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endless-ineffabilities · 8 days

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chemical override (10)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: as dictated by the results of poll #6, this chapter will include stunt training, clubbing, and an accident. Plus, you've got tub anon to thank for... well... the tub scene :) Oh, and this is kind of 18+. Just a tad.

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Matt and the reader eagerly explore the uncharted waters of their budding relationship. Ewan is booked and busy with the preparation for his new franchise. Will Ewan and his darling even find time for each other, or should they just take this opportunity to let go?

The internet, ever so informative, lets you know that Ewan and Jenna’s arrangement is in its initial stages before he even calls to tell you.

Their first interview with Josh Horowitz is immediately followed by another feature on the movie set, with the two talking about the pre-production, what they liked about the script, and their chemistry, which according to them, came naturally and did not require much work at all. It was practically the thing they had to work on the least. How lucky.

A lighthearted reprieve came in the form of a meme that started circulating not long after their interview with Josh. In it, Ewan is caught looking like he's either malfunctioning or deep in a philosophical crisis. The internet ran with it, with captions like, ‘When you realise you left the oven on at home’, to comparing him to an NPC glitching out.

When you asked him about it, he quickly stammered that he simply spaced out. Sure. It was hilarious, nonetheless.

Your publicist Mallory had commented that soon Ewan and Jenna would be obliged to go on pap walks, something that would appear casual and separate from the confines of the project that they’re working on. Something that signals that their relationship is making it into the real world.

“That whole casual ‘just friends hanging out’ vibe they’re gonna push? It’s all part of the gig,” Mallory shared. “Next thing you know, they’ll be taking long walks on the beach or grabbing coffee in some trendy LA spot.”

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting. Even just a little. Sure, you know what the business is like. You’ve been on the same end of that deal just recently, with your own film’s PR efforts. But this arrangement that Ewan has doesn’t seem like the usual short-term fling to drum up buzz. It feels… heavy, like something that might actually stick.

“I’d be lying if I say I don’t find it all annoying, darling, but I try to look at it now as part of the job, you know?” he had said, when he phoned you one evening – his afternoon – to let you know that his stay in LA would be much longer than expected.

You responded with, “Oh, yeah, I completely understand.” What else can you do? You aren’t together – you don’t have a claim to him, and vice versa. You thought that would make things better – easier – but you’re still waiting for that sense of comfort to kick in.

This is for the best, you would remind yourself every time a new headline surfaces.

It’s only been a month since you last properly saw Ewan, since that night on the rooftop. In the early days, he messaged every day, called whenever he had a spare moment. But slowly, the calls have become shorter, more sporadic – chalked up to his increasingly busy schedule. Your tones have become more dispassionate – he blames it on his exhaustion, profusely swearing that he misses you so fucking much, but something feels different.

Your job keeps you busy, with your commitments related to the new season of House of the Dragon, event appearances, and gearing up for the release of your film with Jacob. You are even invited to the upcoming Vanity Fair Young Hollywood Ball, an exclusive party to be held in New York.

And Matt is a more than welcome distraction.

Matt, who has begun spending more time in your apartment after Ewan’s temporary move to LA. Matt, who brings you flowers that are apparently ‘beautiful, but pales in comparison to you’. Matt, who is unfailingly a gentleman, respecting your boundaries and not making a move since that time on your couch after your first date, when you told him to wait.

He sits with you by your kitchen counter, in a disarmingly tight white shirt that leaves little to the imagination, one sturdy hand nursing a cup of coffee and the other on the small of your back to support you as you sit on the high stool, and you suddenly don’t want him to wait anymore.

“Have you decided on what you’ll be wearing to the screening tonight, love?” he asks.

“Why? Does it have to be pre-approved?” you playfully quip, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Ah,” he nods, smiling, playing along, “of course, of course. You think I’m an easy man to date? You’ve got to keep up with my standards, as beautiful as you already are.”

You laugh, playfully mussing his hair, and he catches your wrist before it drops back on the counter. He says, “I ask because I wanted to match you, so to speak. We’d be like two peas in a pod.”

“Oh,” you snort softly, “or you know, like Tweedledee and Tweedledum?”

“Funny girl,” he muses, before leaning forward and capturing your lips in a soft kiss, caffeinated and warm and Matty. You notice that his hand on your back is pressed firmer – he didn’t want you to slip when you leaned in.

Charming bastard. He isn’t making things any easier… or maybe he is.

Maybe he’s it.

But the moment’s broken by a loud, offended-sounding meow. You look down to see Sansa, staring at Matt like he’s personally responsible for all the world’s problems.

“Hey, babygirl,” Matt croons, extending a hand toward her. Sansa, the biggest diva of a kitten, just gives him a slow blink before trotting off, clearly unimpressed.

“Calling her babygirl isn’t going to make her warm up to you,” you tease.

“She already doesn’t seem to like me,” he replies, scoffing. “Which is a shock, pretty much, how can she not?”

“So humble, Matthew.” You smile at his effortless charm, his easy personality. That’s all you seem to be doing nowadays. Matt is like your personal ray of sunshine.

“I’ll win her over,” he declares confidently, sitting upright. “Anything for my lady.”

You roll your eyes. “How very Daemon of you.”

“Actually,” he laughs, “Daemon would probably feed her to Caraxes for being difficult.”

“Matthew!”

“I’m kidding!”

Sansa meows even louder, bounding away towards your bedroom.

“Leave my Sansa alone,” you say, pointing at him accusingly.

He gives you a sly grin. “I will… if you come here and give me another kiss.”

Before you can respond, he slides your stool closer to his with a smooth movement, catching you off guard. You find yourself practically in his lap, his thighs pressing against yours as he waits, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Okay,” you sigh deeply, narrowing your eyes, unable to mask the smile that graces your lips. “One kiss, but only for Sansa.”

“Oh, shush and kiss me already, love.”

The film screening had been a private event, by invitation only from those who worked on the film. Edward Bluemel, Matt’s good friend, is a fellow actor marking his directorial debut with this film. For a first go, it was impressive, gripping from start to finish. Almost as much as Matt’s hand resting just above your knee, his thumb absentmindedly tracing soft circles into your skin.

Your cheeks had flushed when a particularly steamy scene came on the screen, and it might have been the nervous gremlins in your mind, but you swore Matt’s hand inched higher up your leg.

Now, on your couch, his hand is even higher. He hovers over you, his breath heavy and uneven as his fingers tease at the warmth between your thighs, so close to where you’re already aching for him.

Maybe it was all the dirty martinis you drank at the open bar after the screening, or maybe this was a long time coming. Either way, you want him, and from the way his lips move urgently against yours, he wants you too.

It dawns on you that the tension is no longer something you can talk yourself out of.

He pulls away, and you protest with a mewling whine, your body arching into him. He nearly growls in frustration, the unspeakable sound you just made having a direct line to his hardened cock. With a gentle tug at the nape of his neck, you pull him back down to your lips, but he resists.

“We have to slow down,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Because we’re about to cross a line that I won’t be able to hold back from, love.”

“Matt – ”

“I understand – ” He licks his lips, letting out a slow and controlled breath. “ – that you want to wait – ”

Your confession comes out slow and measured, letting him know that this is what you really want. “Maybe I don’t want… to wait anymore.”

“Say that again,” he says slowly, his eyes darkening in lust.

“Maybe I… I want you to fuck me.”

“Maybe?” he whispers, his voice rough, practically pleading.

“Oh, just fuck me.”

That’s all it takes for him to snap.

He undresses you in record time, ripping off every item of clothing from your body with an eagerness that betrays just how hungry he is for you.

Neither of you even bother to travel to your bedroom. At some point, your entwined naked bodies slip off the couch and onto your plush carpet.

And you have a heated… What was it called again?

Oh right – a damn good roll in the hay.

The water is still warm in your deep clawfoot tub, steam rising gently from the surface. You lean back, head resting against the porcelain, that blissful post-sex daze settling over you.

Matt slides into the water opposite you, his movements slow, deliberate. His eyes haven’t left you since he stepped in, and you can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your skin. It isn’t just the remnants of your earlier intimacy – though that heat still hummed in the air between you – it’s something more. Something you can’t name and maybe you’re afraid to, but it tugs at you all the same.

A small smile plays on his lips, the kind that made your chest tighten – half teasing, half dangerous.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and smooth.

You exhale a soft laugh, running your fingers lazily through the water, trailing small ripples across the surface. “I’m not exactly complaining, am I?”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to have second thoughts.” His tone is light, but the undercurrent of meaning isn’t lost on you.

You close your eyes, letting the warm water soothe your tired muscles, but even with the comfort of the bath, you can’t quite escape the one person lingering in the back of your mind.

Matt isn’t Ewan, but he’s here, his presence steady, his charm disarming. He makes you laugh, makes you feel wanted in ways that are simple and uncomplicated, and maybe that’s what you need right now. Maybe it was okay to let yourself enjoy this, to live in this moment without overthinking what it meant.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Matt asks, leaning forward.

You open your eyes, catching the glint of amusement in his. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous territory,” he teases, reaching for your hand.

“Hmm, maybe,” you murmur, meeting his gaze. “You’re too charming for your own good, you know that?”

He chuckles deeply. “I’ve been told. But I like to think it’s part of my appeal.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Cocky bastard.”

He grins, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Takes one to know one.” His hand travels to your leg underneath the water, massaging gently.

“I’m serious, though,” he says softly, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “I don’t want you overthinking this. We’re good, yeah?”

You nod, but there is a flicker of something else in your chest. Guilt, maybe? But Matt is right here, and he isn’t asking for anything more than what you could give, and for now, that is more than enough.

“We’re good,” you whisper, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

He smiles against your mouth, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. “Good,” he whispers back, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You laugh, the sound muffled as he kisses you again and positions you on top of him. You shuffle forward and discover a very obvious indication that he’s ready for round two of rolling in the hay. Or in the tub. Whatever works.

He looks absolutely enraptured when you ride him, your motions causing tremors in the water.

And in the sheer pleasure he gives you, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the smell of lavender, you allow yourself to let go.

The event has the industry buzzing - an exclusive event by Vanity Fair celebrating the rising stars of Hollywood. A masquerade party, the notion of which excited you to no end. You’d only read about such in books, in its medieval iterations, all poofy skirts and velvet waistcoats, the whole concept full of prestige and mystery.

You spent days prepping with your team, the anticipation building until it felt like a living thing inside you. Your dress, a beautiful piece from Atelier Versace, fits like a glove, one side made of draped black sequins shimmering like liquid night against your skin. The theme is Midnight Elysium, and you look every bit the part - dangerous and glamourous and untouchable.

Your makeup team did an impeccable job. Your eyeshadow resembles a swirling galaxy, a blend of silver and noir. Your lipstick is a perfect nude shade that matches your skin tone and your features.

But then there was the mask. The final, necessary touch. Delicate black lace that settles over your eyes, framed with gold filigree and flecks of silver – sharp and ethereal at once. It was a piece of art, something you personally commissioned from a local designer in your hometown.

In a room where everyone claims to know everyone, a mask can be more than just a costume piece. It can be a weapon – giving you the freedom to be both seen and unseen.

Stepping into the nightclub is like slipping in between worlds. Black velvet drapes line the walls, catching the glow of the minimal lighting – gold and silver chandeliers hanging like constellations. The bass from the music pulses underfoot, sending vibrations through your veins. Faces are obscured by extravagant masks, but you are able to recognise some of them if you look close enough. Milly is speaking to someone by the bar, and you remind yourself to pull her aside for a chat later. Timothee is introducing his date to a small flock of people. And Jacob is bounding right for you the moment you make eye contact.

“There’s my leading lady,” he greets cheerfully, swooping down to kiss you on both cheeks. He’s wearing a metallic silver vest and trousers, along with a white mask that covers one side of his face like The Phantom.

“Wow,” you say, making a show of appraising him, looking at all 6 foot 5 inches of his figure up and down. “You look like a handsome disco ball.”

He laughs, the sound unmistakable even in the bustling nightclub. “And look at you! What are you, a cyberpunk witch? A sleek dominatrix?”

“Careful now,” you warn him, “or I might just hex you into getting me a drink.”

“Coming right up,” he says, but his attention is pulled by someone calling his name. “Hold on a sec, I have to introduce you to some of my friends.” You let him lead you further into the room, and you’re swept into the rhythm of it all, moving through the crowd as if you belong – because you do. You’re slowly getting used to the weight of eyes on you, but tonight, it feels as if there’s a shadow you can’t quite shake.

Your personal shadow in a room full of masked shadows. Your skin prickles, an awareness blooming under your ribs. In all the fuss leading up to this event, you hadn’t really bothered to check the full roster of attendees.

After several rounds of conversation, you excuse yourself for a moment and stand off to the side to take a breather.

And then you see him.

Ewan stands across the room, a drink in hand, his black leather overcoat tailored to perfection. The mask he wears, a sharp cut of black and gold, adds a dangerous air to him. His effortlessly tousled hair sports a smattering of gold embellishments, like streaks of pale blonde hair. You take him in, every inch of him, that mischievous curve of his lips and the glint of his blue eyes underneath that mask.

It hits you like a tidal wave, like a fucking hurricane, the longing you’ve tried to suppress for weeks.

You shouldn’t want him this much, not when you both agreed to the break. To keep some distance. His fake romantic arrangement had made sure of that. And after everything, you knew that some separation was what you both needed.

But seeing him now, looking at you like he’s starving… it’s enough to unravel every careful thread you’d stitched together since you last touched. You want to look away, pretend that this is just another night, that he’s just another fellow actor among the crowd. But the pull is too strong. It’s as if your legs move on their own volition, and you slowly move through the crowd, almost subconsciously drawn to him.

He steps deeper into the shadows of the club as you approach, disappearing into one of the more secluded alcoves draped in heavy black velvet. No one will see you there. No one will know any better.

The world narrows down to just the two of you, and the music becomes a distant hum. It’s quieter, darker, and for all the trappings of the Hollywood elite, Ewan is far more intoxicating.

“You’re here,” you whisper, half in question, half in disbelief.

But he’s already moving towards you, his eyes dark and hungry behind the mask. The air between you crackles with an undeniable need – weeks of distance, of longing, building up to this moment. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his body through your dress, and you so badly want to forget that this is a bad idea.

“I can’t stay away,” he says, his voice low and raw, like it’s costing him to hold back. “Not tonight.”

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest, every rational thought slipping away as his fingers skim the bare skin of your waist through the slits in your dress. “We… we can’t,” you manage to say, but even to your own ears, it sounds weak. Oh, who are you trying to fool?

“How can I not? Fuck, how can you look like that and expect me to just walk away?”

You want to say something, something sensible, something to remind him of the stakes. But nothing comes to mind, not when his hand brushes up your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. His other hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you. He dips his head down, breathing against your shoulders and your neck, taking you in like a vice.

“Ewan,” you finally croak. “We agreed not to – ”

“I don’t bloody care,” he cuts you off, his mouth inches from yours. “We agreed to give it some time, sure, but I never agreed to stop wanting you. Besides, I make good on what’s asked of me. I play the part. I deserve to be rewarded, don’t I? And you’re the only prize I desire.”

His words hit you hard, melting any resistance you’d been clinging to.

“Oh? So… so I’m just a prize now?”

He only smiles. “The only one worth winning.”

Before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you pull him closer and crash your lips into his.

The kiss is hard, fierce, his mouth feverishly attacking yours. He tastes bittersweet, all hard bourbon and cigarettes. You’re certain that the lipstick your makeup artist painstakingly applied would be wiped clean off. His hands grip you harder, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you closer, deeper, like he can’t get enough.

You break apart, gasping for breath. His lips are slick, shining in the occasional flicker of neon blue and red lights, his mask casting shadows across his sharp features.

A bright flash from the party's official photographer erupts in the corner, thankfully not pointed in your direction. Still, it momentarily shakes both of you back to reality.

“Come with me.” His hand slips into yours, fingers curling possessively as he pulls you away from the cacophony of the club. You barely have time to react before you’re being led down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. He pushes open a door, leading you into a smaller room bathed in that same cold, electric blue. Plush seating is arranged haphazardly in the corners, but the space is mostly empty. The low hum of the bass still thrums in the distance, but it’s reduced to a faint echo. The smell gives off cigarette smoke and spilled liquor.

“Smoking area,” he says with a half-smirk, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time himself. “I think.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs, utterly unconcerned. “Who cares? It’s just us in here.”

You shoot him a look, glancing back at the door. “Someone could walk in.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, that familiar heat radiating off him like a furnace. “It’s a party, darling. They’re probably wasted out of their minds. And besides…” He taps the edge of his mask, his eyes glinting mischievously behind the black and gold. “The masks?”

You bite your lip, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “And if someone does walk in?” you ask, arching a brow. “What then?”

He steps closer, crowding into your space, the tension thick between you. “Then they get a show,” he says, his voice playful and teasing, but laced with something darker.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“You can still walk away, darling,” he offers, trying to bait you when he knows full well that he already has you hooked. “Or, you can just shut up and kiss me.”

So much for giving it time. Ewan’s lips find yours once more, just as desperate, and you barely notice when he directs you to the seating, your back colliding with its velvet exterior. His low groan sends a wave of heat pooling in your stomach, and you think to yourself, this was a terrible idea.

Your hands roam, finding the planes of his chest. He smoothly takes off his leather overcoat, revealing his bare torso underneath. The sight of it makes your head spin, and you croak unsteadily, “Ewan… not here, baby, we can’t – ”

“I know, darling,” he croons, his hand cradling your face. “I just wanna kiss you. I just want you… to touch me…” His other hand takes yours and drags it down the firm lines of his stomach, a desperate plea in his eyes. “Please, just – ”

The moment is abruptly shattered by the sound of giggling from the hallway, getting louder. Suddenly, the door opens and in stumbles a pair of girls, one of them you recognise to be Jenna.

“Oh!” The other girl exclaims, clearly delighted by the situation she’s just walked into. She pulls off her mask, revealing herself as Emma Myers. “We found him! We finally found your date.”

Your heart plummets, right down on the liquor stained carpet.

“Hi,” you manage to squeak, getting to your feet and smoothing down your dress which had ridden scandalously higher up your thighs. “I’m – ”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Jenna says, shaking your hand, not the least bit bothered by the state she found you and Ewan in. “I love your work. I’m Jenna.”

“Oh… thank you – ”

Emma steps in, grinning. “Hi! I’m Emma. I’m such a fan.”

“Oh my god, I should be saying that to you guys!” you blurt, feeling a rush of relief at their easy demeanour. “I love Wednesday.”

They both gasp, and soon the three of you are exchanging compliments like old friends, chatting about each other's work with enthusiasm. Ewan, still seated, watches the scene unfold with barely concealed frustration. He eventually stands, shrugging his leather coat back on, and glances at Jenna.

“One of our producers is here,” Jenna explains cheerfully. “She’d love to chat with both of us.”

Right. Ewan’s her date. The word echoes in your mind, but the jealousy you expected to feel is oddly muted now.

Ewan speaks, addressing only you, “Darling, will you – ”

“I’ve got her,” Emma declares, looping her arm around yours. “I’ve got so much I want to ask you!” Before you know it, she leads you out of the room like you’ve been best friends for years.

Ewan’s eyes stay on you, full of frustration and yearning, even as he and Jenna follow you out the door.

But you barely see him for the rest of the night.

The party is a blur of celebrities and conversations, but your mind keeps drifting back to that stolen moment in the blue-lit room. Eventually, your social battery runs out, and you slip out of the club early, unnoticed by most.

Back at your hotel, you peel off your dress and drop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the events of the night replay in your head. The feeling of his hands on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours – it’s all too much.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts. Ewan One-Eye flashes across the screen.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, but you pick up. His voice is low, almost cautious. “You left early.”

“I was tired,” you reply, voice soft. “The party was great but it was... a lot.” Mainly because of him.

A beat of silence follows, and you wonder if he's wrestling with what to say next. “Are you okay?” You can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched, eyes dark with worry.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say, unable to hide the tremble in your voice.

Another long pause, with only his slow breathing on the other end.

“I hate this,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper, the raw emotion in his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I fucking hate that he gets to have you, and I don’t… and I can’t… ” He cuts himself off, and you hear the snap of his lighter followed by his sharp exhale.

You bite your lip, your throat tight with emotion. You’ve both been so careful, dancing around each other, pretending that you could stay apart.

“I’m flying back to London tomorrow night,” you blurt out, the words rushing out before you can stop them. It feels like a confession, like you’re admitting defeat.

“I need to see you before you go.”

“Ewan, we agreed – ”

“Fuck what we agreed!” His sudden outburst takes you by surprise, and you hear the raw need in his voice. “I don’t care about the arrangement, I don’t care about the distance. I just... I need you.”

You want to tell him that you need him too. You want to throw caution to the wind and agree to being together in secret despite the false romance he has to portray to the world. But you can’t.

“I...” Your voice falters. “We’ll see each other soon.” It doesn’t feel like enough. With a soft sigh, you add on a lighter note, “Alyna still has to kick Aemond’s ass, you know.”

A beat passes, and then you hear his tired laugh on the other end. “Right,” he chuckles softly, the sound both comforting and heartbreaking. “Wouldn’t want to keep the fans waiting for that.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, trying for casual, trying not to let your voice crack, “someone’s got to put Aemond in his place.”

“Hmm, well if that place happens to be right in Alyna’s arms, I doubt you’ll hear any complaints about the script from me this time.”

You can’t help but smile at his teasing, but it only deepens the ache in your heart.

“Ewan…” you begin, but the words hang in the air, unspoken.

“I know, darling,” he replies, his tone resigned yet gentle. “I miss you too.”

The training room is alive with the sounds of clashing swords and laughter, but you can’t help but feel a different kind of electricity buzzing in the air. Maybe it’s just the way Matt looks at you, as you rehearse a scene where Daemon helps Alyna brush up on her sword fighting.

You lunge forward, initiating the first move with confidence, and he counters effortlessly, the blades clashing in a symphony of steel. The practice moves are intense, each swing bringing you closer. His eyes darken with focus as he follows your movements, and for a moment, it becomes easy to forget the rest of the stunt crew in the room.

“Nice footwork,” Matt compliments, stepping in closer. His body brushes against yours, sending a rush of heat through you. Ever since your night together, he has only been more brazen with his affections. “But you’re leaving yourself open here.” He demonstrates, his sword brushing against your side as he adjusts your stance.

“There,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “feel that?” You swallow nervously, grateful that the stunt coordinator had moved on to Harry in the far side of the room.

“I think I might be too open,” you manage to say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Maybe,” Matt murmurs, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “But I can’t help but want to close the distance.”

As you move through the choreography, you both fall into a rhythm, and almost inevitably, the fight turns into something more playful. You circle each other, exchanging faux blows and laughter, the distracting banter causing the stunt director to approach and get you both back on track.

Next up, you have to train for Alyna’s pivotal scene where she attempts to mount Caraxes as per Daemon’s command.

As you practice the mounting technique on the mechanical dragon, you’re hyper-aware of every movement. The crew watches closely, ready to offer guidance. You grip the handles tightly, adrenaline coursing through your veins, and for a brief moment, you lose yourself in the character, feeling the thrill of the scene.

But then it happens. The Buck jolts unexpectedly, throwing you off balance. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself slipping. You try to brace for impact, but it’s too late. You land hard, the pain shooting through your ankle as it twists at an unnatural angle.

There is a stinging sensation too, by the side of your head, and all you think is – oh fuck. The world around you fades to a blur, just as chaos erupts.

When you finally regain consciousness, the sterile scent of antiseptic fills your nostrils. Your surroundings come into focus slowly, and your heart races when you realise you’re in a hospital room. The steady beep of a monitor is the only sound, punctuated by the faint rustle of fabric.

You feel his hand on yours before your eyes even land on his figure, slumped on a chair beside your bed. His head rests on his shoulder, his grip still lightly holding your hand. His brow is furrowed in worry, even in sleep.

You feel lightheaded, and for a moment you worry that your concussion might be worse than it is, but no. It's just him.

Then, the sound of your movement catches his attention. He stirs, his eyes fluttering open, and when he meets your gaze, relief instantly washes over his features.

“Love… you’re awake.”

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Some notes in the margins...

Well, well, well. Yous were convinced that Matty would get the clubbing scene, helped by the red herring of his dancing video. Alas!

Is that Matty at the end there? Or a certain Mitchelly man? Hmm... one wonders. 💖

Complaints? Refund requests? Please direct your thoughts in the comments section below. I can 100% guarantee a satisfying solution. Or 70%.

Or, you know, bugger it. We're all in this together, better or worse ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell imagine #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell fanfiction #matt smith #matt smith x reader #chemical override #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd

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evilminji · 2 months

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Huh >.> you know how Crechelings are basicly, like... possessed?

Like? They are cute af. But they VERY MUCH are constantly reaching out too and listening too the Force cause they are Baby and know jack shit? They are in that "why? Why? Why?" ×1000 stage of life. But instead of asking ADULTS, who might not always be on hand?

Well... the FORCE is on hand.

24/7!

Why NOT ask a cosmic driving force of all creation is you should have juice or water? This fruit or that vegetable? What are we gonna play today Effectively God? I'm a toddler! I don't know what boundaries are! Nor do I realize I probably shouldn't be bothering you with every single thought that passes through my head!

Yeeeeeah....

Tiny force sensitives? HELLA possessed.

They'll pull shit like "speak in prophecy" and "I stole a ship a can't even reach the controls off, to thwart an assassination attempt, because The Force Told Me Too, and that's why I'm on another planet and missed nap time." Plus the fun ol *hands a jedi master a rock* "the force says you'll need this! :D " *walks away, oblivious to the confusion they have wrought*

There is a REASON Creche master have to be SUPER patient types. And that parents are so often like "yeah, yeah we can't handle our kid. We love them. But this is beyond what we can parent."

Cause when your kid? Looks up from their mashpotatos? To casually drop "X is going to die soon." Or "he's going to betray you, you know" like??? Sweetie. Honey, youngling, you're THREE. Wtf. It's a BIT MUCH.

But? What I'm getting at?

I wanna see Creepy!ForceAvatar!Crechelings? Like it's... it's just a STAGE kids grow out off?

And I want it to save their fuckin LIVES.

Like? During the later stages of the Clone Wars. The Force is getting agitated. Knows what's coming. Does NOT like such imbalance and death. So? Even if the OLDER ones either can't hear it clearly or won't listen? The BABIES sure can.

And it's like a FUCKING HIVEMIND.

Absolutely HORRIFYING to behold.

All these lil babies. These wee lil toddlers n smol kiddos. Just... Stopping. Misstep. Balls bouncing past hands frozen, toys mid "woosh" motion, spoons half way to faces. All of it. Just... stopped.

They all cock their heads.

Like animals trying to hear a sound better.

Put down what they were doing. Calm as you please, ignoring everything around them, everyONE. Gathering their things from their rooms. Gathering the babies. Who are... oddly well behaved. It's the most calm and orderly anyone's ever see them. None of the creche masters can get their attention. Every attempt to physically get in the way is dodged before it's even attempted.

The children... calmly. Pleasantly. Like taking a stroll.

Steal a series of ships.

Broad daylight.

In... in front of everyone. No one can even STOP them. The Force is helping. All anyone can do is just? Follow.

They settle basicly a few weeks into the uncharted zone, in an old temple no one knew was there. All they will fuckin say is variations of "the Force says we live here now!" Like? Subtle this was NOT. I guess... we live here now?

.....huh.

It IS weirdly easier to think way out here.

As though we were no longer standing in the middle of some terrible smoke cloud. Nice and calm. Lots of Light. Unlike back o-.....waaaaait a fucking second. *sound of various Master's and council members connecting dots in their head*

>:O

@legitimatesatanspawn @hypewinter @hdgnj @babbling-babull @spidori @lolottes @nerdpoe

#star wars #minji's writing #star wars prompt

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brabblesblog · 2 months

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Dancing under the stars, forever.

Art by Vilya on twitter

I am taking this time to thank everyone who's read Whither and Remember. The second fic is about to finish in approximately 3 weeks. After a two week hiatus, @editing-by-night and I will be back with the third and final installment to Ban and Astarion's story, titled For thou wilt not leave my soul in hell.

For everyone who's been there every step of the way these past eight months, thank you. For being there as I explored uncharted waters and delved into the deep, for the emotional support, for your time, whether you read, messaged me - anything. Thank you.

Perhaps one day I shall write down a blog post explaining how the series came to be, and how the story handles AA and everything that he comes with. But for now, this should suffice.

Thank you, again.

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tsumuus · 3 months

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Years had passed since UA High, where heroes were forged and futures decided. Bakugo Katsuki had emerged as one of Japan's top pro heroes, his fiery determination and explosive quirk propelling him to success. Meanwhile, you had carved your own path, Denki Kaminari's twin sister, without a quirk but with a sharp mind for business. Fate, it seemed, had intertwined your lives once more when you became Bakugo's PR manager.

In the bustling heart of the city, Bakugo's agency was a beacon of heroism. You navigated through the chaos of press releases and public appearances, your days filled with strategic meetings and late-night brainstorming sessions. Bakugo, ever the hero of action, relied on your expertise to shape his public image, to smooth the rough edges without dulling his fierce persona.

From the beginning, there was an unspoken tension- a current of something unsaid between you and Bakugo. You knew him from UA, where your brother and Bakugo had been classmates. Back then, you admired his unwavering determination from afar, a quiet observer in the background of heroics. Now, in the present, the dynamics had shifted but the unspoken remained.

Bakugo's office was a reflection of his persona- bold, unyielding, with trophies and accolades adorning the walls. On evenings when the city lights painted the skyline in hues of orange and gold, you found yourself poring over strategy documents with him, discussing the next big campaign or handling the fallout of a recent skirmish.

He was intense, passionate about his work, his heroism, and his agency- but there were moments when you glimpsed another side of him. A rare smile when a child asked for an autograph, a fleeting softness in his eyes when he spoke about training the next generation of heroes.

Yet, beneath the surface, Bakugo struggled with words that didn't involve battle plans or heroics. And you, with your own hidden admiration for the hero who dared to dream bigger than anyone else, navigated the delicate balance of professionalism and unspoken feelings.

One crisp autumn evening, after a particularly grueling day of interviews and photo shoots, you found yourselves on the rooftop of the agency building. The city sprawled beneath you, a tapestry of lights and life stretching into the horizon.

"You're doing good work," Bakugo said suddenly, his voice softer than usual, eyes fixed on the cityscape.

You smiled, a small, genuine curve of your lips. "It's what you hired me for."

He glanced at you then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "Yeah, but..."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning that neither dared to voice aloud. There were boundaries, unspoken rules that governed your professional relationship, and yet the heart was seldom obedient to reason.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the unspoken grew louder in the silence of shared moments. Bakugo's gestures were subtle- a coffee brought to your desk when he knew you were burning the midnight oil, a spare jacket offered on a chilly evening when the wind whispered through the city streets.

One night, as you watched him train in the agency gym- an inferno of determination and raw power- you realized how deeply intertwined your lives had become. The hero, the same boy she once admired from afar, and his PR manager, navigating the uncharted waters of unspoken words and silent glances.

In the quiet of your own thoughts, you wondered if he saw beyond the professional facade you wore, if he sensed the echoes of admiration and unspoken longing that mirrored his own.

But for now, beneath the city lights and the weight of unspoken words, you continued to navigate the complexities of heroism and heart, finding solace in the silent understanding that bound you together.

a/n my first writing for mha so be nice. i wanna get around to writing for more series in addition to haikyuu, so if you'd like to send in some requests about what you'd like me to write i'd be more than happy to because im lowk running outta ideas🫠

masterlist

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hana-no-seiiki · 9 months

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☁️ . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ FIVE STAGES OF YANDERE ࿐: IDOL EDITION

“ 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃. “

⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈. ✧ yandere! idol! oc (jisoo han) x superfan/manager! reader

✧ tw/cw: yandere themes, reader is also yandere at the start, mentions of anxiety and self harm, honestly idol life is its own tw

HAPPY HANA NO SEIIKI ANNIVERSARY YA’LL!!

[ series masterlist ]

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE ONE. ✧ DENIAL

“Oh gosh (oh gosh) this is so crazy. I’ve fallen in love again.

I trip so easily.

Adore new things, they sparkle.”

“Why are you so obsessed with him?”

“Dunno, just am.”

Your entire life revolved around Yesterday’s Dawn’s ace, Eve. The idol who had been in everyone’s lips. Whose name had been heard throughout nations you’ve never even heard of.

He was your sun, the reason you had the energy to wake up every single day, the light of your life.

Every waking moment you spent it either thinking of him or offering your services for name.

It was normal for you to spend hours looking at his schedule, knowing where he was, being around him most times, or staring at media of him.

Somehow, you were able to land a job as his manager.

You were finally closer to your god.

But you swiftly find out that no man should be likened to one for only disappointment can be found in such a path.

Eve was a lot more . . . burnt out than you expected. A lot less passionate and energetic than he was in camera if not irritable.

It was normal for him to harass workers when they didn’t meet a standard he imposed, as such, after the first few weeks of your employment everyone that you were with have already been fired, quit, and/or paid to keep their silence on the matter.

Yet your feelings for him only stayed; as your employment with the company. Your meticulous and proactive nature as a fan site owner allowed you to take much of the workload he threw at you.

The little admiration you have left for the man kept you standing.

And if only you were a little less stressed you’d notice his scarlet eyes providing stares of amusement, bewilderment, and growing affection.

You never complained (at least, in a place where he could hear you).

Whenever he asked for impossible items or schedules you’ll simply grin and work things out in your little way.

You adjusted to his turbulent temperament as quickly as an experienced pilot in a stormy sky, a sailor of uncharted, dangerous waters.

You were brilliant. Reminiscent of his times as a trainee.

Bit by bit he started lessening your workload. Allowing you to rest. Hell, even giving you his coffee if he didn’t want it. He never gives away his coffee.

You acquiesced to many of his whims but were never a pushover. Always doing your job perfectly. Keeping him in line.

He would have fallen for you already, had he not been in love with someone else.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE TWO. ✧ ANGER

“Peek-a-boo! It’s only love when my heart quivers.

All my friends yell at me, they say I have a problem.

I’m fine fine fine fine fine fine!”

“ For this comeback period, [L/N] will be assigned to Hayate instead. Eve will have his senior’s manager work with him instead.”

“Understood.”

You were assigned to another member around Spring.

Yesterday Dawn’s most hectic time of the year aside from fall as the group’s concept was as the name suggested, focused more on nostalgia and times of youth.

You were relieved.

You never thought you would have been able to say that after being separated from Eve, but now it was the only thing you had on your mind.

No more late night calls about wanting coffee but throwing the leftovers at you the moment he was sick of the taste, no more work being thrown at you and taken away at random moments, no more working around his schedule so that he’ll have time to meet that dear senior of his in private.

You were free.

Hayate was known to be the harsher one in the fandom, but much like Eve his image was a bit different from his actual self.

Sure he was demanding, but he was fair. He wasn’t controlled by whims and impulse. You were finally able to do your job properly til the end, and you didn’t always feel a judging stare from him like Jisoo would always throw at you.

You were finally able to smile.

However, you see, being a manager for another member did not mean you would completely be free of your original client.

Hayate and Eve worked quite closely, and as such, you’d often help with Jisoo’s requests even if you weren’t obligated to.

Eve immediately saw the change in you.

You were, a lot more bright. Less haggard. Your voice less hoarse. Relaxed.

You were already getting along better with his group member than you ever did with him.

Eve wasn’t really the type to show his anger actively. He was always more, passive.

The senior he was head over heels for was slowly forgotten as he’d spent countless of hours pouring his feelings into his music. What was supposed to be a bittersweet spring album turned out to be one of sour regret and frustration.

Of course, it was still a hit. It even scored him a collaboration with the senior he oh so wanted to have their eyes on him. But all he could think of as he went to bed early in the morning was the way you’d laugh whenever Hayate spoke to you.

Hmph, the guy wasn’t even funny.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE THREE. ✧ BARGAINING

“Hey you, do you wanna play a game? I already know what you want.

Close your eyes and count to 10. Don’t matter anyways

Cause I am going to find you.”

“Did you hear? Jisoo got his first scandal. Apparently he bullied a bunch of students during high-school.”

“Wasn’t he . . . homeschooled?”

Causing scandals was easy. Dealing with scandals was not.

All Eve had to do was talk to some people, had a few pictures edited and voila, chaos.

It was amusing really, his company superiors would ply him with reassurances and sweet words; telling him that everything will be fine and dealt with while his pr managers dropped down like flies trying to prevent the flames of hatred from spreading too far.

All of them, hopelessly unaware.

All but his stupid senior.

“Why are you doing this now, Ji?”

They always looked down at him almost. Like he was a petulant child that needed to be coddled or scolded depending on their mood.

“We should focus on the track.”

And like he expected, you were brought right back to him. As you should be.

The heads figured out that you were the only one capable of handling the shitstorm without falling into the hands of alcohol or other substances in grief.

And as they expected you did.

After all, you had a timeline of his entire life in a canva document. Even if it was only mentioned once in a concert interview before they went famous. You were an Eve superfan.

All you did was confirm the fact that Jisoo got homeschooled by contacting his parents and teachers, and the rest was easy. You even reactivated your fansite for such an occasion.

If only you hadn’t.

Maybe then Jisoo wouldn’t have a definite reason to pursue you.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE FOUR. ✧ DEPRESSION

“You’ll never get this concept, you might as well forget it

Just play again, bet it all, roll the dice

BLANCA”

Eve thought he was doing well in terms of romancing you.

Ever since he found out about your fansite instead of feeling disgust and horror he felt . . . great, amazing even. A high the stage could never give him.

Of course, you two were destined.

It was only his duty to protect you as your partner, to spoil you, dote on you.

Even if you don’t realize your intertwined fates yet.

. . .

Eve always hovered over you.

Usually managers took shifts with watching over the idols. Half of your time was supposed to be spent planning rather than overseeing his activities.

Yet you seemed to have a never ending babysitting responsibility.

Your past self would have committed several war crimes for the sake of this opportunity. But after a year or so under his ‘care’ you found yourself slowly veering off into the type of insanity you didn’t like falling in.

You felt a bit like Andy from the original Devil Wears Prada book, only that your resentment simmered slowly. Forming into a hideous red sludge of exasperation whenever he randomly wanted to take a vacation. Forcing only you to come with him. Which meant an even bigger workload, and even more people to talk to for flights, schedule conflicts, reservations and all that.

You snapped.

It was a calm afternoon.

The sun was burning you alive as Eve insisted you two would go on a ‘beach date’ for some summer fun.

He shoved a drink in your hand.

And you just broke down.

Tears fell from your eyes, your breath shallow.

You asked him if this amused him. If your suffering was funny to him. If making you fall over just to get his demands on time made him feel fulfilled as a person.

And before he could answer you ran.

A week after that your schedule was finally normal.

Eve kept his distance. Not just from you but from everyone.

You knew of his anxiety attacks and depression before. But seeing those up close and personal scared you.

Things only get worse from here.

⟣┄─ ˑ STAGE FIVE. ✧ ACCEPTANCE

“So it’s too late you’re in the game now. If you keep up might not lose it.

The jungle gym of fun, like hell yeah

Makin the moon fall down down down.”

Eve spent most of his ‘hiatus’ watching your posts of him. Edits, fanfictions, photography, fancams.

Of course, it wasn’t to see himself perform again. He already did that on a regular basis to make sure he kept himself up to the standards of an idol.

It was to see your captions.

Your fanatic raving made him feel . . . loved.

Your previous thoughts on his performances made him feel complete. Like he found a missing piece of a puzzle he kept trying to put something else to fill it in.

Another part of his hiatus was spent preparing for his graduation. The termination of his contract.

It was clear you didn’t love him as an idol anymore. It was his fault really. He couldn’t see how he was hurting you with his work and desires.

If there was another thing he can thank his idol work for was the amount of money he had saved.

Now, he had a new home built far away from civilization. It was completely soundproof. The bed he ordered was custom made, tailored to your preferences this time rather than his. Food stocked to the nines. A few instruments here and there so he could compose even while retired.

He can always make a new song, a new life for you two to enjoy together.

“My voice, my body, my soul. It had always been yours. I just didn’t realize it.”

✧ [AUTHOR’S NOTE]:

For more EVE content check out the #hns.eve tag 🩵

Lyrics are a mix of translations from the og song and Mitch Joseph’s cover.

OFFICIAL EVE CHARACTER AI

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2024

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere fic #yandere oc x reader #yandere core #yancore #yandere male x reader #yandere boy x readere #yandere drabble #yandere writing #yandere scenario #yandere headcannons #yandere idol #yandere singer #yandere self insert #yandere x darling

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mychemstat · 2 years

Text

shotgun - daryl dixon

word count : 6.6k

summary : done with another stressful semester of your university, you invite your friends over for pizza and some pre-rolled joints you were dealt a few days ago. when a handsome stranger tags along, throwing all your plans off course, you fail to anticipate how well you flirt under influence.

authors note and warnings : daryl dixon/f!reader. drugs, shotgunning, unprotected piv sex, cum eating, some dry humping, religious guilt mentioned very briefly, build up, porn WITH plot, nsfw as fuck, high sex (both parties high and consent enthusiastically), daryl jerks you off as you jerk him off, reader with female reproductive parts. song for the fic also mentioned in the fic: girls need love by summer walker.

you don't remember the exact series of events that led a stranger to your bed, smoking your weed.

what you do remember is glancing at a text from glenn, your friend of five years, saying that he would be at yours for movie night along with his new roommate because "he seemed lonely and could use some friends."

to be completely fucking honest, you did not want to make a new friend. you did not need a new friend. you were fine with the way things were; glenn and his girlfriend maggie occupied enough of your social life for you not to feel lonely even in your one-bedroom apartment miles away from your university campus.

after an arduous day of working on your midterm papers, you just needed a good old movie night where you could sit in comfortable silence with your friends and then eventually pass out on the couch. the universe seemed to have different plans however.

it's not like you didn't understand why glenn was bringing his roommate over; you weren't heartless. hell, you have been in his position before: new to the town, no new friends, just you and four cartons of your stuff neatly packed with the help of your mother - who, by the way, did not make the move easy with her empty nest syndrome.

maybe this was a good thing. you often complained to glenn about how you needed to get out more and live out your college days to the fullest before you succumbed to capitalism and worked a dead-end job just to make ends meet. you didn't even have to go out of your house to make a new friend, he would be at your doorstep in about twenty minutes. and besides, glenn would bring free pizza from his work. you could play along for some free pizza.

the clock struck nine pm as you shut your laptop for the day and leaned back on your couch, exhausted. your fingertips hurt from typing incessantly, and your thighs were uncomfortably hot thanks to your piece of shit laptop.

tossing the device beside you, you walked to your bathroom to freshen up, try and look presentable. you wouldn't give a single fuck if it was only your friend group coming over, hell, they have seen you at your worst moments where you were crying over your life or throwing up from drinking too much and vice versa.

this was uncharted territory. sort of. you had seen glenn's roommate once when you visited glenn’s to grab the notes you lent him for intro to microeconomics. you couldn't even catch his name in the few seconds his room door was cracked open, followed by a wary glare through the sliver and a loud thud, shutting you out of his sight.

your eyelids dropped as you splashed water on your face, replaying your interaction with him to somehow analyze him by his dialogue, or lack thereof.

socializing had always been rocky for you, especially following social cues or maintaining a conversation without thinking that the other person could not give less of a shit about you.

if glenn's roommate was anything like glenn, a raging extrovert, he would do most of the talking and all you would have to do is nod and comment. judging by his reaction to seeing you the other day, however, you were afraid that he was more of an introvert compared to you.

as you picked an outfit for the night, something comfortable but presentable, you practiced your smile.

should you smile with your teeth, or offer an obligatory tight-lipped smile? did it seem fake? would it be interpreted as rude?

throwing on a black tank and some red flannel pants, some of your best clothes to sleep in, you felt anxiety glow red hot in your veins, twisting your gut horribly.

the way your body reacted to socializing was a bit much, in your opinion. you wouldn't actively worry about things, but your body acted in ways your brain didn’t. you couldn't figure out for the life of you what it was, and you weren't sure you wanted to.

a few deep breaths settled your stomach as you checked yourself in the mirror. you looked decent, and you could pass out comfortably in your living room. your hair was okay, not much could be done to it so you left it be.

it had been fifteen minutes, and glenn texted you saying that he was downstairs as a heads-up so you could "fix yourself up haha."

that little shit.

rolling your eyes, you texted him to fuck off and did a once-over around you to make sure your apartment was tidy enough. as you waited by the door, right foot tapping impatiently, that feeling returned, the one that made you want to throw up and shit your guts out simultaneously.

you heard a distant conversation from the hallway and straightened your clothes in preparation. as soon as you heard three raps on the door, you opened it immediately.

"wow that was quick, were you standing at the door waiting for us?" glenn greeted you with a box of pizza in his hand. you were about to tell him to eat shit but the smell of the food worked like a charm as you ignored his remarks and moved away from the door to let your friends, well, two friends and the stranger, in.

maggie’s arms caged you in, rocking you from side to side, "i haven't seen you in so long, how have you been!"

the girl smelled like roses, soothing your anxiety one nerve at a time. "i've been okay, just buried in exams and papers, like the usual..." you trail off, appreciating the bear hug she still had you in. you loved maggie, her voice, her energy, her eyes; everything about her made you feel lighter and absolved you of all worries.

so much so that you forgot about the figure standing awkwardly outside your door with a pack of beers in his right hand and his left stuffed in his pocket.

you widened your eyes, letting go of maggie with a kiss on her cheek.

"hey, nice to meet you, um... i'm sorry, i don't think we have met..."

"oh yeah! that's daryl, look at what he brought!" glenn exclaimed, setting the pizza down on the coffee table.

"beer," daryl commented, nodding to himself.

this is going to be fun, you thought, painfully, offering him a practiced smile to lighten his heavy aura.

daryl. his name certainly suited him. clad in all black, a silver chain hanging off his belt loops, and a top that looked like its sleeves had been ripped off. you didn’t hate the way that it revealed his surprisingly buff arms as he walked into the apartment, raising them and holding the booze, "where d'ya want this?"

his voice had a drawl to it; deep like a smoker’s, deeper with that country accent of his.

caught up in your own observations, your delayed response to daryl's simple question had glenn snicker, earning a quick and hopefully stabbing nudge from maggie.

pointing at your coffee table, you started, "so daryl, you new to this town?"

the man grunted a "yes" without any follow-up, which had you frantically search for the remote control of your tv, the best social lubricant at your disposal.

as you passed the remote control to glenn to put on a movie of his choice- since it was his turn this week- your view switched to daryl, sitting on the other side of the couch with his legs parted open and both arms resting on the cushions.

you tried overlooking the manspreading just this once.

he wore his hair down, strands covering his face dishevelledly. you wondered how it didn't bother him to have hair blocking his view or tickling his face. your gaze narrowed in, ignoring maggie and glenn arguing over which movie they wanted to watch.

daryl's eyes were focused… or too relaxed? you couldn't tell. the kajal on his lower waterline certainly made your gut flip in excitement, confusing you momentarily. he looked messy; the torn shirt, the ripped black pants, and even his greasy-looking hair for that matter. but even the short duration you knew him for, it suited him.

you kind of liked it.

“let’s watch jaws! please!” glenn protested, tugging on his girlfriend’s arm, to which she just rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“how many times do you wanna watch it?! no, pick sumn else.”

daryl didn’t care for their argument clearly, scoffing and reaching for a bottle of beer on the coffee table. the bottle looked comically small in his hands as you watched him buck his hips to fetch what looked like a lighter from his back pocket.

at this point, glenn and maggie were basically non-existent as you observed daryl holding the butt of the lighter to the bottlecap and flick it off in one swift motion. the sheer ease with which he undid the seal made you widen your eyes, an amused smile painting your lips.

you heard the faint tune of the theme song of jurassic park. the couple must have settled on a movie, finally, you thought. your eyes trailed every movement of daryl’s, focusing on the way he brought the mouth of the bottle to his lips, chugging down almost half of the drink, his adam’s apple bobbing prominently.

a foreign feeling blossomed at the bottom of your gut, making you shift in your seat. you watched intently as daryl separated the bottle from his mouth, leaving a glossy sheen on his bottom lip.

what the fuck was happening to you?

you didn’t know jack shit about daryl, you didn’t know his morals, or his background, or even had a proper conversation with him before. so why were suddenly fixing your hair and adjusting your clothes?

why did you care?

peeling your eyes away with great difficulty, you turned your attention to maggie who was reaching for a slice of pie, “what toppings did you get?”

“half mushroom and half jalapeno, no pepperoni this time though, they were out,”

you nodded at her, knowing full well your attention was still hung up on the standoffish man sitting across you. turning toward the tv, you leaned back in your seat, puffing your chest out for a deep breath and settling into the soft cushion behind you.

daryl remained silent and focused on the screen, occasionally snickering at the jokes and mumbling to himself as he nursed his beer. he really was an introvert. not the kind scared to talk, but the kind who would rather not; save his breath instead.

at that rate, you weren’t going to get to know him at all, and the tension in the air seemed to grow by the second, at least for you.

halfway through the movie, you exhaled, breaking the deafening silence from the sheer lack of conversation. daryl and maggie’s heads turned to you; glenn’s vision remained glued to the screen.

“this movie is so fucking boring, glenn!” you interrupted, finally snapping the boy out of whatever spell jeff goldblum's chest hair had him in.

“this is not fucking fair, did i ever complain about any of your movie picks?” he rolled his eyes, setting his fourth slice down inside the box, clapping the crumbs off his fingers.

“ask me if i care. we aren’t even talking, we’re just staring at this screen. look at maggie! she almost dozed off a couple of times!” you responded, leaning forward in your seat and pointing at the poor girl trying to keep her eyes open.

defeat washed across your friend’s face as he swung an arm around maggie to pull her in.

offering him the most shit-eating grin, you began, “i recently bought some pre-rolls as an after-exam-season treat… it’s purely indica so it won’t have us neurotic…” you trailed off, scanning your friends’ as well as daryl’s faces for approval.

maggie straightened her back, a glint in her eye you rarely witnessed. you knew glenn would never say no to a little bit of relaxation, especially after a long day at the shitty job he works.

“fuck yeah, now we’re talking.” daryl sighed, rubbing his temples and setting his beer down.

oh, so he was bored as fuck before.

you knew it had nothing to do with you whatsoever, especially because glenn was clearly at fault, although you couldn’t help but feel like you disappointed him.

a complete stranger who happened to catch your eye and can’t leave your mind.

holding up your index finger, you rushed to your bedroom, giddiness blinding your senses just at the mere thought of being the perfect host for your guests.

when you returned to the living room with a flat metallic box, the movie was turned off and maggie succeeded to connect her phone to your bluetooth speaker, shuffling through her numerous playlists before finally landing on one.

“you’re gonna like this song…” the girl pointed at you, her eyes following your figure the moment you stepped into the living room. tilting your head in confusion, you waited for the song to begin as the speaker turned on with three little beeps.

“honestly…” you heard from the speakers, ears perking up instantly. your eyes widened at maggie in excitement, your mouth falling agape.

daryl and glenn observed the two of you, confused at the sudden change in atmosphere.

as the instrumental in the background progressed, you rushed to your seat, nudging the lid of the box open with the pad of your thumb. the scent of weed, not the kind that stinks but is subtle and almost nostalgic, enveloped your senses. your fingers found themselves picking the well-rolled joint in your hands and asking someone for a light.

daryl grabbed his lighter, which you noticed had a sticker of a skull on it, and extended his hand. his buff, well-defined, muscular-

“you think one joint’s gonna be enough? i’m not a lightweight unlike this loser here,” daryl spoke in a full sentence for the first time, gesturing towards glenn as he flicked the lighter on and looked up at you. placing the joint between your lips, you craned your neck forward and leaned in to meet the flame halfway, two fingers ghosting in a ‘v’ under the cigarette in case it fell.

“i have plenty, daryl. getting high won’t be a problem,” you glanced up at him, through the flame, paying close attention to his eyes for the first time now that his hair was mostly out of the way.

his face bathed in the orangish hue of the flame, as did yours, revealing the true color of his eyes. they were a deep prussian blue; not what you expected but certainly liked. the spark from the lighter chipped away at the twisted head of the joint and bit the ground-up grass eventually.

sucking in, you breathed life into the stick between your lips, the head pulsing red-hot as you inhaled the smoke into your lungs. momentarily holding your breath, you exhaled, feeling an itch in your throat.

you forced a cough or two out of you before leaning back in your seat and processing the hit. your hand mindlessly raised the joint to maggie on your right, who grabbed it a little too quickly.

“honestly i’m trying to stay focused”

the song commenced, curving the edge of your lips upward. it might have been a placebo effect, the fact that you were a lightweight, or that you just hadn’t smoked in a while. but some of those reasons were catching up to you. fast.

glenn took several hits with ease, throwing his head back on the cushion and handing the roll to daryl.

“you must think i’ve got to be joking…”

his fingers, too thick for the small joint, held it with such care. like he would break it if he gripped it a little too hard. you watched the man take a long drag; his lips gently kissing the joint, drawing out the smoke to hold it down briefly before blowing it all out.

“i don’t think i can wait. i just need it now…”

you don’t know what awakened in you; maybe it was because your favorite song was playing, or that smoking looked especially attractive on him, or a combination of both, but your eyes widened unnaturally largely as you traced his movements; the movement of his lips around the cig, his chest heaving after a hit, his sharp collarbones on shameless display as he threw his head back in relief.

you were entranced.

“here.” he offered, reaching across the seating area with the joint in his hand.

you tried to make the exchange non-physical. you really did. but his fingers enveloped most of the joint and you had no choice but to fumble with them until you grabbed hold of the cigarette, his touch leaving your skin burning hot.

“i just need some dick… i just need some love…”

this was not relaxing in any way. you sat with this stranger you wanted to fuck as a song about wanting to fuck played in the background. you monitored your breathing and your posture; all of these efforts to impress this question mark of a man in your living room.

“fuck, i think i’m already high.” glenn coughed out, his head resting on maggie’s shoulder. you chuckled, nursing the joint once again.

you were not going to lie. the drug had gotten hold of you by now; your reactions were slightly delayed, you took longer to process what the other person said, and your eyelids hung lower than usual.

and there's the cottonmouth.

what trumps all of the above, however, is the pure euphoria climbing every fiber of your body. a harmony of numbness and freedom flowing through you, dusting the weight off your shoulders.

“you could be the one. we can start with a handshake, baby, i’mma need more than a hug…”

you might have underestimated the effects of weed on you. not only did it make you giggly and careless and hungry, but it also made you unbelievably horny. you looked up at daryl, a blunt weight on your eyelids having you cherish the softness of the cushions behind you. the pillow resting between your legs brushed against your core, throwing gasoline to the flame.

the nape of your neck felt hot as you swallowed thickly, trying to distract yourself from the situation at hand.

the bass from your speakers stimulated your body, vibrations traveling between your legs.

“girls can’t ever say they need it, girls can’t never say now…”

fuck, you wanted someone.

normally, you were fine being alone; it was difficult enough managing yourself, let alone someone else. and it isn’t like you didn’t have experience with romance; you had a couple of relationships in high school that obviously didn’t last. coming to university, however, made you realize just how not-ready you were to be involved with someone.

“hey can i take a nap on your couch?” maggie began, gently nudging glenn to make room for her head on his lap.

“already?” you teased the girl with no actual annoyance in your voice.

maggie nodded, tired and laying down on her boyfriend’s lap. you swore you heard daryl scoff slightly as glenn stroked maggie’s hair. you flashed a small, sort of obligatory smile at the couple on your couch.

the distance between you and daryl seemed to lengthen as half of your smoke circle was now passed out, leaving no one to pass the joint. your back strained, trying to close the gap between you and the man who did not seem to get high at all.

“hey, uh.. daryl? you high yet?”

“nah, i can go for a few more rounds.” he grunted kicking glenn’s leg in slight annoyance.

your eyes widened, bottom lip jutting out in admiration of his tolerance level, “you smoke often?”

“a lot of shit happens around… just easier to tolerate if you can forget for a while,” he spoke, bringing the roach to his lips.

“why not drink instead? why do you smoke?”

you knew you were testing the limits with this closed-off man, but how else were you supposed to get to know him?

daryl cocked an eyebrow, and you could hear him question why it was any of your business to know anything about his life.

“i’m not a good drunk.”

silence washed into the room, leaving you pouting your lips, trying to segue the conversation into something lighter.

“i like your skull tattoo.” you commented, eyeing the back of his hand. you realized it looked exactly like the sticker on his lighter. that seemed to have caught his attention noticing his slightly raised eyebrows.

“can you guys shut the fuck up?” a drowsy voice interrupted your conversation.

“what the fuck do you want us to do huh?” you retorted, turning towards glenn, who was scrunching his face in irritation.

“go inside or something i don’t fucking know!”

you would have usually kicked him off the couch for behaving like the annoying brother he is, but you had to think this through. there was a way this could turn out well for you.

‘going inside’ meant that you would be alone with daryl, probably on your bed too since there wasn’t any other seating inside your room. you looked at daryl, raising your eyebrows suggestively.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

your room was slightly colder than your living room; something about the building ventilation being fucked up. daryl didn’t seem to care, shedding the sleeveless vest he had on, his biceps flexing in the process. you eyed the posters on your wall with criticism, hoping none of them were embarrassing.

“you like breaking bad huh?” daryl commented, pointing at your wall. you nodded, a smile pulling at your lips.

“good show. you got good taste.”

your chest swelled with pride, muscles around your mouth in pain from how hard you smiled. a chill from your aircon trailed up your spine, your arms hugging either side of your torso in an attempt to warm up. daryl glanced at you, specifically your breasts pushing up against each other, momentarily, before sitting on the foot of the bed with the dying roach in his hand.

you turned off the fluorescent white central lighting in your room before pressing the switch for your calmer, dimmer lamp.

“shit was hurtin’ my eyes, thanks.” you heard daryl chuckle.

“yeah, the landlord hates me, i swear. had to get candles because that light is just so fucking ugly,” you spoke, a laugh bubbling up. the smile on your face had not left since you entered your room. the full-body euphoria made you giggly, even in the company of a stranger.

sitting down on the other side of the bed, you dug into the metal box once again, fumbling with the tempting joints as your vision blurred softly. you felt his gaze burn into your skin as you sat in your dimly lit room.

“you play guitar?” he questioned, looking away from you and at the metallic blue electric guitar placed in the corner of your room.

“a little… i’m still learning though… you?”

“used to.” daryl responded, fishing his lighter out as soon as you stopped fumbling with the joint.

repeating the same routine; sticking the joint between your lips and leaning into him, overestimating the space between the two of you this time, you climbed toward him, fists digging into your mattress as you waited for him to give you the light.

you didn’t pay attention to the way your tank top dropped low in front of him, or how quick his eyes were to check you out before nudging the flame toward the joint.

you sucked on the cigarette, eyebrows knitting in pain from the delicious burn spreading through your lungs, not breaking eye-contact with the man in your bed. you exhaled slowly, the back of your head landing on the headboard with a thud, “fuuuuck… i missed this.”

daryl tilted his head, “yeah? why? you take a break?”

“well, i get addicted to things easily… and religious guilt and whatnot…” you answered, feeling weird about your sudden transparency.

daryl raised his eyebrows, “that’s heavy shit, you don’t gotta tell me twice.”

you pass the joint to daryl, his fingers sizzling against yours for the millisecond-long touch. the scent of weed fogged your senses as he blew the smoke out, coughing immediately after.

your nerves undid themselves one after the other, head swaying to a non-existent rhythm. this strain was strong. you had forgotten how dangerously easy it was to not give a fuck when you were high.

do something, say something, you scolded yourself, scanning daryl’s figure on your bed. it felt like the universe had dropped a gift on your lap and you, for some reason, refused to open it.

your inner teenager activated the second you sat down on your bed with him, letting your thoughts run wild.

the blunt ache between your thighs grew more unbearable by the second as you wondered how his lips would feel; how they’d taste.

you wanted to be near him and feel his fingers, his warmth around you. but nothing was going to happen if you didn’t close the gaping distance between the two of you. you parted your lips, heart beating faster than ever. if he shot you down, it would be the worst high of your life and you would just have to live with that.

your mouth acted before the sober part of your mind did, popping the first question in your mind.

“you ever shotgunned?”

daryl stopped fiddling with his lighter to look at you, darting his tongue out to wet his bottom lip; that same glossy sheen sent a jolt of lightning to the bottom of your gut.

you tried filling in the silence, “you know… inhaling smoke fro-”

the man nodded hesitantly, hair moving toward his face, “i know what it is.” the drone of his accent budded excitement in your chest.

you cocked an eyebrow and inched closer to him, “i haven’t.”

he stopped all movement, looking up at you to process the loss of space between him and you.

“how does it feel?” you tilted your head, shame or dignity nowhere to be found within you.

daryl’s chest heaved as he brought the joint in his hand to his lips. you watched him, processing his movements, heart beating faster than usual. his lips worked fast around the pre-roll, leaving you wondering whether he would look the same between your legs.

your thighs squirmed, body feeling smaller and smaller in front of the man leaning closer and closer to you. his hands cupped your face, the cool metal of his rings contrasting his burning fingertips.

your lips parted as you looked up at him through your eyelashes, surrendering into his hold. pulling your face in, he switched his gaze from one eye of yours to the other.

the strong yet subtle aroma of his cologne mixed with the frankly delicious scent of the drug scrambled your senses. daryl looked down, blowing smoke in a thin stream, refusing to look away from where the smoke met your lips.

like a reflex, you inhaled, hands grabbing at his legs for balance.

the room seemed to darken in comparison to the man holding your face. suddenly he and you were the only objects in the world, floating. daryl’s hold loosened as you inhaled for what felt like years of your life.

“how about that?”

your breath staggered, processing what happened a second ago. you nodded, not pulling away from him.

daryl was definitely high. a pinkish hue masked his eyes, eyelids drooping down lower than usual, and a mindless smile playing on his lips. you could say the same for yourself, still processing the position you were in with a handsome stranger you met, thanks to glenn.

“that was.. um… yeah. fun…” you struggled to find the words, still looking into his cold eyes. you shifted your weight, the flannel of your pants rubbing deliciously against your core, making you hitch your breath.

“you gon’ pull away?” he spoke, not letting go.

“you gonna let go?” you retorted, not pulling away.

you had to grow some balls. here you were, getting high with someone you actually were interested in after a long time. that was not the right time to second- guess yourself.

fingers tracing his jaw, you leaned in.

“daryl. can i kiss you?”

you could see the gears turn in his head as you waited for what felt like years for a response. not a word was spoken. the dim lamps lit the back of his head casting an angel like glow to his silhouette.

he brought the flaming end of the joint to his tongue, putting out the embers with a soft sizzle.

you widened your eyes, “what the fuck, how did that not hurt-”

silence.

the softest pair of lips on yours shut you right up, your nose finding warmth against his skin. daryl pulled you in, fingers reaching for your hair.

what was happening?

you kissed back, sitting up straight to find balance. his hands roamed your back and stopped at the small of it. he tightened his grip around the fabric of your tank top and pulled you in. your chest leaned flush against his, feeling the outlines of his several silver chains on your breasts.

your lips grew hot with every kiss you planted on his, his tongue swiping your bottom lip before biting it gently. the very involuntary moan he pulled out of you, had his chest heaving. your fingers found his small waist, relishing the way he felt under your touch.

daryl pulled away, muttering a string of “fuck”s , eyeing you head to waist, “you sure you want to?”

you deadpanned, mouth open at the man’s obliviousness, “yeah, i’m kissing you back because i don’t want you.”

“hey, no sarcasm. yes or no?”

“yes, daryl. you?”

“hell, yeah,” he nodded, pulling you in with one arm as he made himself more comfortable on your bed.

you pressed kisses on his neck, arms anchoring yourself around him on the cream-colored sheets. his shoulders settle, a long sigh escaping his lips. the grip of your fingers on his waist tightened when you caught the scent of his cologne mixed with the cigarettes you assume he had been smoking all day.

he leaned back on your pillow, eyelids dropping as he spread his legs to sink further down on the mattress. you tugged at the waistband of his jeans, signaling him to undo his belt. as he worked on his pants, you were quick to shed your tank, revealing your bra.

daryl stopped fumbling with his belt to look at you, breathing getting heavier, cock stirring at the mere sight of a topless you.

“daryl!” you reminded, noticing how distracted he was. watching him undo the zipper on his pants and push them down had you drooling in anticipation. you did not know it was possible to drool at the sight of someone, but there you were.

you started unbuttoning his shirt, peppering kisses from the nape of his neck to his collarbones, taking your sweet time to taste him. your other hand, having a mind of its own, palmed him through his boxers, fishing his first moan for the evening.

“you like it when i do that?” your open mouthed kisses made their way to the shell of his ear.

“fuck… yeah, do it again.”

following a soft chuckle, your legs straddled his waist as you helped him remove his shirt. you weren’t surprised when his tattoos were revealed, or his numerous chains for that matter. what you were intrigued about, however, were his scars.

scars scattered across his torso, some covered up with tattoos, some not.

“oh, um. yeah, these-”

“you don’t have to tell me.”

he nodded, relief washing over him. you sensed the hesitation in his voice as he tried to explain. you could tell that was not the time, clearly.

one of your hands slipped under his boxers, feeling his length. daryl’s mouth dropped open, eyes rolling back at your touch.

daryl was big. not just length-wise either; your fingers wrapped around him but barely met as you stroked up and down his shaft. his heartbeat quickened as he bucked his hips into your palm, desperate for more friction.

you had forgotten all about the pathetic state of your arousal between your legs, completely focused on making the guy writhing under your touch feel good.

so imagine your surprise when he mirrored you, his right hand sliding down your underwear to rub at your clothed clit.

you noticed daryl smile mindlessly, wondering what amused him in the middle of getting a hard-on.

“you get this wet for a stranger?”

a jolt of lightning shot up your pussy as you detached your lips from his neck, rocking against his thick fingers to meet his eyes.

“i wouldn’t be talking shit ab-... about someone who’s got your dick in their hand,” you replied, trying to concentrate on your hand and hip coordination.

“just a- fuck … just observing,” he whimpered through heavy breaths, eyeing your chest.

his fingers deftly hooked the fabric of your underwear to pull them to the side. before you could brace for impact, the coolness of his touch met the warmth of your pulsating clit, applying minimal pressure.

“daryl, fuck, can you just-” you pleaded, grinding harder against his fingers.

“nah,” you felt his smile through the kisses on your neck as his other hand unhooked your bra with ease.

you were so fucking close. but this was a competition, an unspoken one, but one nonetheless.

trying your best not to give in to his frankly skilled fingers working your pussy, your own stroked the head of his cock, earning a choked moan from the man who momentarily stopped all movement in utter surprise.

the bouts of energy shooting up your core were ten times more intense because of the weed. and maybe, probably, definitely because of daryl. that toy in your nightstand couldn't make you clench around nothing like his fingers did just a few seconds ago.

your biggest mistake was thinking that you had gotten the best of him. his focus, although seemingly on your breasts bouncing in his face, was on his own fingers, rubbing at your folds before sliding a digit down your slit and dipping into you.

head thrown back and eyes rolling to the back of your head, you gasped in your highest voice, painful pleasure coursing through your veins.

the pad of his thumb rubbed circles on your clit, the rest of his digits gathering your arousal to rub the folds of your pussy.

“this is to- too much, oh i feel so fucking good-”

“hush now, you don't wanna wake them up,” he reminded you, the stubble on his chin scratching against the soft skin on your tits. bringing his mouth to one of your nipples, he nibbled softly, massaging your other breast with his free hand.

you brought the hand previously wrapped around him to your mouth, spitting on your palm and pulling him out of his boxers before covering him with your saliva.

it was his turn to try and be quiet, teeth sinking down on his lower lip as he watched you jerk him off, smearing your spit on his tip and dipping into the slit of his cock with your thumb.

“where’d’ya lear- … learn all this?” the drawl in his voice grew raspier.

“i got my ways,” you looked up at him, mind hazy as ever, yet still focused on what was at hand. literally.

you don’t know what came over you when you pulled away from him entirely to take your pants off. daryl watched you strip, eyes raking your naked silhouette.

“what are you doi-” he began, trying to put two and two together. you climb back into your bed, pulling daryl in by his arms.

reaching for his cock, you straddled his waist, pulling your panties aside and slapping his shaft against your folds, the mere sound of contact sending shockwaves to your gut.

you rocked into his shaft, rubbing yourself up on him, your arousal smothering the tip of his cock almost immediately.

the warmth of your core sent daryl over the edge as his hands gripped firmly at your waist, rubbing his shaft up and down your slit.

your hands grabbed his thighs, massaging them steadily as the two of you continued to grind against each other, the tiniest of frictions bringing you closer to the edge.

“daryl, i don’t think i can last longer i-”

“me neither sunshine, you wanna do the honors?”

you nodded, wetting your lips and chasing your high. the sinful noises of his cock rubbing up against your pussy as you grow wetter by the second only help you as you bounce up and down against him faster and harder.

you panted his name, eyes shut and nails clawing his biceps, the tip of his cock swollen pink and pulsating.

as you focused on cumming, you didn't notice his thumb pressing down on your clit in one swift motion, sending white-hot flashes through your nervous system, your pussy clenching around nothing. his finger did not leave your clit, even when you fell back on the mattress, feeling your orgasm crescendo as your body shook in sheer euphoria.

you gripped your sheets, whimpering through the orgasm as you bit your fingers to stay quiet. tears of pleasure threatened to spill from your eyes when you arched your back at your final clench before letting go in exhaustion, clit throbbing bluntly from the aftermath of your climax.

your eyes flickered to daryl’s cock, the head leaking with precome as he watched you cum around his cock. he swallowed thickly, hands inching closer to your figure.

“daryl, you wanna come on my tits?”

eyebrows raised, he nodded hurriedly, climbing on top of a very topless you, and stroking himself. it still seemed as if he held back on cumming too soon even though you were the first one to do so.

cocking an eyebrow, you massaged the inside of his thighs, inching closer and closer to his pelvis before cupping his balls.

a guttural moan escaped his lips, the hand on his cock speeding up its pace. his mouth fell open, “fuck fuck fuck i’m coming, im coming-”

his climax painted your chest as his elbow propped himself up near your head, trying not to collapse on you.

your fingers played with the liquid, smearing it on your breasts before bringing them to your mouth and pushing them past your lips.

daryl, still recovering from his orgasm, took notice of that, a small smile playing on his lips before kissing you. the slightly salty taste of his own climax flooded his mouth as he felt your fingers thread his hair.

pulling away, you stared at him, the sheen on sweat on his forehead and chest a pretty reminder of what just happened between the two of you.

“you treat all your houseguests like this?” you heard him through the pulsation now in your ears.

that comment earned him a playful slap on the arm. “gonna help me clean this up first?” your eyes pointed toward your tits.

“depends, can i sleep over?” he questioned, already on his way to grab some tissues, letting you know he was joking around.

you giggled, sitting up to face him, “you can come over anytime you want daryl, you bring the weed next time though.”

you swore you heard him chuckle before saying, “deal.”

__________

hii ! pls comment and let me know if you liked the fic!! <33

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #writers #daryl dixon/reader #the walking dead smut #shotgunning #smoking #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x reader

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uglypastels · 1 year

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Not Wholly Evil |IV| pirate!eddie

a/n so sorry for the long wait. Let this be a celebration of the beginning of summer :) and lets hope for many fics to come (i cant make any promises tho) I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! Please remember to support by reblogging and leaving comments on what you think of the story <3

Series Masterlist

word count: 7.5k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying. religious (Christian) references.

There might be a mention of other ST characters, and for plot sake, everyone is an adult here, just coz I don't want fetus pirates running around, but they are not really relevant to the plot.

Chapter 4: Columba

A philosopher once asked, "Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?" Pointless, really..."Do the stars gaze back?" Now, that's a question. ― Neil Gaiman, Stardust

‘We’re… lost?’ You stared blankly ahead.

‘I’ll admit, lost is a strong word, princess— Misdirected feels more accurate. Sailing off-course.’

You stammered for a response to the confession you just heard. ‘How– How could we be off-course?’ The captain’s words had not fully come through to you yet, perhaps by his casual stance and lack of urgency for a solution or panic. He stood there, arms behind his back, studying his map like one of the painting hanging on the Queen’s wall. And yet, according to this man, you were heading into uncharted waters. You have been heading towards them for God knows how long.

‘It is quite simple. Here–’ he was still analysing the markings on the wall as he spoke, and he must have wanted you to step closer, for he looked at you expectedly. Something around his mouth twitched when he looked your way. The eye contact was piercing both ways with so much said between the two of you, and yet not a single word had been exchanged. With two ringed fingers, he pulled an invisible string that he hoped would have some effect on you.

It did not.

All you did was raise a brow in your expectation, ready to see what the captain would do now. Arms crossed, you remained in your place.

‘Do not make me come over there, princess.’

‘Do not make me come over there, Munson.’ The words were bitter but tasted sweet, like honey on your lips. If you had blinked, and as luck would have it, you did not, you would have missed the captain’s reaction; a deep breath in as he hollowed out his cheeks, pushing back any clearer indications of frustrations or signs of weaknesses. The patience ran out of his dark eyes. Then, with a stretch of his neck, he returned to his first problem as if the short interaction between you had never occurred. He sounded entirely unphased as he, despite your distance, went to explain the conundrum. ‘Several days ago, the Hellfire stumbled upon a certain ship,’ he tapped one of his fingers on a small mark south of the map. It then dawned on you that, by surrendering to your stubbornness, he had won the bigger battle. Your curiosity was gaining on you, and from where you stood, you could not put much more meaning to his words, as the islands around it were unfamiliar. He knew this and could tell you were frustrated with yourself, but you were too stubborn to walk up and look at what he was showing you… yet where you stood now was no good either. The captain continued explaining as if you were right by his side, not addressing anything else of the situation. ‘Tonight, we were meant to have only been a week’s travel away from our destination–’ your home. This shocked you, for before, you had no indication of how much longer it would take—a week. What was supposed to have been a week is now an undetermined eternity as the ship sailed on.

The mention of your home hit you at the deepest level, overshadowing any other emotions you felt. Any stubbornness was pushed aside for anger as you crossed the room.

Nothing was exchanged as you moved past the desk towards the captain. He did not look your way, but the grin on his face was undeniable. You could still feel it when he brought you closer to him with a quick pull, shaking you around practically like a rag-doll. You now stood between him and the map, his shoulder against your back. His breath on your neck. His muscles brushed over you as he moved his arm to point out the locations on the map. The flash of heat coming over you could not have been anything but the anger you felt at yourself for letting this happen.

‘To sum up, we met here, darling,’ he reached to tap the map again at a southern point, bringing himself closer to you with the excuse to reach the chart. His chin practically leaned on your shoulder, and his hot breath became overbearing to all your senses. All you could focus on were the rings that adorned his fingers in front of you—one of the few aspects of him you could always trust to remain constant. You watched him move his hand across. ‘—were meant to arrive here—,’ One straight line towards home with a dark, blotted circle on top of it. It made you wonder how long that ink sat upon the canvas. Had he written it once you came aboard, or had he been planning something much longer? Had your abduction been a plan all along? It was hard to imagine but not impossible.

‘And now we’re… well, God knows where we are,’ he chuckled with wicked amusement, and you did not see the humour in being lost at sea. You did, however, see the irony of him speaking of God. He, a Satan’s spawn himself. It is ridiculous to think that he had the gumption to speak the Lord’s name so casually, especially with him being who he is. It simply did not sit right with you.

However, none of your concerns seemed to have drawn his attention as Munson went on: ‘I felt something was wrong as we were supposed to have arrived at Escondrijo last night, a rest stop we often sail past,’ he read out the name of this island right at your skin, the S slithering from his tongue onto you in shivers. ‘I thought maybe my calculations were simply off; the wind, after all, had not been the kindest. Of course, it could have been a delay– but alas.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘What we stumbled across was–’ He slammed his fist into the map, making you jump at the extreme action, ‘Such a useless piece of land no one bothered to give it a name!’ He laughed away his frustrations, which chilled you to the bone. ‘Not even the damned sould that live there.’

Damned. That’s what he was. What all of you were as the ship sailed on.

You tried to take in everything that he had just told you. All the locations he had pointed to. Considering the unknown status of your location, the world must have turned upside down for you to arrive here. The fact the Hellfire had stumbled upon the nameless island must have been dumb chance in itself, and just as quickly as it had made itself shown, it was now becoming nothing more than a memory.

Still, this island could be anywhere on the map, but it must have been close to the planned destination. The climate would have raised suspicions much earlier if it had been otherwise. And that is precisely what you suggested to the captain, hoping that giving him some kind of positive idea would direct him away from the anger he must be feeling. Not to mention, at this moment, you were both in trouble, in danger, and the only way out of it was to help him… as much as you disliked the idea of doing so. It was the only option.

‘Yes, exactly. All my calculations had been perfect. That is why this is all so perplexing.’

You could name several more reasons why the situation was “perplexing”, including one thing you did not yet understand:

‘Why did we even leave the harbour? Why not stay and orient yourself?’ There were people there, other sailors; naturally, someone could have helped track the right direction to sail onward to. Someone there might have had more information. Anything.

And yet, the ship had already set sail into the abyss of the night. You could hear the waves sloshing around you, and when you turned around, the fiery light coming from the island was thinning on the horizon.

‘You overestimate the usefulness of a drunken man. Or the charitability of a passerby in a midnight alley.’ Munson spoke, ‘Or perhaps, you simply underestimate my willingness to find a solution, for that matter. As if I did not try to ask for help—because, whatever you may think of me, I am not ashamed of seeking out outside recourses—’ There was that clicking sound of his tongue that announced nothing but smugness. Next thing you know, his arms had snaked their way down, wrapped around your middle, trapping your arms within his hold. His lips were at your ear, freezing you like a spell. ‘And here I thought you would know me better by now.’

You wished you did too, but the truth was much more brutal. With every moment you spent in the captain’s presence, he only seemed to be becoming more and more of a mystery to you. None of your million questions regarding the notorious Captain Munson had been answered.

With a slow intake of breath, you spoke to him as calmly as possible: ‘Get off of me.’

‘Mmm,’ he hummed, swaying you back and forth, enhancing the ship's movements, ‘I don’t think I want to, princess.’ In reality, it was a loose grip that held no power, authority, or fear over you. All it did was plague you with his touch, scent, and sound; it was all over. You could feel him everywhere. The heat of his body was radiating onto you, boiling you alive.

From this position, you could not see his face. Your peripheral vision only gave you a blurry profile of his features without indicating what he was doing. You both stood there for a long moment, looking at the map as if it would reveal some secret message. Something to magically guide you back on the right path. It was quiet around, with nothing else but the waves outside, the fire of the candles in the room flickering, and two pairs of lungs breathing. Two hearts, beating fast.

His grip loosened, but you did not move. Too scared that any movement would remind him of you. Although, maybe he had not forgotten but simply lost interest, for the captain took a step forward, passing you right by. His eyes were locked in on a spot on the map.

This silence had given you one thing, and it was the time to think. Maybe not clearly—that was barely ever possible with him around—but long enough to devise a train of thought. With that, one more question struck you.

‘Why tell me all of this?’ Was he confessing this all to you because he was not planning on having you stick around for much longer? Airing out a confession to a soul that he had already sentenced, either way, leaving no trace of his mishappening behind? If that was the case, you had to leave this room quickly. Tell someone about all of this…Because what stopped you from going out there and telling everyone that their captain had failed them? Led them to be stranded at sea. This may be what you need. This may get them on your side. Maybe–

‘Oh, it is wonderful how your mind works, princess.’ He turned around on his heels, and his hands found your shoulders, dug in like claws, shaking you lightly. Shaking you straight out of your escapist fantasy. ‘Truly, fascinating.’ The two last words burned with a growl. He chuckled a little bit more before redirecting himself towards his desk. The captain did not bother walking around the desk. Instead, he sat down on it and let his legs swing around, knocking several stacks of parchment onto the floor in the process. He did not even look down at the mess he caused. Instead, he slightly bent back to look down. His eyes shot down, an eyebrow was raised, and then he looked back at you.

‘Nosy, were we, darling?’ There was a metal twinkle that piqued your interest, and you noticed the silver key hanging around his neck. He pulled it off and unlocked the drawer you had been toying with before his arrival.

Had it surprised you that he pulled out a bottle of rum?

Slightly.

But you watched the captain uncork the bottle and take a large sip as he sat on the armrest of his throne. He was sloppy, and the liquid spilt down his chin. He was wiping it off as he extended his other arm towards you, inviting you for a drink. When you did not respond, the captain shrugged, mumbled something about stubbornness, and drank until barely anything was left. He put the bottle on the disorganised desk and roughly wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

He let out a satisfied sigh. ‘Mmm. Now, where was I,’ he tapped his fingers on his thigh, trying to remember the last seconds. Once he did so, he laughed.

‘It is so easy to think that one tiny mistake could cause a man’s respect, but these men—together with me, may I add—have been through a lot. We are a family, sweetheart, and family isn’t so easy to get rid of. No matter how hard or often you try.’ His dark eyes pierced through yours. ‘So, I hope you do not set your hopes on a mutiny too high because that just won’t happen. If my men wanted to get rid of me, they would have done so long ago.

‘I’ve made much bigger mistakes that could have cost me my head, yet…’ he knocked his knuckles on the side of his skull, giving you an almost apologetic expression, indicating that he was still present and accounted for. ‘I’m sure they’re all aware of our little problem by now. Hell, it’s their fault, but I don’t want to vex them with this. They have enough work on their plates.’

‘So?’ You did not see the point of this anymore, not believing that he had no one in his crew that could help him right now. That would have been more helpful than you.

‘So,’ he mocked your inquisitive tone. ‘Out of everyone on board, you’re probably the last that needs a good night sleep–or at least can miss one.’

You wanted to argue with him, call him a monster for depriving you of simple decency such as a night’s rest, but then it dawned on you that he might have actually been right. While the floor gave you no comfort, you had, in a way, the luxury of sleeping as long as, and whenever, you pleased. Meanwhile, the crew got barely any sleep and then had to work most of the day to keep the ship afloat. That was a rationalisation of yet another lost battle, at least.

‘Even if I did want to help you,’ you sighed in defeat, ‘how could I?’ You didn’t know how to steer a ship, let alone guide one back onto a correct route in the middle of the deep waters at night. Munson looked at you, still very much amused, and clearly held back his tongue with a comment on your words. Instead, he answered your question genuinely. Possibly doing so for the first time.

‘It is the middle of the night; the sky is clear,’ he spoke as if this all led to the most obvious of conclusions, ‘why not let the stars guide you?’

‘What makes you think I know how to?’ Did he think you had any experience in this field? ‘Well, I doubt you keep looking up there just because the stars shine oh-so charmingly.’

‘You do not think the night sky to be beautiful?’ You asked curiously. It would explain so much about the captain if he could not appreciate the simple beauty of such things. But, the man threw you in for a loop.

‘I do, but I also know it has many more functions than decor. You must know it too.’

‘I do.’ That was basic enough knowledge that you had picked up on as a young child, but was that it? Just because you were fascinated by the heavens did not mean you had any expert knowledge on the subject. Besides, where would you have even been able to acquire it? ‘And this makes you think I can steer us back on the right path?’

‘Call it intuition.’

‘And on the principles of your intuition, you dare to put your fate in the hands of a…prisoner?’ You had never heard of such a tale for a captain to let his prisoner take the lead on the ship. Giving him their trust.

‘I think we are past such formalities, are we not?’ Were you? He must have read the doubt on your face, for he took the task of explaining: ‘You are no longer locked away; you have the freedom to go anywhere on this ship. I brought you a delicious meal—which I would still like to have received some gratitude for, but that is beside the point—and now I am asking you for your help. Some would say you are going up the ranks quite swiftly, princess.’

‘Funny, I do not recall you asking for my help at all? Just being locked away in a room for hours and given no choice but to do as you say.’

‘The pirate life!’ Munson spread his arms wide, slipping down into the seat of his thrown. You thought it would be futile to argue with him, seeing what humour he was in. The way he had just devoured the bottle of rum would not be helping your case.

‘Why me then? Why not do it yourself since you seem to know as much as me about the stars?’ You thought it would be easier and faster if he had done the work independently. It would already cost less time not to go through this discussion.

Like a thunderbolt, anger struck his face. ‘Because, I say so,’ he snarled before returning to his previous self, ‘and I thought you might like having something to occupy yourself with. Pushing around crates must become boring after sometime, does it not?’

‘How do you–’ He had seen what you had done with the lower deck. But… when would he have had the chance? You could not recall many instances, if any, of the captain coming down to see you after he freed you from your cell.

He pushed himself up from the throne and walked back over to you. Then, he began walking in circles around you, and you tried to keep up with him, but it quickly strained your neck. ‘Yes, I know all about your organizing down there. And about your inquiring nature.’ He nodded over to the desk you had tried to pry open. Something must have given it away. He clicked his tongue. ‘Remember whose ship you’re on, darling. There is nothing that goes by around here without me knowing about it. If you do something, it’s because I let you do it.’

‘I hardly believe that.’

‘Well, believe this then: on any other ship, you could have gotten into a lot of trouble if someone caught you going through another man’s things—’

‘Don’t try and tell me all of that is yours. I know you stole it off other ships.’ You rolled your eyes. Munson played a victim, placing a hand over his chest, pausing in front of you with his big eyes, imitating hurt.

‘Some of it very well may be. This,’ he flicked the collar of the shirt you were wearing, ‘for sure is.’ His fingers grazed at your skin, brushing over your throat hastily. ‘I could have you hung, you know. Or at least take off a few fingers.’

‘I doubt it considering you need me in one piece if you want my father’s money.’

‘Did you know there are hundreds of other man out there who’d pay double for a pretty face like yours?’ He waited for a crack to reveal the fear on your face and didn’t say anything until it showed. ‘Not to mention, I would not be risking arrest with them. Luckily, I am a man of my word. So, to your daddy you shall return.’ He reached for your shirt collar again, flattening it out carefully with a smile that could make you forget any of the horrific things he had just spoken of. ‘As I was saying, darling… I have a feeling you’d rather not end up like the other dirty thieves, so be a doll and prove to me that there was a use in letting you out of your cell after all.’

There it was. The reason for all of this. This was your punishment. Or some kind of redemption. He caught you going through his belonging, and now you had to pay for it— and pay with performing something you already felt to be impossible.

With him standing in front of you, hand still on your shoulder, you looked him directly in the eye. ‘How long do I have?’

The captain puckered his lips in thought and looked out the window. ‘As long as you can make use of the stars. Then I would really like to get back on course.’

Until sunrise, however long that could be. You had a few hours to find your current location and a path back to where you were headed.

‘What if I can’t do it?’ you pushed the question out of your tightening throat, scared of what the answer might be.

‘That is no mindset for you, princess.’ He brushed some hair out of your face. ‘You’re too smart for that. Now go on; no need to waste even more time.’ And with that, he set you on your way. Or, more accurately, he let go of you and made his way to the bed on the opposite side of the room. In the meantime, you felt like your feet were nailed to the ground, unsure of what to do next, scared of taking the wrong steps. All you could do was look around as if the answers were hidden in the cabin. It had not even been a minute, and you could feel your heart getting stuck in your throat, panic setting in. To give up had never been a feasible option for you before, and it still pained you to think of doing it, but the words were ready to leave your mouth. You win. Your lips parted, and your vocal cords croaked when you noticed something.

The letters were partly worn from contact but still reflected in the light. Either way, it wasn’t so much the letters that spoke to you, as you could not clearly read it from a distance, but the symbol above it. A golden star set on top of a leather book spine, winking at you in the fire.

Now with much more confidence, you took the needed strides towards the bookcase. It was pitch black leather, wrapped in a string to keep the delicate pages together. The book was situated on a lower shelf, pressed between other volumes, making it hard to remove.

‘Need help with that, princess?’ Munson sounded from behind you.

Instead of responding, you pulled at the book again, and this time, it fell out from the shelf with a stir as a pile of books near it moved about. Still giving no reaction to the words spoken, you got up and moved to the desk, unwrapping the tie from around the covers and letting it fall open in front of you. The pages were nearly pristine, the ink dark, as if it had never seen the light of day. This ink depicted excellent illustrations of creatures and men.

Despite being ignored by you, for once, the captain kept his distance and let you work while you searched for the correct pages. You could tell from notes that this was definitely the book you needed, as it told you everything you had to know, but the writing was small and not always legible. The pages were thin but rough to the touch. The writing was small, fitting as much information as the writer could cram between the covers. Most of it felt familiar, bringing you back to tales you had heard from your father or the governess. But navigating oneself with the stars' help required much knowledge and skill you still needed to possess.

You tried to focus on it as much as you could, and yet, despite the silence and the space between you, you couldn’t stop glancing his way. The captain lay on the bed, his head toward the door, facing you. Each time your eyes met, you pulled yourself away from it, returning to the words and drawings on the pages, but you could constantly feel his gaze on you. It was unnerving. It was as if he was standing right there in front of you.

‘I promise you, I will be more effective if I do not have to endure your constant breathing down my neck.’ Maybe it was your surprisingly peaceful few hours in solitude on board, the tankard of ale streaming through your blood, or even the overall situation placing the captain in a new light, but you felt bold. ‘So, will you please stop staring.’ You looked up, not even surprised to see him still looking directly at you.

‘What would you rather have me do, darling?’ he asked, almost affectionately… though that could not possibly be what it was.

‘For you to leave, and do not call me darling,’ you dared to express.

‘You want me to leave my own quarters?’ He raised a brow in humour.

‘Yes, that is exactly what I want,’ you explained.

‘Ah, well,’ he threw his hands up, rolling his eyes, ‘if it is exactly what the lady wants, that leaves me with very few options, doesn’t it?’ You watched him walk towards the door, perplexed at the ease with which he moved, …just to swerve around and lean against the door. ‘Oh, no, I suppose it doesn’t.’ He shrugged.

You did your best not to pay attention to whatever the captain was doing—which, in that instance, seemed to be humming some song. You did not recognise it, nor did you have a need to learn it. Especially since, at this moment, any sound from him boomed in your ears like a canon.

‘Must you be doing that? I am trying to concentrate for your own ship’s sake, if you do not recall.’

‘Apologies.’ He stopped, but the energy transferred into his legs, which shook his whole body with them, only softening the sound slightly, but the creaking of the wooden panels underneath him wasn’t much better. You couldn’t do this any longer.

The only thing on your mind was frustration as you slammed the book shut, picked it up and walked towards the door. The captain took one smooth step to the side and, when you pulled at the door handle, had expected it to remain in its bolts, but it opened so quickly that your slight pull was enough to throw you sideways. The night darkness welcomed you together with the cold sea air and confusion.

‘How long has this been open?’ You did not want to look at him and did not need to. You could tell what kind of smile he wore and how he must have enjoyed this moment as he answered.

‘Ever since I came back, princess.’ You could have left any time. You just took a deep breath and counted to three before turning his way and calmly saying something you had thought ever since your eyes fell upon him.

Well, at least better late than never. You stepped out onto the quarter deck without closing the door behind you. A man was half-asleep at the wheel, his entire body leaning on it. Luckily, someone had blocked it, avoiding the ship sailing in circles.

Besides the sleeping helmsman, no one else seemed to be above deck, most likely in their beds as deep night had arrived. There were no lights besides the fire lit in the captain’s office, so you let the darkness take you as you walked down the stairs…. But midway, as the light from the captain’s cabin remained in the distance, you realised your mistake.

‘For Heaven’s sake,’ you muttered under your breath and turned back around, climbing the steps, ignoring the burning hatred you felt in your body. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, you trotted your way back in. While your steps felt heavy, protesting your return into the room mentally, it was strange to walk so freely without all the layers your dress consisted of. With only a shirt over your upper body, you could feel each punch of the air on you, but in a strange sense, you welcomed it.

But stepping back inside, you felt your body heat up again, mainly from embarrassment rather than the soft fire lighting up the cabin. It had not even been a minute, and you were passing the threshold again. You had not expected, nor wanted, to have returned so soon. If luck was ever in your favour, you would never see the interior in your life again, but, unfortunately, there was no escaping from this room for you, as you seemed to be coming back no matter what.

‘Back so soon, princess?’ In the short time of your absence, Munson had returned to the bed and tilted his head at your entrance, grinning, ‘You must have missed me more than I thought.’

You scoffed, ‘for your information,’ and grabbed a lantern on a dressing table closest to the door… which was still too many steps inside for your liking, ‘I am simply gathering some light. It is too dark outside, I cannot read what's on the pages.’

‘Ah. Is that all then?’ he asked, returning his head onto his pillow, closing his eyes as if he was ready for sleep, ignoring his clothes and the stoic position in which he lay. But as you moved around the cabin, he had opened one eye to look your way. ‘I’d suggest you take a jacket, princess. It can be quite cold out there.’

‘You could have made a fine gentleman, Munson.’ You held your head high, not looking at him. ‘It is a shame you let yourself deteriorate at sea like your ship.’

‘That actually almost hurt me, darling. I’m impressed.’ He chuckled, eyes already closed again. With nothing else to say, you passed the large wardrobe and walked straight out of the room. Once again, you walked down the stairs, celebrated when your feet touched the last step and walked onto the ship's centre. Along with the crashing of the waves, you could hear each of your footsteps.

Something must have been in your favour, for the sky was without a cloud and in the darkness of the ship, you could see millions of stars twinkling. The moon was still but a sliver. It brought a similar-looking smile to your face.

You searched for the page you had deemed the most useful beginning and spread the book in your arm. Now, with the book open in your arm, with the flames lighting the pages from above, you gazed up at the stars. After a short moment, this position would not be possible to uphold. The two objects you held were too strong to keep up in the air. Remaining as calm as possible, ultimately pressing the captain out of your mind, you reread the pages.

To navigate through the stars, one must first find Polaris—the brightest star in the sky, right at the end of the Ursa Minor. The sky was clear, handing you the constellations on an onyx platter. The silver balls of fire were peppered around like crystals, gleaming and shimmering, but without a doubt, there was one that shined just a little bit brighter, calling to you with the direction of True North.

You had heard men talk of these methods at home and aboard the Red Tail, and they had always sounded relatively simple. If anything, you considered their constant complaints simply a part of manhood. Now that you were straining out your neck to look around at all the corners of the galaxy, you still did not think it to be much more complicated and so knew that the captain could not have felt any other way.

You had figured out his plan to punish you, and now the rationale behind this specific task came to you. It would not have been unexpected if he tasked you with this hassling job simply because he was too much of a sloth to do so himself. There was still a dim light in the office quarters, so you assumed he had not gone to sleep yet… or perhaps fallen asleep with all the candles still flickering. For a moment, your mind wandered to where the candles tipped over, caught some of the wood around, and never stopped burning.

Just for a moment, until your lantern started to feel hot against you as you held it too close. It felt so heavy. You had to set it on the ground, then sat down beside it with the book in your lap.

Some time passed, but who knew how long precisely you had been sitting out there. Your knees had started to hurt, as well as your spine, but giving up was not an option. The ship swayed back and forth against the waves, blurring your view, only making things more complicated. The wind kept lashing out, but you persisted, trying to calculate the ship's position, flipping back through the book to the pages on which a map had been etched out. You would do this if it was the last thing you did.

‘I will be done by sunrise, ’ you shouted as you heard footsteps behind you. The jingle of chains could have only been one person. You wiped some hair away that the wind blew in your face as you felt the captain’s presence behind you—like a deathly spectre hovering over you. ‘I– I promise.’ You said so more to yourself. Because while you had to prove yourself to him to live, you needed to prove to yourself that you could do this. You would persist and manage to find a way back home.

The captain said nothing; he did not linger around, watching you. The only thing he did, was throw down a large coat onto the ground, which fell onto the floorboards next to you with a thud. You blinked slowly, then turned around to him, but he was already returning to the cabin.

‘It will all be pointless if you freeze to death.’ And with that, he took his last steps and shut the door behind him. The light in his room immediately blackened, obscured by the stained glass in the small door window.

You looked down at the jacket. Like all those the captain wore, it was black but heavily layered. Decorated in what seemed like hand-stitched gold but not in any fashionable manner. The stitching was uneven and needed a clear pattern. The sleeves were falling apart but tied together with what once must have been a silver necklace. Several of them, even. You glanced once more in the direction of the captain’s cabin before putting the coat on. It swallowed you up but immediately brought over a sense of comfortable heat over your body. The soft material protected you against the wind. Now not feeling like your bones were becoming icicles, you began to feel some pleasure in the whole thing. As you kept working, you slowly forgot why you sat in the middle of the ship and let yourself be emersed by the stars. Being out there on your own was actually freeing in a strange sense. The darkness locked you out of your extended surroundings, placing you virtually anywhere.

Well, not anywhere. The constellations held the password to where you found yourself, and you would decrypt it anytime now.

But first, you needed to stretch your legs. The cracking of your joints was enough of a sign that you had sat on that floor long enough. With the lantern in hand, you walked in circles around the ship. The light swung in motion to your steps, in motion to the waves. When you looked out at the sea, you were greeted with two moons. One hung still in the sky while her sister swam in the waters. Mirrored images of each other, smiling and frowning in both directions, but never in reach. Conflicted, perhaps or maybe they simply managed to show you bits of yourself there?

You wanted to say something to them as you stood there, but no words felt right. So, peaceful silence it was. However, the longer you stood there, the more of an effect you thought from the hours you spent on the deck. And there was still so much you had to do. But you could do it.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you leaned against the railing, placing the lantern beside you. The yawn pushed passed your lips without a choice but plenty of resistance. If you stayed there, you would probably fall asleep soon, which is ineffective. So, you grabbed the light, and with your free hand deep in your pocket to keep warm, you returned to your star gazing spot. But not one step in your brisk walk back, you halted. A feeling of something cold and hard against your hand occupied your entire mind there and then. When you pulled it out, you were unsure what it was, but the mechanism must have worn out through the years because it fell open in your hand, revealing a rose. Its arrow pointing right at you.

A compass.

Your head immediately shot toward the captain’s cabin, but the lights had gone out, and there was nothing more to make out of the darkness. Your eyes shut into narrow slits. He had brought you his own jacket and must have known what was in it.

The question now was, why? Why did he give it to you? Was he trying to help you by giving you this tool? Did he think you needed help to get anywhere? Well, you certainly did not. Especially when it could be a trap. The device could very well be defective and put you on the wrong trail, and then, if you were to give the captain the wrong directions, you knew he would not waste a second by punishing you. And this time, correctly.

Still, according to your calculations, North was meant to be behind you, so in that, the compass was correct, but you did not want to risk anything. An instinct told you to throw the thing away, right over the railing into the sea. Let it sink and make the captain watch. Just like you had to watch, your own ship disappear into the waters. It would have been a small taste of revenge, but it was a start.

The idea faded as soon as you shut the compass. You looked at the engraving on it—a detailed depiction of a bird–which kind, you could not quite tell. Perhaps a hawk… could it be… no, you doubted it was a Redtail. It could not be. The simple idea of that brought chills down your spine. How could Munson possess such an item; engraved with your town’s crest?

And it was old. As you had noticed, the clip keeping the two halves together was tethering on falling apart from frequent use, and the window of the rose was cracked. The metal of the shell had finger marks faded into it from the usual position it was held in by hands much larger than yours.

Not wanting to see it again, you pushed the compass deep down the pocket you had found it in. Determined to have the images erased from your mind by the rest of your task and the time pressure put on it, you retrieved your book.

It was harder done than said.

As you stood there, book and fire in hand, spinning around to position the stars as you pleased, the tiny silver lights blurred in your eyes. But you were so close, you could not stop now, not when you were so close. Ignoring the burn of the compass at your thigh as your mind whirred with solutions. With North decided for, and with the latitude… no longitude— and if the charts were pointed this way— then, God, you could not keep this book up anymore. Your arm screamed from the weight of the pages.

Back on the ground, you resumed your final observations. Flipping between the map and the charts, exchanging glances with the book and stars. Yes, if that was North, then… then… you checked the map once more, locating your home definitively.

You did it. You actually did it. It could have been minutes, maybe hours; you could not tell with certainty how much time you had spent on the task, but as you shut the book, so did your body. You fell back onto the deck with a tired smile. It could have been the fatigue, but the stars shone slightly brighter for you, gleaming with pride.

They also became blurrier. Your eyes turned heavy. But you kept staring up with a smile. At least, you do not remember ever stopping. Even if it is possible you fell asleep at some point, you could not tell at what point exactly. All you knew was that you dreamt. And for once, your mind was free of nightmares. As much as your world was free of them, at least. But it had to be a dream.

How else would he appear out of the shadows? Why else did you see him looking down at you; impossible to tell for how long. His features free of anger, mischief or bad intentions, unnatural. He stood there at the balustrade next to the helm. It was impossible to tell how long he had stood there in the dark.

And his walk. It was utterly silent, free of chains or heavy steps. That could have been only your brain letting you rest. His touch was feather soft as he picked you up in his arms.

You shouldn’t have stayed out here this long. He sighed in disappointment, but not in you.

You told me to— you mumbled.

I know. The floor became unstable. You were floating in the air, rising up. Only his hold there to keep you grounded. The one time you should have been stubborn and not listen. Why did you not just go to bed?

I want to go home, Eddie. Why else would you say this if it was not a dream? You could never imagine yourself opening up to him this way. Let him carry you like that. And if you had, it would never feel this good or safe to be held by him.

I know. He repeated himself. There was a shift. No longer in his arms, you were floating on a cloud, but his voice echoed around you. I’m sorry.

None of this could have been real. These could not be the words of captain Munson. But they still stayed with you as your dreams ventured on into other stories. All just as pleasant, the nightmares of all the nights before merely bad memories, never to be repeated again.

I did it, you said quickly before he disappeared, to be replaced by your new figment. North East. Go Northeast.

Here is your final reason. The proof you had dreamt it all. A silent moment, full of hesitation. Then, a fluttering touch of lips on your forehead and a hand brushing your cheek gently. If this had been real life, you would have turned away and let yourself burn in anger, but instead, your lips formed into a smile, and for the first time in forever, you felt at peace.

And just like that, like in any other dream, he was gone while your mind brought you to other fantastical places and told you stories you would not remember. It was a night of wondrous bliss, of rest. Filled with dreams as the stars watched over you.

Only at daybreak did it all change. When the morning sun glowed golden through the large window. Only at that moment you began thinking that maybe, just maybe, you were wrong. Perhaps not all of it had been a dream, for when you woke up, you were not on the ship's deck nor down in your cell. When you woke up, you did so in a bed.

The captain’s bed, of all places.

Chapter 5

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