the eye coldly, waiting for an answer as he draws a dagger. Confirmed or not, he suddenly jabs the blade through flesh and muscle, sinking the knife into his body to destroy sin itself his before pulling it out and stabbing him again, and again, and again. A deep red spreads on the cloth covering him and the knife.*

*He finally stops, watching with a twisted satisfaction as Jack writhes against his constraints. He just ties the ends of the vines into knots so it'd hold tightly even without Flowey trying. Flowey wipes the blade clean on his shirt and then cuts off his own vines without flinching. Dragging the raft closer, he quickly ties the other ends to the wood and hauls Jack closer to the water.*

I am going to push you into the water in one minute, or less if I so decide. You will be floating out into the ocean to either flip over from a wave and drown, starve to death, or be eaten by some animal. If I find someone cared enough to to save you before any of that happens, you had better be a changed man or I’ll kill you and the person who took you back to shore right then and there.

Do you want to say anything before I push you out? Or are you too shocked? I better hear you scream apologies to Chara as your last words. *Flowey steadily brings the knife to Jack’s throat, the cold metal pressing lightly against that red line of blood, but doesn't cut it.*

(Jack) "You are a freak, aren't you? Oh I know I'm going to die if I will go swimming. I won't survive and I won't try to! Congrats you've won. I hope that'll send hundreds of monsters to their death bead happy. Of course, I knew someone like you would show up at one point so I told my friend if I died to block off the exits to the courtroom and shoot any and all people and monsters and take anyone who survives be tortured by dissolving each part of their body parts into acid, one by one. I've actually calculated the amount of monsters in there. Over 40000. I made the courtroom big for that reason alone. But who cares right? Kill me! *He smiles a psychotic smile* After all I enjoyed that feeling with Chara! You never realize how terribly attractive kids are until you try it. Chara, their lips smelled like cherries. Oh, I'm not done yet! How did it feel to have her in the ocean just like here in fact I remember a few feet from here when I actually put it in my mouth. They cried until I stopped and then I said, 'I don't know what saltier, the sea, your tears, or some other liquid.' Okay now kill me!!! Come on do it! Let those monsters die! Chara was a good daughter and an even better lover!"

[a-sweeter-solarsystem]

I’ll be better than you.

ao3 may be down but I’m still gonna find ways to post my silly little writings >:(

Also managed to find the edited version that’s up on ao3 so I didn’t have to rely on my original draft!!  Horrah!! 

Side note that sign language is its own language!  Any sign language depicted in this work is written in plain english both because I find it difficult to convey all the emotions and gestures in sign language into written english, and I'm still learning the language myself and don't want to accidentally mistranslate anything   (；v；)

This work takes place during season of the haunted, shortly after the first attempt at severing his nightmare.

Crow's body felt heavy.  The past weeks had taken a toll on everyone.  Between the nightmares and the seemingly endless patrols on the leviathan, he felt almost like a spirit wandering aimlessly for its purpose.  Commander Zavala had finally convinced him to rest.  Cal as well.  Hell, with how busy Crow had been he couldn’t even fathom what sorts of things Cal had been doing.

Cal passed out first.  He had made himself comfortable hugging Crow's chest and resting his head over his heart.  Crow held him, welcoming the warmth of his partner, but he couldn't find the willpower to join him in resting.  His mind still stirred, strong emotions lingering.

He just wished he could sleep.  Even if just for a little while.

Irritation clouded Crow's thoughts the moment he heard Uldren's voice from somewhere nearby.  "Don't you ever worry about him?"

Don't you have anything better to do?

Crow kept the comment to himself, taking Eris' advice to ignore Uldren's torment.  The nightmare walked out from the wall to his bedside.  His former self smiled, scanning him and Cal as if looking for something to jab at.  Crow instinctively placed a hand on Cal's back.

"He's so weak.  And yet, oh so volatile.  A dangerous combination, if you ask me."

Crow's jaw clenched.  Uldren caught the gesture immediately, "Have you thought about what would happen if you lost him?"

"I'm not going to."

"And why is that?"  Uldren seemed to lean closer.  A twisted smile curling on the nightmare's lips, "Remembering what happened last time you lost someone?"

"That wasn’t…"  Crow snapped his head to look Uldren in the eye.  He corrected himself and spoke through gritted teeth, "I'm not you.  I won't make the same mistakes you did."

"You say that now...But you forget how close he's already come to true death.  One of these days-"

"ENOUGH!"

Crow shouted with his whole body.  He didn't notice he had pushed hard against Cal's chest, jolting the younger hunter awake.  Crow's focus remained on his nightmare, "Cal isn't going anywhere and neither am I!  You might've been too weak to move on but I’m not.  Stop trying to make me feel so alone."

A satisfied grin rested on Uldren's face.  It disgusted Crow.

"LEAVE!"

Uldren faded into the darkness.  Crow took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves.  As the room and its sensations returned to him, he looked down and froze.

Cal was watching him, wide eyed, and scared.  He was sat upright in front of him, tense and uneasy.  He seemed to be holding his breath.  Guilt pulled Crow's heart down to his gut.

"Cal I...I'm sorry I..."

Crow held up his hands defensively, but it made Cal flinch.  He lowered them, choosing instead to only draw one hand close to his chest to sign an apology.

Crow waited and watch Cal slowly unravel himself.  Hesitantly, Cal signed, "What was that?"

"Uldren"  Crow signed a reply.

Cal looked briefly back to where he had seen Crow shouting and back.  All that was there was the empty space of their bedroom.  Crow added, "It was nothing...He was just trying to annoy me."

Cal’s brows furrowed and his eyes seemed softer.  "What did he say?"

Crow laid back down, inviting Cal to do the same by shifting off to the side of the bed.  "The usual.  That I'm weak, that I killed people...he's very unoriginal"  Crow lied with a weak smile.

Cal seemed unconvinced.  His light green eyes studied Crow, watching his partner’s smile fade more and more.  "Are you okay?"

Crow took a long look at his partner.  He thought about Cal the first time they met.  He was so scared.  He looked starved, with dark circles of exhaustion and anxious glances every few seconds to see who was watching him.  He had seen Cal grow the past year.  Seen how much stronger he became.  He learned to control both the light and darkness within him, helped fight countless enemies, and even showed him a thing or two about being a guardian.

He thought about himself, of where he started.  Nameless at first, working for Spider and being treated like dirt.  Being saved by others time and time again because they chose to look beyond his face and see who he truly was.  He recalled the way Zavala used to look at him.  Then remembered how even through the uncertainty Zavala still offered him a hand.  That he still allowed him a place in the vanguard.  And with that trust, others learned to trust him as well. 

They, Cal and Crow, they were both forced to build themselves from the ground up.  They lied.  They fought.  They survived.  And they recovered.  Even though the memories of their pasts haunt them, they’re here now.  They’re alive.  And they are a million times better now than they were back then. 

"Yeah...I think so."

Cal finally joined him, keeping his nervous gaze on Crow’s hands in case there was anything else to say.  He wrapped an arm around Cal's shoulder, resting his cheek against Cal’s head.  No matter what Uldren said, he won't let it come between them.

[ftmpupglacier]

from the archives: on being a masochist [andy, 2017]

I originally wrote this almost 7 years ago. This was the beginning of my relationship with Andy, when we were so in love. It’s been 3 months since that relationship came to an end, and reading through these notes recently has been bittersweet.

It’s been interesting though. Things had fallen into chaos and we were neither of us the people we had been before. Since I became single I’ve been trying to find myself again. I told someone recently I didn’t think of myself as a masochist. But I did once, apparently; I had forgotten.

I think I am going to keep reading and sifting through memories, and pulling out the pieces - literally and metaphorically - that still seem to hold meaning for me. Or at least the ones I want to consider if or how they may hold meaning, now.

~~~~~

It was a lazy Sunday morning as we lay in bed together. Thinking about how our time was drawing to an end, I mused aloud that he hadn't hurt me very much on this visit.

Andy pinned me on my stomach and began to bite my back and shoulders, and I grabbed a pillow to muffle the increasing sound of my gasps and whimpers.

“Ohhh, you're whimpering just like a real dog right now." Then he sunk his teeth into my flesh again viciously, so I whimpered and squirmed some more.

Finally I cried out in real pain, on the verge of tears.

I half-expected Andy to flinch back, to guiltily apologize for hurting me... It was what my ex Owen would have done. When we had finally split up, he'd been too timid and afraid to touch me at all for fear of hurting or triggering me.

But I'm not with Owen anymore.

Instead, Andy slowly but deliberately let go of me, as though he had meant to do so at that exact moment all along. He pressed the gentlest kiss to the spot where he had bitten me and whispered, "I'm all done, baby. You're such a good boy." He kissed over my back some more, sweet and soothing on my tender skin.

It was the perfect response. I felt so small and meek and submissive as I curled into him a little, pressing my head against his chest. I was still trembling and breathing hard as I whispered, “Thank you, Daddy."

We fell asleep within minutes, exactly as we were - me still on my stomach but twisted into him a little so my head was against his chest. Andy laid on his side, pressed up against me with an arm draped over me protectively. When I woke a few hours later, I felt so blissful and rested, and deliciously aching with bruises.

The more Andy hurts me, the more I want to please him. I feel drugged and helpless, like all I want is to drop to my knees & worship him. Or to give myself to him completely, to take whatever he's in the mood to give me this time - biting, punching, slapping, spanking, stretching my holes until I scream. It all makes his cock hard, and I am unbearably embarrassed and aroused by this knowledge.

I love him so fucking much.