#admittedly not the most exciting chapter

[starryserenade]

Myth & Magic Ch. 1: Rising Storm

Fic Description: When Tir na nÓg--the fabled land of the fae--falls to a dark power, the destinies of two young mice are set in motion. As each struggle to make their way in an ever-darkening world, they must learn to trust one another, or risk forever losing that which they hold most dear.

Chapter Description: Mickey, left without shelter amidst a relentless storm, seeks out help. In doing so, he encounters a new friend and an intriguing story.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44709304/chapters/113082568

Prologue: https://at.tumblr.com/starryserenade/myth-and-magic-prologue/2e9asj74iguk

Next Chapter

~~

Mickey was not one to complain, but today was especially miserable.  Rain had been falling in torrents and, as usual, there was a distinct chill in the air that made the weather’s bite especially powerful.  He was not usually much bothered by the cold, but today more than warranted the cloak he had drawn around his usual attire, and now clung to as he pushed through the storm.  Staying out of the elements all together would have been ideal, of course, had he not run out of food…and had the roof of the abandoned barn he was currently occupying not caved in overnight. So he found solace in the fact that here or there, he would be cold and wet. Might as well be cold, wet, and productive.

Through the veil of raindrops, he spotted a warm glow up ahead, quickening his pace as much as he could. He had not been sure when he set out how close the nearest village was, and had only hoped that following the path he’d chosen would lead to one. And as the rooftops came into view, he breathed a sigh of relief that he’d been right.

The village was nothing too special. As Mickey stepped onto the cobblestone street, its surface broken and scattered with pebbles, he took in his surroundings with a twinge of discouragement. What met his eyes was nothing new–buildings with stonework that was falling apart, streets that were half-flooded, and windows that were tightly shuttered to keep the cold from seeping through. It felt lonely, as most places did these days, but at the very least there was smoke rising from the chimneys, and the scent of food wafting through the air. That was more than he could say for most, and he assumed that the river running through the town, though rising dangerously close to the homes built above its banks, had been the lifeblood of its residents in recent years.

He followed the smell of food after crossing over a bridge that hardly seemed safe, and kept a watchful eye on the wooden signs hanging outside each doorway. Then, from one of the buildings up ahead, the cheerful sound of laughter reached his ears, standing out against the dreary roar of the wind and rain. Mickey grinned, hoping that was an indication of the pub’s patrons. It had been much too long since he’d encountered truly friendly folk.

Drawing in a somewhat nervous breath, he pushed open the splintered door, lowering his hood from his head and placing his bow against the wall. A wonderful warmth met him immediately, as did the stares of nearly everyone in the room, and he chuckled awkwardly, acutely aware of the puddle of rainwater forming beneath his feet.  “Er…hiya, fellas!” he stammered. Everyone stared a second more, then shrugged and went back to their conversations, save for the bartend who threw up a cheery wave and rushed over to the door. 

He was a tall, lanky man, with a silly smile and colorful clothing, and had grasped Mickey’s hand in a firm handshake before the mouse even had a chance to wave back. “Well, hello there, newcomer!” he exclaimed in a distinct accent Mickey was sure he’d never heard before.  “What can I do you for?”

Mickey was trying to catch his bearings after having his entire equilibrium thrown off by the energetic greeting.  “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t have much in the way of money but I was hopin’ to find a bite to ea-”

“Gawrsh, why didn’tcha say so?!” came the reply, far more enthusiastic than Mickey had expected, and before he knew it he was being ushered into an empty barstool between two patrons that each reeked of more than a pint or two.  He glanced nervously at each of them, but they paid him no mind as they downed yet another mug of golden liquid. The bartender must have noticed Mickey's uncertainty, because even as he clumsily gathered together a hodgepodge of utensils and ingredients, he looked over his shoulder and cast an encouraging smile his way. “Don’t you worry about folks in here. Everyone’s a little gloomy these days. I don’t know if you’ve noticed…” At this, he lowered his voice as if telling a grave secret. “...but the weather’s been a bit unfriendly.”

“Heh…that’s an understatement,” Mickey chuckled, finding it hard to ignore the cheerful optimism in the man’s voice.  But silly as the obvious statement was, it was grimly true. He’d seen the effects of this endless storm in countless villages across the kingdom, and it was far worse than these folks likely knew. 

“Name’s Goofy!” the bartend introduced himself, interrupting Mickey’s thoughts then whisking a bowl in front of the mouse and spilling a decent amount of its contents on the counter in the process. But Mickey’s stomach grumbled nonetheless, the tantalizing scent of cream and seafood reaching his nose and causing his mouth to water. He almost didn’t hear the words as he eagerly lifted a spoonful, then recalled the introduction and managed to resist a bite just long enough to respond. 

“I'm Mickey!” he replied quickly, then shoved the spoon in his mouth and practically melted at the taste.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a meal that wasn’t cold and tasteless, but this chowder was better than he’d hoped for, and he devoured it in only a few short minutes.  

One of the guests beside him noticed Mickey's delight and elbowed him lightly, startling the mouse and nearly causing him to fall off his seat.  “Good thing his cooking’s better than ‘is sense, aye?” he snickered, slurring his words. As he spoke, the door jingled and the sound of footsteps thumped across the floor, making their way to the fireplace in another part of the room. But Mickey paid them little mind, instead wrinkling his nose at the person next to him. He didn’t much like the tone of his voice. 

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” he shot back, quite keen on defending the friendly bartend. 

The patron only chuckled. “Why don’t you enlighten the fellow, Moira?” he called across the counter.

The woman to Mickey’s left hiccupped, swiping her foxish tail across her mouth as she slammed yet another mug on the wood. “He thinks this storm the work of a fairy!” she laughed, releasing a rather hearty belch just after.

But Mickey did not laugh. Rather, his tail twitched and he furrowed his brow in curiosity. It was an interesting idea, even if he wasn’t quite sure what to think of it. This storm was unnatural, and he was just about willing to hear out any explanation at this point. But before he could say much else, Goofy had turned back to the three of them with a displeased look scrawled across his face. 

“Now fellers…” he started, in the tone of a displeased parent. “Best not to be talking about them fae folk so carelessly.”

“Oh dearie, ‘ere we go ‘gain,” Moira sighed, and she and her acquaintance both rolled their eyes, turning their attention back to their drinks.

Mickey, however, was intrigued. “Y’think the fairies are responsible for all this?” he whispered, leaning over the counter as best he could despite his stature. “Why so?”

Goofy nodded and put a thoughtful hand to his chin as he answered. “Before the weather set in, I used to do all my best fishin’ in an old lake that sat in a forest just down the river. There was plenty of trout, and not many fellers cared to venture out that far. But one day a strange fish with white scales appeared...”

“Er…a fish?” Mickey tilted his head, chuckling lightly as his curiosity quickly began to ebb.  He was starting to think his barmates may have had a point. But then he heard one of them mutter a pointed ‘toldja so…’ and was more determined than ever to prove them wrong.

But Goofy had already taken notice, and put his hands on his hips in frustration.  “Now, before all you doubtful fellers start laughing, how about you let me finish my story?”

Mickey’s cheeks flushed red, not having meant to offend him, and he nodded profusely. “Uh, of course!”

“Thank you, kindly,” Goofy puffed, before instantly falling back into the role of storyteller. “Now…a white trout woulda been strange enough, but nothin’ to fret over,” he began, echoing Mickey’s sentiments. “But what happened afterwards was something else. No sooner did I see its tail splash over the water, then it started to snow. And before you’d know it, the whole lake had frozen over. Lost my favorite lure in the ice that day..."

Goofy was not the most subtle storyteller and as he mentioned the snow, the patrons near the fire turned their heads. Mickey’s ears perked up, too, and his eyes widened, even as the folks beside him began to laugh.

“Snow? So close to the coast?” he breathed, thinking of the frigid cold that had swept over inland Ireland.  

Goofy nodded solemnly. “And it’s still snowing. That same day, it started to rain outside the forest too, and it’s hardly stopped since. Now, I’m tellin’ you. There’s nothin’ but a fairy that could do something like that.”

Mickey sat in silence for a few moments, tail sweeping rhythmically behind him.  The story was far-fetched, to be sure, but so was nearly everything these days.  And the fairies, much as he hated to believe much of anything the king said, did not have the best reputation among the kingdom’s occupants of late.  Could they really be responsible for the chaos of the past few years?

It was Moira who drove him from his thoughts, giving him a good whack over the head with her tail as she laughed. “Comeon lad, y’don’t really believe that load of rawmaish is truth, d’ya?”

The mouse frowned, brushing off the fur where she’d smacked him, then hopped off the stool and tugged on his boots to be sure his trousers were tucked snugly inside. “Only one way t’find out,” he replied with a boastful grin. “Goofy, ya said the lake was just downriver, right?”

But rather than reply, Mickey’s new friend marched sternly over to the mouse and glared down at him. “Now see here, I’m not having any friend of mine go traipsing off on some foolish adventure.”

“Foolish?!” Mickey replied incredulously. “But…but it was your story?!”

“And it’s the truth!” Goofy nodded. “But that doesn't make it any less dangerous a trip to go on. The way things are now, there’s no tellin’ what’s inside that forest!”

Mickey scoffed, snatching his bow from beside the doorway and slinging it over his shoulder. “Is that all? I’ve faced all sorts o’things, I’ll be fine!” he laughed, then nervously scratched behind his head. “Besides, ya treated me to a warm meal and a friendly conversation, and that’s more than anyone’s done for me in ages. ‘Least I can do is find proof your story’s true. And, uh, who knows? Maybe I’ll convince the fish fairy…er…fairy fish…or what’er it is, to stop all this crazy weather.”

Goofy did not reply for several seconds, and Mickey grew uncomfortable under his stare. But finally, his friend sighed and shrugged. “Well gawrsh, if you really want to go, I figure I can’t stop you. But here-” he darted back behind the counter and appeared with an enormous coat and a bulging sack that smelled of baked bread. “It’s bound to be even colder once you reach the forest. And we can’t have you gettin’ hungry along the way!”

“Awe Goofy, I…I couldn’t!” Mickey protested, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. The sack was larger than him, but before he could finish arguing, he found the bag of food and the coat dropped into his arms. “Er…uh…thanks, Goof…” the mouse stammered, craning his neck in order to see over the top. 

“Ah-hyuck! Don’t mention it!” his friend laughed cheerfully. “Now, you best be getting a move on if you want to reach the forest before dark!” He began to usher the mouse out the door and Mickey clumsily obliged, struggling to find the proper exit as he stumbled along with the bag of bread in his hands. “Remember, it’s just down the river! And if you see the fairy, tell them I want my fishin’ hole back.”

“Mmhm,” Mickey mumbled as he stepped back out into the rain, eager to be out of sight so he could set down the generous gifts. “See ya real soon!” he shouted, watching carefully as the door closed behind him. When it finally slammed shut, he dropped the bag of bread with a huff and wiped the sweat from his forehead, which was quickly turning into quite an uncomfortable bead of icy water. 

Rubbing his arms, he glanced at the sweet-smelling sack. Generous as the gift was, there was no way he could even carry that outside the town. So he looked around the empty streets and, seeing a pair of curious eyes peaking out from a hole in a shuttered window, grinned and headed in that direction, bread in tow.  The child disappeared from the window as he approached, but Mickey knocked briefly on the door then, careful to set the food down in the spot most shielded from the rain, darted away.

He heard the creak of a door and a cheerful cry as he rounded a bend and smiled, slipping the remaining coat over the lighter fabric of his cloak as he carried on.  The clothing was almost certainly made for Goofy and meant only to reach his waist, but it fell to Mickey’s ankles. Still, he didn’t mind–if anything, he appreciated the extra warmth.  If his destination was anything like what his new friend had described, he was going to need it.  

As if to affirm these thoughts, a gust of wind swept through the streets, carrying a chill that was even colder than it had been earlier that day.  Mickey shuddered, gathering the coat more closely around him.  

I’m definitely going t’need it. He thought as the last line of houses came into view, giving way to little more than a soggy plane of grass and a raging river.

And as he set out towards this path, the wind and rain were just enough to conceal the footsteps trailing behind him.

#admittedly not the most exciting chapter #but still #lol #myth & magic #my writing #mickey mouse #minnie mouse #oswald the lucky rabbit #goofy #disney #fanfiction #fairies #StoriesComeAlive #myth and magic

[moondirti]

animalic (3)

← chapter two // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 2.2k summary: he's got a plan that neither of you like warnings: enemies to lovers, predator/prey dynamics, biting, bondage, temporary paralysis, concussions, miguel is not nice, no use of y/n notes: this was supposed to be longer but the cut off at the original point was super awkward. this chapter is super exciting for all you fang lovers out there

You really can’t catch a break. 

The city bustles with a verve rivalling your own, a kaleidoscope of luminescence dancing upon the glass facades of its skyscrapers. Their spires pierce the ink-dark cloak of night, and if you weren’t so busy running for your life, you’d stop to admire the way their aviation obstruction lights mimic the stars back home. 

(Everything has a trade off, you suppose. You remember what it was like as light pollution gave away to reveal the cosmos above, the beauty of it lost upon your own grief.)

Now, it’s fear – clinging like a shadowy spectre to your heels. The pavement is unforgiving beneath you, each step sending a jolt of energy through your bones. Despite it, you can’t go any faster. Sidewalks crowd with the humdrum of everyday life – people filtering out from work and bodegas, dressed in a slightly odd fashion, their clothes a reminder of your unfamiliar landscape. Car horns blend into one another, providing an unsteady tempo to the race of your heart. 

It’s disorienting, all of it. Times like these, you wish you’d been given the opportunity to hone your abilities. Stamina, flexibility. Web shooters in particular would have proved handy in avoiding the bustle of the ground. 

Of course, he has that advantage on you too. 

You can’t see Miguel, but you sense his proximity. It prods you, nipping at your flesh in a constant assault, intensifying goosebumps and raising hairs. Your spider sense usually doesn’t last this long, solely serving as a warning for immediate danger. Yet that’s just what he is, immediate. Dangerous. Predatory eyes track your every move, sourced from all directions. He’s everywhere; atop buildings, within alleys. Neon signs morph into twisted apparitions; serrated talons, red skulls. 

How did he track you down so fast? 

The day pass? 

You wonder if he’d brought back-up – whether there are other spider-heroes here who trust in his noble cause. Your anxiety triples, and passerby’s begin to warp too. Their hurried footsteps now strike discordant notes, amplifying your isolation. You think you see some tense their wrists, or unbutton their coats, ready to reveal their tailored suits and ensure the capture you’ve managed to evade thus far. 

It’s luck. It’s only ever been luck, and that fact changes depending on who you ask. You’ve never outsmarted him, never disabled him. You just so happen to have the power of being a pain in his ass. 

Something itches at you, though. A nagging sense of foreboding. His presence in the past has spurred chagrin, annoyance, and – admittedly – arousal. But the genuine terror that lights your nerves now is new. Perhaps because you understand him, are far more familiar with his pride than most. The logical part of you can predict that he won’t let you off so easily, not after your stunt with the kiss. You won’t – can’t – get away this time, even if it damn well nearly kills him. 

Any hope you had of a bargain dissipates, rolling back from shore and into the depths of an elusive sea. You jerk the rubber band off your wrist, throwing it into some undisclosed corner.

In a then desperate bid to throw him off, your path loses cohesion. Like a leaf seized by a tempest, you turn based on split-second instinct, weaving through the labyrinth of New York’s grid. Your body sways in frenzy, bolstered by pure adrenaline, which works to dim everything else. Your ribs haven’t fully healed yet – they’d taken a pretty bad beating upon your last fight with Miguel – but you can barely feel the ache as you focus purely on the task at hand. 

Your determination surges, recklessness taking hold of your rationale. Veering abruptly, you just about collide with the racing line of cars that flow at a green light. In fact, you think you do. Your skin prickles, and a taxi runs straight through you, blearing a loud honk all the while. Some vehicles break off, drifting around your form at the last minute. In your peripheral, you can see the glowing red of your pursuers web, stretched across the gap between two apartment complexes. 

Chest tightening, your breathing loses depth at the sight, shallowing to leave room for the distress that torrents up your system. You clamber up on the hoods of parked cars, using a mast arm pole to propel yourself forward. It’s a fruitless effort. You know it’s too late – have known it since he walked into that convenience, prowling in search of one thing. 

(A lion only catches its prey a quarter of the time. But that twenty-five percent?)

Your ankle is the first victim to his hardwearing web, wrapped in the silk and pulled out from underneath you. The back of your head smacks into the concrete below, a high pitched ring reverberating through your skull upon impact. The collision sends a shock wave of pain throughout your being, and in that harrowing moment, everything stutters to a crawl. Spots speckle behind your clenched eyelids, metallic warmth flooding your mouth.

Well, fuck. 

To add insult to injury, your atoms rip apart and splice into one another, a consequence of your abandoned day pass. The glitch aggravates the headache that begins to pound at you. You’d allowed yourself to forget how bad it could be. 

The willpower that had just played a forefront in your mind steadily starts to trickle out, absorbed by your humiliation and the ground below. 

“You really gonna give up that easily?” 

Yes. 

You make a point to never lie to yourself. In truth, you won’t ever get enough of Miguel’s cadence. Deep and resonant – it smoulders with a charred ruggedness. Commanding attention, rumbling like distant thunder, an unmistakable authority woven into each word. Yet, even amidst the rough contours, there lingers a softness, a subtle grace that soothes the edges of his threats. 

(Sharp claws, sharp teeth, sharp cheekbones. Soft voice.)

More webs bind you, erupting from an unclear point to circle your legs, chest, and secure your arms behind your back. You’re diminished to little more than an aggravated caterpillar, ensnared in a spider’s web. And, just as his little game of bondage draws to a close, said spider stalks within view, splitting through the crowd that quickly forms around the commotion. 

With his mask on, he stands as completely impenetrable. You, on the other hand, try to reduce your quivering the best you can, afraid of relaying how truly pathetic you feel. 

“Maybe I’m biding my time.” You bite back, calling on a complete bluff. “I’m sure you know how good I am at that?” It’s a low blow. Even if you could control when and where to phase out, you wouldn’t get very far before he catches up to you again. 

But Miguel doesn’t waver in his closing in – not until he towers over you, looking down at your incapacitated state. Space buckles under the gravity of his existence; you, too, can feel yourself sinking, drawn in closer by the credence that bubbles off him in flares. You wish you had a cover – your pair of makeshift goggles, a face mask, anything that could elevate you to a degree relative to his. But you’re bare, figuratively naked, and you’ve never hated him more. 

He lingers, assessing you, weighing his options. The moment he turns to survey the mass of people who look on inquisitively, you wiggle upward into a sitting position, then throw your head forwards, aiming for his crotch. His wrist gets in the way, though, blocking your pitiful attack on his only defenceless area. Your forehead cracks against his dimensional travel watch, shattering its screen. 

“Tu puta madre!” Miguel hisses, snapping back to survey the gadget while you begin to slink away. He seems to have an eye on you, however, because you’re tugged back just as soon as you make the effort.

Like a naughty cat. You shift uncomfortably at the thought. 

“Are you gonna spend all night deciding what to do with me, then? I have plans, even if you don’t.” 

“Plans. I have plans alright.” The low timbre of his threat slices you where it hurts.

With a calculated flex of his shoulders, he crouches down, gathering the webs around your arms. They serve as leverage when he hauls you upward, exercising his muscles – of which you’d suspected had been padding up to this point – with one swift motion. The world upends on itself, nausea enveloping your senses with its oppressive weight. It allows space for little else; not the uncertainty, not the trepidation. You divert all your efforts on keeping your scarce lunch down, accepting the possibility of a concussion by product of his less-than-refined manhandling. 

The journey to wherever he takes you is not at all long enough for you to recover. Before you know it, he’s busting through the creaky door of an empty storelot, carelessly tossing you to the floor. Your vision doubles. 

Yeah. Definitely a concussion. 

Like you could afford one right now. 

“You’ll stay, and you’ll listen.” He points an accusatory finger. 

“Sure. Until I’ve had enough, that is.” 

“And where would you go, exactly?” 

“Nice try, O’hara. Like I’d tell you,” Snickering, you let your head roll to face the ceiling. The action sends you back to earlier, to the robbery you’ve been seeking to suppress. How careless you’d been, letting your fortune to date trick you into thinking that any collateral was safe too. You’d killed that woman. You. “Maybe I’ll fall right through the floor. That way, you’ll never have to worry about seeing me again.” 

The notion makes him pause mid-pace, hands on his hips, tilting his head to look at you with what you imagine is the most earnest glare. The air bobs, suspended in static tension, a crackling constant that only unravels once he seems to make up his mind. 

Marching forward, he drags you along with him to a nearby wall, upon which he then pushes you upward until you have to look down to meet his eyeline. Your bound legs kick forward, but the struggle hardly affects him. 

“I didn’t want to resort to this.” 

You assume he means treating you like a toddler does its shiny new toy, hurling you across this playpen of a city. “You really didn’t have to, then.” 

He stays quiet, fists clenching tighter around you. 

“I suppose we’re past the courtesy of letting the other recover from the last fight before starting a new one? My forearm is still fucked, thanks to you. Maybe if you’d given it some time, I would’ve proved more of a challenge today.” Your words, whilst never your most steadfast allies, betray you in lieu of this restlessness, tumbling forth with unruly incoherence.

Miguel's mask pulls back, the nanotech collapsing to just above his adams apple. Your mouth moves faster. 

“Okay, I get it. The fate of the multiverse and all that. I’ll listen, whatever you want, but at least try and make the lecture original.” 

His hand cups your jaw, tightening around your chin to firmly guide it upwards. Your throat stretches taut at the motion, its smooth expanse spread across the wall – an evening repast for a party of one. The imagery breaks down an all too sobering realisation into fragments small enough for you to register. His talons rest against your cheek, bordering perilously close to your waterline. 

Traces of that patchouli aftershave hit you. His skin looks especially bronzed in the dark, highlighted at the edges from the phosphorescence outside. His curls droop where they’re plastered to a sweat slicked hairline. 

You can’t help it. Your gaze flickers down to those plush lips.

Fuck. Fuck. It’d felt so good to kiss them. 

Please let this just be a kiss. 

“O-Or go with the… the usual, y’know. I don’t–” 

Miguel lunges, sinking his fangs into the fleshy sinew of your neck.

Christ.

Your jaw hangs open, but no breaths filter in. Shock wedges itself at the site of his bite, implacable, steadfast as a barrier between logic and uninhibited emotion. Your reasoning plays no part in this, provides absolutely no valuable contribution to the series of reactions you undergo. 

It’s physical, first. The cold slither of paralytic venom distends through your nerves, neurotoxins striking their functions, rendering them useless beyond the point of sensation. Which, you’d say, is the cruellest part. Miguel’s poison doesn’t stop you from feeling anything; not the puncture, nor the burn. You can truly feel it, trekking its graceful path to all muscles in your body, taking hold of the tissue, suppressing their vitality. Your back arches, your body doing its very best to fight what it cannot prevent. It cracks up your bone, down your spine. Your toes unfurl, fingers loosening to hang lamely at your side. 

And, when you lose all executive authority over yourself, you’re pulled in to centre on his mouth again. His canines slowly retract, tongue taking their place. It’s warm – so fucking warm – and dextrous, covertly lathering the blood that beads down your nape. 

Your last proper breath is wasted on a whine; a loud, keening, absolutely wanton whine. After it, you can do nothing but hold your flat inhales to cycle in as much oxygen as possible – diaphragm weak, your resolve weaker.

Miguel draws away, letting you slump to the floor, heavy and just as useless as a sack of flour. He wipes the excess carmine from his chin, kneeling to regard your glassy eyed stare. 

“Fall through now, and you’re as good as dead.” 

(You might as well already be.)

chapter four →

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#miguel ohara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x f!reader #miguel ohara fanfic #miguel ohara fanfiction #x reader #x y/n #x you #x f!reader #x female reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x y/n #marvel #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman: atsv

[partially-controlled-chaos]

New Life Shall Prosper, ch. 1

Pairing: Halsin x Reader (as gender neutral as possible, given the context)

Rating: T? (not really smut but there's some heavily implied further down)

Warnings: There's not full blown smut but it borders on the edge, mentions of illness and pregnancy, mostly just fluff

Summary: Months after the fall of the Absolute, you and Halsin have carved a happy life for yourselves within Thaniel's Realm, making a safe haven for all. A life full of hope and prosperity, only enhanced once you discover the very real possibility that you are with child.

Word Count: 9.2K

an: I've had "Halsin becomes a dad" brain rot going on for a week now and had to make something productive of it. Chapter 1 of a 2-3 part series, depending on how long I make the other chapters because this one ended up being much longer than I originally planned (oops). Follow up to this post.

Read on AO3 here if you prefer!

Find chapter 2 here! Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Masterlist

Soft, gentle rays from the sunlight filtering through your bedchamber window stirred you from your sleep, making you squint as you faced the rising sun. With a deep inhale and a long stretch, you basked in the warmth momentarily before rolling over, expecting to see your lover already awake. Much to your surprise, however, Halsin was sleep in a deep sleep, the occasional snore passing through his lips. It was rare for you to wake before Halsin, who was typically up before sunrise, so you happily indulged in the sight that was the peacefully sleeping druid before you. He had one arm under his head for support, still preferring to rough it as much as possible, and the other lazily thrown over his chest. Very carefully, you slid one leg over his as you partially hoisted yourself onto his chest, resting your head on his sternum to listen to the strong, steady thump of his heart as your fingers traced light patterns across his bare chest.

After the fall of the Netherbrain a few months prior, you left with Halsin to help those displaced by the battle by setting up a new settlement in what was once the shadow cursed lands. He was admittedly reluctant to bring you along when he first broke the news he would be leaving the morning after the brain had fallen, worried he was pulling you from the life you deserved after saving the entirety of Baldur’s Gate as well as the Sword Coast, but there was nothing you could have wanted more. After the excitement and fear that the mind flayer invasion had caused, you craved something more peaceful and idillic, especially by the side of the druid you had fallen in love with. It took some convincing to ease his worry, but the two of you happily left for Thaniel’s realm after saying goodbye to your fellow companions. 

The community the two of you had begun to build was thriving. Children and families that had been scattered and broken were reunited or found new families in an area you and Halsin worked every day to build and protect. Despite a century long shadow curse, the land of the area was surprisingly fertile, which allowed for nature to reclaim its hold on the land, much to Halsin’s joy. Gardens were being built, old rotting buildings were being cleared and rebuilt, and most importantly, the people there were happy. There were no harsh politics like the Emerald Grove had when you’d first met Halsin. And, despite being in charge of so many people and children, Halsin didn’t feel the looming weight of leadership like he had when he was Archdruid. Instead, he was much more relaxed and in his element. Leadership wasn’t the easiest thing in the world for him, but something about this settlement was different. And with you by his side through everything, his burdens were much lighter and he was much happier.

Typically, Halsin spent his mornings roaming the community in wild shape, checking for security purposes, but also just enjoying the earliest touches of sunlight as a bear. This morning, however, you woke well before he did, a sudden and violent wave of nausea hitting you before the sun had even crested the horizon. You’d been awake ever since, dozing in a light sleep on occasion, but the lasting twinges of nausea keeping you from fully resting. Those feelings had subsided now and you’d assumed it was just something not settling well in your stomach or perhaps a small stomach bug. As much of an annoyance as it was, you were thankful to be able to glance a peek at your sleeping druid. A decent night’s sleep was not something he got frequently when he was traveling with you, the threat of danger always present, but it always soothed your heart to see him so happy and relaxed around you.

“Halsin,” you whispered as you softly trailed a finger along his chin, “Halsin.” As much as you would have preferred to stay in bed all morning and watch your lover sleep, you knew it was in everyones best interest to wake him for the day. As always, there was much to do in your newly blossoming home and he wanted to be there for every part of it.

“The sun has risen, my love.” You continued your ministrations, tracing your fingers across his features in an attempt to gently rouse him from his slumber. The snoring had stopped, but he had not yet fully woken. Your forefinger gently traced a slow trail along his forehead and down the bridge of his nose, across his lips and back to his chin. You then traced along his eyebrows, over the scars above his eye, and down towards his cheek bones. When he still had not stirred, you placed your finger to the pointed tip of his ear, slowly dragging down along the outer shell and down his neck until you felt his skin prickle with excitement and a low rumble stir in his chest. With his eyes still closed, he brought the arm he was resting on out from under his head and ran his own fingers down your naked back until his hand slipped firmly around your waist.

“You’ll awaken the beast if you’re not careful, my heart.” He said through a smile as he pressed you more firmly to him, relishing in the softness of your skin against his. The two of you never bothered to sleep with clothing; Halsin always preferring to rest without the confines of fabric and you found it much easier to simply sleep naked than to have the druid rip your clothing from you when the mood struck late at night. 

“Is that a promise?” You asked softly while running your finger along his ear again, giggling as you felt another shiver run through his body. Knowing the high sensitivity of elven ears, you didn’t toy with his ears too often, but always enjoyed the reaction you would get from him if you managed to catch him off guard. With a low growl, he captured your lips with his, swiftly rolling until you were securely pinned underneath his large frame. 

“I could never tire of this.” He said between kisses, slowly moving his lips down from yours and onto your neck, giving the occasional nibble in the process. Your hands traveled along Halsin’s shoulders and up onto his neck before settling into his hair as he continued his way down your neck. Your eyes closed tightly and you inhaled sharply as another wave of nausea suddenly settled in your stomach, threatening to come up and into your throat. You tried your best to fight the feelings creeping up, not wanting to disturb your partners fun, but nothing was stopping the final wave from coming.

You frantically tapped Halsin’s arms to signal him to move, but had to settle for gently pushing him up and away so you could adjust your position. The druid, who had made his way to your collar bones by this point, pulled up from you, confusion crossing his face as he initially believed he had done something wrong. You managed to roll out from under his grasp in just enough time to roll your upper body off the side of the large bed you shared before emptying the remaining contents of your stomach into the pail you’d placed by the bed from your earlier bought of vomiting, just in case. You continued to heave long after anything had stopped coming to the surface, struggling to breathe as you tried to stops the spasms. Halsin’s large hand ran along your lower back as he adjusted his position to come sit beside you as you finished your heaving.

“I’m sorry,” you said after you flopped back into your space in the bed, wiping your mouth with the cloth you’d brought with you earlier, “I didn’t mean to rile you up and then ruin it.”

“Don’t apologize, my love,” he said as he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, checking for a fever, “Are you alright? How long have you been ill?” His hand shifted to your cheeks, still checking for a fever, but satisfied when he found you to not be unusually warm.

“Earlier this morning,” you said as you closed your eyes as the final waves began to subside, “it must have been something from supper last night that didn’t sit well with me. I’m fine, truly.”

“I wish you had woken me then,” he said as he momentarily left the bed, “I would have been able to help sooner.” You heard clinking in the next room as he dug through his collection of various vials and jars of medicines and herbs he kept on hand. 

The home the two of you shared was small and cozy, with both of you preferring to spend time outdoors a vast majority of the time. Although Halsin would prefer to rough it outdoors and sleep under the stars, he was willing to compromise and bed down for the night in a small home with a large enough bed to accommodate for two. However, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to see him napping midday outside of the settlement under a shaded tree or patch of sunny grass. While Halsin would always prefer the outdoors, there was something special he treasured about sharing a large, warm bed with you at night in the privacy of a shared living space that was absolute harmony. 

“You were too peaceful, my love,” you said with a smile as you remembered the serene look on his face as he slept, “I felt bad enough waking you when I did.” Your eyes opened once again when you felt the bed beside you shift, meeting Halsin’s gaze as he opened the lid of the jar he’d brought with him. Inside the jar were small lightly colored discs of what looked like candy.

“Ginger,” he said simply as he pulled a piece from the jar and popped one in your mouth, “it should help with any lingering nausea. Although, if it persists, please tell me and I’ll see what I can brew for you.” He did you the favor of bringing candied ginger, knowing your tendencies to enjoy the sweeter things natured offered, which significantly cut down on the bite of the root without nullifying any benefits it may bring. Fairy quickly after eating the piece you’d been offered, you could feel your stomach begin to settle and return to some sense of normalcy. Your hand gently caressed his cheek as thanks and he kissed at your palm. It always surprised you that someone as large and fierce in battle that Halsin could be, he could be exceedingly gentle and soft, particularly with you. 

After offering your hand one final kiss, Halsin left the jar of sweets with you as he stood again, lazily rolling his shoulders and neck of the last remnants of sleep before preparing for the day. You admired the way his muscles flexed with his movements, the flutter in your heart briefly reminding you on the treat you’d been robbed of earlier when you promptly vomited into a bed pail. Although you were fairly certain it would be made up for two-fold that evening. Keeping your hands off each other was always a challenge, even after the first night you’d spent together all those months ago, but now that you both had settled into a new home that didn’t have danger looming on the horizon every morning, it was even harder to keep to yourselves. You both tested the limits of what your sturdy bed frame could withstand almost nightly, not including the times you’d sneak off into the woods after a long day.

“So tell me,” you said as you sat up, “what’s on your plate for today?”

“I promised the children I would show them more of the realm,” he responded as he poured himself a makeshift bath into the basin seated in the corner of the room, “there’s still much they haven’t been able to explore and now that more of the debris has been cleared, it’s high time they had the chance to see what all they have to look forward to.” Although he much preferred to bathe in a river under the caress of the sun, he was content with a sink bath given that he’d slept in later than normal. 

“Will you rest for the day, my heart? I can bring you something to eat around midday if you’d like.” Halsin asked as he began to bath himself down, glancing over his shoulder to await your answer. You smiled as the kindness behind his words settled in your mind. Your lover always made it a point to make sure you were taken care of, even if his schedule for the day was filled to the brim. His gestures and kindness directed towards you were always done selflessly and without the expectation of anything in return, although you always tried to return the favor in some way.

“You’re sweet,” you cooed as you placed another piece of ginger on your tongue to keep another bout of vomiting at bay, “but it’s not necessary. I may get a late start, but I’d like to stop by the market today. The last I checked, the stock of produce was running lower than I’d like to see for how many people we have.” You hopped from the bed and made your way to where Halsin stood, taking the wash cloth from his grasp to gently run across his face to clean any places he had missed.

“Thank you though.” You cupped his cheek when you were done, your thumb ghosting his lips. You wanted to kiss his lips as reassurance, but give you’d just lost the contents of your stomach a few minutes prior you decided against it.

“Are you certain?” He asked, clearly not thrilled with your answer. 

You hadn’t been sick in front of Halsin often, the only other notable time being after a bad run-in with a patch of bibberbangs in the Underdark, but even with the most simple of illnesses he found himself concerned for your wellbeing. You knew his concern only came from a place of genuine concern and care. He had often told you how much you meant to him and seeing you in any state of duress, whether it be from illness or threat of physical violence, set him on edge. 

“I’ll be fine. I promise.” You slid your hand down from his cheek and settled it on the center of his chest, resigning yourself to a quick kiss between his pectorals instead of his lips.

“Very well,” Halsin softly grabbed the tip of your chin with his forefinger and thumb, tilting your gaze upwards until it met his,“I won’t stop you. But please, my love, come find me if you need me. Send someone if you must.”

“You have my word. I’ll see you at supper.” He rested his forehead against your for a moment as a parting gesture before reluctantly pulling away to fulfill his duties for the day. His fingertips lingered on yours as he stepped away, as if he was afraid to let you go, until he finally let them part so he could dress for the day. You smiled to yourself, already missing the warm embrace of the druid and eagerly awaiting your reunion later that night.

Once the elf had left for the day, you groaned as you flopped back onto the bed, your eyes closing together tightly as you tried to ignore the churning of your stomach once more. Whatever had your stomaching twisting and turning on itself had certainly overstayed its welcome and you were more than ready to return to normal. Although a bit of vomiting wouldn’t stop you from performing your duties around the community, but it made it much less enjoyable. You allowed yourself one more deep breath before promptly rolling onto your side and hanging over the bed, once again heaving into the pail on the floor.

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The air outside was pleasantly warm with a gentle breeze, a stark contrast to the gloom and chill the air presented not all that long ago. As you walked from your small home towards the communal market located in the center of the community, you couldn’t help but feel pride in knowing that the land that had been plagued with shadow for so long was not only bathed in light again, but was absolutely thriving. Although you were not one that required the praises of everyone thanking you for doing your part in curing the shadow, it did feel nice knowing you helped lift the curse. So now, instead of shadow and a place void of life, the area was blooming with nature. Flowers and various amounts of fruits and vegetables had been planted to supplement the wild varieties found closer to the forest. This in turn allowed for a sizable market to be set up for people come and go as they please.

You’d taken it upon yourself to make sure the market stayed stocked, frequently checking in to make sure there was plenty of food for the plethora of hungry mouths that had been displaced after the battle of the gate. Not only was it important to make sure there was plenty of food for everyone throughout the day, but the market was also the gathering point for the nightly supper. You’d found it much easier to feed nine wagons worth of children with one large communal dinner every night than it was to cook individual meals. You took your time strolling the market, enjoying the fresh air and the flowers littering the ground.

However, you stopped in your tracks about halfway through as a rather unpleasant aroma suddenly assaulted your senses and brought back another wave of the nausea you’d finally rid yourself of. You placed a few fingers over your nose and mouth, wanting to block as much of the smell as possible without looking like an absolute fool in front of any onlookers. The smell wasn’t exactly anything putrid or rancid, but it was foul smelling to you and threatening to make you start heaving the town square. Glancing around, you didn’t see anyone else with the same affliction as you; everyone you made eye contact with and gave a strained smile to seemed to be just fine. Not ready to let a foul smell deter you, considering you had ventured in the Baldur’s Gate sewers plenty by this point, you pressed on.

You pulled another piece of the ginger Halsin had provided to you earlier in the day from your pocket and promptly tossed it into your mouth, hoping it would be enough to hold the vomiting at arms length until you had done your duties for the day. It helped a bit, but the urge to heave was strong and pushing your will. You quickly trotted along the stalls of the market, taking a mental note of what was well stocked and what needed to be replenished. For the most part everything seemed to be fine, but you’d feel better if there were a few more vegetables in the bins. With it being midday, preparations for the nightly supper had already begun and it was within those preparations that you finally found the source of the foul smell assaulting your nose. 

Large racks of rothé ribs were searing over an open flame, sizzling deliciously as any drippings slipped from the meat and onto the hot coals. Normally your mouth would water over the smells of searing meat, something that had become a treat while you were on your travels, but this time was vastly different. The smell that radiated from the meat unsettled your stomach, making it churn and bile to rise in your throat. Again, it didn’t smell rancid or spoiled and everyone around seemed to be fine, but you were quickly losing your resolve. 

With one final glance around the market, you quickly left the area, barely rounding the corner of a nearby wall before you lost everything in the middle of a bush. You prayed to the gods that no one would come to you as you were vomiting, not wanting to answer questions about your illness or, even worse, alert Halsin to your condition. You wiped your mouth on your sleeve once you had finished and resigned yourself to returning home for the day. You were doing no one any favors if you were actively sick and you didn’t want to spread your sickness to anyone else. Surely the community would survive without your supervision for one day.

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The small fireplace in your bedroom crackled softly and illuminated the room just enough for you to read. You’d found an unread tome leftover from your adventures and, having a lack of other reading material to choose from, you were reluctantly reading a rather boring history of some old, forgotten wizard from years past. Not your typical choice of reading material, but it would suffice until your lover returned to you. The sun had long set below the horizon, signaling to you that soon the children would soon be put to bed and the rest of the community would settle for the evening. 

By the time you’d begrudgingly read your way through the long winded life story of your wizard, you picked up on the unmistakable stride of Halsin walking through your shared home. From your small living room seated at the front of the home, you heard him call your name as if it were a question. From this, you could tell he’d been looking for you for quite some time. You called back to him, telling him you were in bed and he was welcome to come in. 

A few moments later, Halsin appeared in the threshold to your bedroom, ducking slightly to avoid hitting his head on the wooden beam at the top of the doorframe. He leaned his shoulder against the side of the doorway, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he finally set eyes on you. It was no secret that Halsin loved to admire you and you often found him drinking in your form throughout the day; always looking at you with a fond gaze and a loving smile. He stood there for a moment, eyes locked onto you as a pleasant warmth spread through his chest; a mixture of relief as well as love.

“There you are,” he said with a relieved sigh he tried to hide, “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to. I didn’t see you at supper.” Halsin knew you were fully capable of being by yourself, you did defeat a Netherbrain, after all. But, taking your sudden illness into consideration, the healer in him couldn’t help but be concerned. Not that you didn’t appreciate it, of course.

“I didn’t attend,” you said as you looked up from your book, “I wasn’t very hungry this evening so I came home.” While this wasn’t an outright lie, it wasn’t exactly the full truth. The lingering smells of meat from your earlier trip to the market was enough to dissuade you from coming to the communal dinner with the rest of the settlement. Between not wanting to make others sick in the event you were infections and also not wanting to have to endure the suddenly grotesque smell of sizzling rothé over a fire, you decided the best course of action was to simply retire early for the evening. 

You noticed Halsin’s expression change ever so slightly as his brows knitted together and the unmistakable beginning signs of concern began to wash over him. By this point, Halsin knew you well. He knew your enjoyment of joining the communal dinners with the displaced citizens of Baldur’s Gate that you now called your friends and neighbors. You were always the first to attend, making sure to speak to everyone there, and always the last to leave to help clean up any mess; a left over habit from your time at camp with your other companions. So having missed the nightly dinner simply because you weren’t hungry? He knew something was off and it was beginning to worry him. That combined with your sudden morning illness was just an added cause for concern.

“And how did our small army of children enjoy the scenery, my dear?” You asked before Halsin could continue to dwell on  you. You simply either had a bought of food poisoning or a small bug, nothing major and nothing that was worth causing your lover to fret over.

You extended one arm to him, encouraging him to join you, before shifting your legs down from their bent position and pat the top of your scarcely covered thighs with the opposite hand. Halsin indulged you with a chuckle and he joined you in bed, offering you a loving kiss to your forehead before reclining back to lay his head in your lap and stretch his legs along the width of the bed which, thankfully, was large enough to accommodate his height even from the side. 

“Oh, they barely saw any of it.” Halsin said as his head settled into your lap, “An hour into the trek everything turned into one large game of hide and seek. It took me most of the day just to find everyone, not including the walk back home. Then of course it was making sure everyone had a plate of food in their bellies and they wouldn’t let me leave without a story. Silvanus’s grace is the only thing that gave me the stamina to keep up with them all.” He offered a low grunt as the rest of his body settled into the bed. As much as he preferred to sleep outdoors, he couldn’t deny the wonderful feeling a plushly filled bed could offer tired bones at the end of a day.

“Trust me, my love, one thing you don’t lack is stamina.” You offered him a cheeky smile as you mindlessly stroked your fingers through his hair. He offered you a deep laugh, never failing to adore your praises for him.

“I already warned you once about being careful when it came to waking the beast,” he said with a wide smile as his fingers gently pinched at your sides, “I can’t be held responsible if you unleash it, my heart.”

“Fine, fine,” you giggled as you squirmed under his tickling fingers, “I suppose I can let you rest for the evening. You’ve had a long day, after all.”

“I’ve had much longer.” He said as he looked up to you before reaching up and pressing his fingers to your cheeks and forehead once again, “How are you fairing, my heart? Still ill?” Once again, he found no signs of a fever or anything abnormal and returned his hand to his chest.

“I seem to be fine for now. I haven’t really felt anything since the market this morning.” You cursed yourself as the words left your lips. You would have rather kept that little bit to yourself to avoid adding a burden to Halsin’s broad shoulders. You knew he had enough to worry about already and you didn’t want to add to that load. You remember the run down, morally defeated man you’d first met all those months ago and you didn’t want to see Halsin return to that state because you personally added to his burdens.

“What happened with the market?” Halsin sat up on his elbows, his corners of his lips downturned with concern as he locked eyes with yours. 

“Just another wave of nausea, love, nothing to worry about,” you stroked his cheek with your hand, running your fingers over his frown lines in hopes they would disappear, “I’m not sure what, exactly, but just the smell of what was being cooked had my stomach flopping around like a fish plucked from the river.” 

“Had anything spoiled? Gone bad, perhaps?” His worry had not fully gone, but was beginning to ease under your gentle touch. Instead, his worried look had shifted to one of curiosity; as if he was trying to find the answers to a riddle you had offered.

“I don’t think so.” You said with a shake of your head, “It wasn’t really a bad smell, it just…made me sick? It’s hard to explain. Nothing was wrong with it, I don’t think, but just didn’t sit well with me. Admittedly I don’t think I’ve ever had a reaction like that before, but I left fairly quickly so I can’t say for certain it wasn’t something rotten. Although I could kick myself for leaving so quickly; I wanted to pick up a basket of plums to bring home.”

“A whole basket of plums?” Halsin asked with a raised eyebrow as he settled his head back in your lap. Your eyes returned to the pages of your book despite not picking up on a single word that was laid before you.

“An entire basket,” you said with excitement, “I’ve been aching to sink my teeth into a beautifully ripe plum for a while now, almost insatiably. If I’m feeling better tomorrow I may go out and see what I can find. If my memory serves me correctly, there’s a plum tree not far from here.” You could feel your mouth watering simply from the thought of a purple plum. 

“Insatiable, you say?” He said with another chuckle. With his head still seated in your lap, he turned his head to gaze upon you, once again drinking in your features as his body finally relaxed for the evening. He took your hand that was not occupied by the book and placed it on his chest, sighing contently at the feel of your skin so close to his heart as he covered it with his own hand. 

“Oh come now,” you said peeking over the edge of the book you’d stop reading ages ago, “don’t tell me you’ve never craved something so badly it almost drove you mad.”

“You,” he almost growled as he leaned up to plant soft kisses on the underside of your jaw, “I had an ever burning desire for you when we first met that only grew stronger the more I learned about you. Not just the warmth of your skin or the taste of your lips, but you, your companionship, and your love. And, truth be told, it’s something I’ll always crave. I can never get enough of you, my heart.”

As he returned his head to your thighs, you leaned forward yourself, planting a series of lingering kisses to his lips. Your heart swelled at his words, your heart still fluttering like it did the first time Halsin offered you a compliment back in the goblin camp. Despite the lengthly time you’d spent with the druid, his praises, words of affection, and heartfelt confessions of love never ceased to have you ablaze with rapidly fluttering butterflies. Your cheeks were left with a slight blush as you finally pulled away, almost wishing you could kiss his lips for eternity.

“And how long has this insatiable craving for plums been going on, my love?” Halsin asked as he closed his eyes, sleep suddenly feeling heavy on his lids as he relaxed.

“Hmm…a few days?” You tossed your book to the side as you thought, having long lost interest, “Maybe a week if you squint.”

His eyes opened quickly, slowly looking around as he entered a deep thought. You could almost see the wheels of his mind churning as you assumed he tried to deduce the cause of your sudden illness. His eyes seemed to lighten as his answer finally clicked in his mind. A long strand of what sounded like absolute giddy giggles erupted from his lips, which were spread wide in a smile that would have threatened to crack his face. You shifted in your seat, eager to find out just what he had deduced.

“My heart,” he said after his giggling finally subsided enough for him to speak, “have you considered that, perhaps, well…no. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” His eyes closed once again and he seemed to have calm down other than the smile that was still plastered across his face.

“What?” You asked impatiently, “You can tell me.” You found yourself smiling along with him; the sight of unbridled joy on his face causing your own lips to curl into an awaiting smile.

“Oh nothing, my heart,” he once again placed your hand on his chest and cover his fingers with yours, “just the ramblings of an old man.” You huffed at his statement. You detested when he would refer to himself as old.

“You are not old,” you said firmly, “we’ve had this discussion before. Older, perhaps, but not old.”

“And I still fail to see the difference.” Halsin said as his eyes opened yet again and his gaze met yours. 

“Older implies that while you may not be the youngest elf of the bunch, but you still have plenty to look forward to. Old, on the other hand, implies that you are a hair’s breadth away from dying. And, selfish as this may be,” your voice softened as you began to lightly run your fingers through his hair again, “I’m simply not ready to see you go just yet.”

His gaze softened with your words and another gentle smile crept upon his lips. Gods, how you loved to see your lover smile when he looked upon you. He sat up fully, leaning to the side as he captured your lips in a gentle kiss. One of his large hands came up to caress your cheek, this thumb softly stroking the curve of your cheekbone in the process. You exhaled slowly as your body melted into his kiss, your eyes closing as your hand softly latched onto the collar of his shirt.

“I do not deserve you, my heart.” He said quietly after breaking the kiss. His forehead came to rest against yours, his eyes looking to yours.

“You deserve whatever you desire, my love.” You said softly as he gave you another quick kiss. His large arm snaked around your lower back and pulled you until you were pressed against him. There was no sense of urgency or lust behind his movements, just the soft and loving caress between lovers. Your face nestled in the crook of his neck as you felt his body begin to relax for a final time and enter the first realm of sleep. You sighed contently as you felt the gentle heat radiating from his body and the secure feeling of his arm wrapped around you. You found yourself drifting off to sleep as well, lulled there by the sound of Halsin’s strong heartbeat and soft snores.

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A week had passed and you were still plagued with your mystery illness. Every morning was the same, peacefully sleeping until a wave of nausea so strong woke you from your sleep and caused you to lose everything in the pail you just permanently kept at your bedside. By this point you had considered that maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with the food you’d been eating; surely food poisoning wouldn’t have lasted this long. You’d considered that maybe there was something wrong with the local water source. After all, the lands had been cursed for so long that you would be surprised to find out if there wasn’t some sense of lasting pollution from the curse. However, you also knew very well that no one else had gotten sick and you were the lone soul that had been afflicted with bouts of nausea and vomiting. You had also toyed with the idea that this was some late settling side effect of having a mind flayer tadpole swimming in your brain for some time. The tadpoles were unique so it wouldn’t be too far fetched to find out you had a lifelong affliction because of them.

However, tonight you were awake for a different reason. Instead of debilitating nausea keeping you from a decent nights rest, it was the same gnawing craving for plums that’d been on your mind for weeks. After the incident at the market, you hadn’t returned for fear of the smells wafting around the area making you sick to your stomach again and you hadn’t had the chance to go collect any yourself. You knew that if you asked Halsin to bring you some that he would do it happily and without question, but you were aware with how busy he was and you’d decided that asking him to go fruit picking for you simply wasn’t as important. 

But the night was young and you couldn’t sleep. The sun had only set a few hours prior, leaving you ample time left in the night to scamper out to the plum tree you knew of with a basket in hand and fill it to your hearts content. You could snack on a few on your journey back home and slip back into bed without waking your slumbering lover. You rubbed the small bit of sleep from your eyes and gently lifted Halsin’s heavy arm from atop your midsection, quietly placing it on the mattress below as you crept out of bed. You threw on the first discarded shirt and pair of trousers you could find, not caring if they were wrinkled or even matched. You weren’t expecting to see anyone on this little trip of yours and wouldn’t be gone long enough to justify a well thought out outfit. 

You slipped out of your home silently, being sure to close the door with a soft click before setting off on your impromptu adventure. Although your settlement was secured and safe with no real threat of danger, you carried a small knife in your belt line, just as a precaution. You had no intent on using it, but it was a small token of safety that was left over from your tadpole days. It could also come in handy in the event a particular plum was too stubborn to be plucked from the tree. You were determined to have your fill of the ripest plums you could find and you would not be set off course because of a vine.

The walk to the plum tree was quiet and peaceful. You could hear the soft chirp of crickets in the distance and the low song of frogs floating in the air. Torches scattered around the realm illuminated your path out of the town square and into the forest, which you followed in no great hurry. You couldn’t help but observe everything you and Halsin had built together as you walked, feeling a sense of pride and tremendous joy when gazing upon your shared efforts. These lands which had once been filled with a century long curse of darkness, shadow, and decay were slowly coming to the light. You could understand why Halsin called the fall of the shadow curse the happiest and greatest moment of his life. Seeing new life sprouting from what was once dead was truly a miracle. And the chance to see Halsin so free and unburdened was certainly one of the high points of your own life.

The cool dew settling on the grass licked at your toes through your sandals as you first stepped into the forest, a set of chill bumps grazed your skin like a wave that quickly disappeared. You lazily strolled through the trees, taking your time but also trying to find the correct tree through the darkness of night. Thankfully, the moon was full and exceptionally bright, making it easier to see your surroundings. Eventually, you stumbled across a tree with low hanging branches and much to your delight, was filled with the richly colored fruit you’d been so long craving. 

You bit your lip in excitement as you approached the tree, setting your basket down at the base as you set to work. Plenty of branches were well within your reach and you could simply pluck the fruit without having to go to the effort of climbing up the tree, although if you did it wouldn’t have deterred you. This craving was something that had been gnawing away at you for weeks now and you wouldn’t be stopped for anything. The first plum snapped off easily, much to your delight. You paused momentarily to press the fruit to your nose and inhale deeply, the rush of satisfaction running through your brain causing you to smile at the deliciously ripe scent of your prize. 

Instead of eating it on the spot, you decided to toss it in your basked and continue plucking until you’d put as many as you could into your stash. You decided that you would take some of them home and then drop off the rest to the market for the rest of the community to enough, but you would be a little self indulgent and eat your fill first. You worked on picking more plums silently, enjoying the peaceful sounds of the night as you plucked, making sure to leave a few fruits scattered across the lower limbs for other creatures to nibble on. In a relatively short amount of time, you’d amassed a large basket full of deep purple plums and you were more than ready to sink your teeth into one.

You spent another moment picking the most perfect one you could find. One that was perfectly soft and plump under your fingertips. Once you’d selected your fruit of your choice, you leaned your back against the tree and slid down until you sat fully on the ground. You moaned ever so slightly as you finally bit into the fruit, juices leaking from the sides of your mouth and onto your chin as you chewed. From the droop in your eyes and the lazy smile that had crossed your face, you knew you looked like the epitome of bliss and you couldn’t agree more. The taste of the plum scratched at that itch deep in your brain and you would keep eating until it had been fully satisfied. 

“Gods above,” you said softly before taking another bite, “I needed this.” In this moment you think you finally understood what Halsin always said about the gifts of nature. The single plum you’d just inhaled was the greatest gift anyone could have given you in that moment. Or perhaps his druidic nature was just finally rubbing off on you. Either way, you were grateful for your treat. You made short work of the plum and wasted no time in biting into a second one, which tasted just as sweet and ripe as the first. Your gaze shifted across the land you’d made your way to and eventually settled on the sky, tracing the constellations as you continued eating. 

Your eyes settled on the full moon sitting high in the sky, illuminating the area with a soft glow as your brows settled into a deep frown. As beautiful as it was, you found yourself surprised to see it return to full seemingly so soon after the last. You tended to keep track of your monthly bleed cycles, wanting to make sure they came when they were supposed to in order to keep an overall idea on your general health. But, given how busy everything had been under Thaniel’s watch, it had slipped your mind. Your cycles tended to fall in line with each new moon and upon seeing the bright and shining full moon now above you, you realized that you miraculously didn’t have one this past lunar cycle.

“By the gods.” You whispered to yourself as the reality of everything happening finally made sense to you; the seemingly missing bleed cycle, morning sickness, aversion to certain smells, and the craving for plums so strong that you ventured into the woods in the middle of the night just to eat one. How you could have been so daft to not pick up on it soon was beyond you. Halsin had figured it out the first day of your sickness. You smiled and giggled to yourself at the very real possibility that you were with child.

The silence of your thoughts were quickly cut short as you heard the unmistakable grunt of a bear not too far off from where you were seated. Your survival instincts were set ablaze quickly, rising to your feet but remaining low until you could find the source of the noise. Bears weren’t all that uncommon in the area, although you’d never seen one so close to the realm with the only exception being your wild shaping lover who was usually sporting three or four children on his back. The sound was emanating from the path you had taken to the plum tree, the sounds of the animal becoming steadily closer as your heart pounded with anticipation.

Much to your relief, when the bear did present itself to you not too far from where you were, you noticed it was unmistakably Halsin in wild shape. Why he decided to wake from a deep sleep just to roam around as a bear was beyond you, but you couldn’t exactly blame him for doing so when you had left the warmth of your bed to find a plum tree. You sat back on the ground and watched your lover roam. His transformations into a bear always fascinated you and you frequently enjoyed just watching him function as a large hulking creature. It was also fascinating to you to see just how much the tendencies and habits of his bear form seeped into his normal form and vice versa. He was as much bear as he was elven and you loved both halves equally.

The bears head was pointed towards the sky and you could hear the grunts and sniffs from where you were. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the night air, having seemly picked up on a strong scent somewhere nearby. You watched as his head then bowed towards the ground, nose still twitching wildly as he picked up on the scent once again. It didn’t take long for his gaze to finally fall on you resting against the tree. You made the quick decision to move your basket of hard won plums out of the way as the bear made it a priority to gallop towards you, quickly closing the space between the two of you. By the time your plums had been securely placed to the side, you felt Halsin’s nose press firmly against your neck, inhaling in quick bursts as he made his way across your body.

His quickly working nose pressed firmly against your skin, making you shiver at the abrupt force and chill behind it. With several grunts and small growls, you felt his nose travel anywhere he could reach. Into your hair, behind your ears, along your neck, eventually ghosting over your collar bones and under your arms. You laughed at the feeling of the quick bursts of air and the fur tickling your skin, eventually having to work your hands down to grab hold of his rapidly moving snout.

“Love,” you said as you pulled his snout towards your face to keep him from traveling lower, “if you wish to communicate you’ll have to change back. I can understand you, my dear bear.” The ability to speak to animals was never something you’d found necessary, although you’ve deeply regretted that decision since choosing a partner that spent half his time as a bear.

With a brief whine of annoyance, your beloved bear backed up slightly before erupting in a ball of light, making you squint and turn your head to avoid lasting damage to your eyes. By the time they reopened, Halsin was practically on top of you. His lips crashed against yours before you had a chance to say anything, the force behind it bumping your head against the bark of the tree. You felt one of his hands caress your jaw, the other being used to hold himself up to avoid completely crushing you. His thumb quickly made its way to your lower lip, tugging downward gently so your lips could part more for him. You happily complied, moaning softly as he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t long until the hand on your jaw gently tilted your chin to the side, allowing him to descend upon your neck at a fevered pace. 

“What has gotten you so worked up?” You asked with a laugh. Your hands roamed across Halsin’s broad shoulders as he pressed against you, his lips and teeth grazing along your neck with each sloppy kiss. His hips found their way nestled between your thighs as he moved closer. The had that was supporting his frame had moved to your hip, squeezing and frantically searching for any bit of flesh he could find.

“Your scent,” he rasped, “I think I know why, but it’s changed as of late. It’s stronger. More potent. It’s…it’s intoxicating.” He switched to the other side of your neck, inhaling deeply behind your ear before painting the column of your throat with more kisses and bites. He panted through his words as shutters of excitement and arousal coursed through his veins. It was only now that you realized that the druid wasn’t wearing the first stitch of clothing. You enjoyed the thought that your lingering scent in your bed had motivated him enough to leave without even bothering to put on a pair of trousers. 

“Fertility, perhaps?” You asked as you tugged what was left of the hair tie from his hair, your fingers quickly snaking their way though.

“Or the result of that.” His eyes were half-lidded and on the verge of glowing as he took your lips in his for another kiss, “I was wondering when you’d catch on.” Your desire to reply was cut short as your own arousal began to kick in, shoving any thoughts of rational conversation to the far corners of your mind. 

“Damn clothing,” you muttered as you struggled to hoist your shirt over your head, “is always in the way.” You felt the druid laugh against the skin of your neck at your plight. Halsin had managed to tug your trousers from your hips by the time you’d finally tossed your shirt from your body, his lips still latching onto any exposed skin he could find. Your sighed in relief as he moved you to the side and your back finally left the rough bark of the tree and was happily placed on the cool grass beneath you.

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

You hummed contently as you bit into the plump flesh of another plum, snuggling against Halsin’s chest in the process. His arm was wrapped tightly against you as you both lay in grass under the plum tree, thoroughly exhausted after the events of the evening. His arm was underneath your shoulder, his hand extending towards your hip where his fingers drew lazy circles along the bone. Despite his frantic and more aggressive movements from just moments prior, his touch was soft and loving as if he was trying to undo any potential injury he inflicted in his animalistic lust. 

“Satisfied?” He asked as he bit into his own fruit, looking down at you as you gave a light hearted chuckle. You couldn’t decide if he was referring to the plums you’d finally gotten your hands on or the impromptu rutting you’d engaged in, but either way you had no complaints. 

“Very,” you said as you finished the last of your fruit and tossed the pit to the side, “although I do have a bone to pick with you.” You feigned a pout, letting him know you weren’t actually angry, especially after a well enjoyed time together. He raised his brow at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Do tell, my heart.” He finished his plum with a second bite, discarding the pit as you did before using his free arm as a makeshift pillow against the trunk of the tree.

“Why didn’t you tell me you thought I was with child? Hells, you had it figured out in no time and I only just put the pieces together this evening.” Although you weren’t actually mad, it was a genuine question that had been biting at your brain for a few days. Despite having wagons full of displaced children already under your care, you knew Halsin would love one of his own. He loved the children that found their way into your care deeply, but there was something about bringing in a new life that you knew excited him. So why not tell you the second he put everything together? 

“I wanted to be certain, my love. I didn’t want to put that idea in your head only to be wrong. I wasn’t sure of your feelings on the matter. Truth be told, I was afraid you would be opposed to the idea.” His voice was soft as he spoke, “And, quite frankly, I was afraid that if I spoke it into existence too soon it wouldn’t be true. A bit selfish, I suppose.” You cupped his cheek with your hand, pulling his face to look at you as you offered him a warm smile.

“Put those fears to rest, my love.” You said softly, leaning forward slightly to place a gentle kiss to his opposing cheek.

“You’re certain? This is something you want? With me?” There was uncertainty in his voice. Although it was rare for him to show such vulnerability, you knew that deep down Halsin had his own fears and uncertainties about himself, given how long his emotions and previously failed actions weighed on his shoulders. But you were there to lift his burdens and bring him towards a life where he could cast those doubts to the side. He had nothing to fear with you, nothing to be ashamed of. You loved him more than you could express and living a lifetime with him would bring you more joy than you had ever hope to achieve previously. Bringing a child into the world together was something that was even more thrilling and something you both had secretly wanted for some time.

“More than you can ever imagine,” you pulled his head towards you until your foreheads rested together, “and we’ll both pray to Silvanus that we’re correct in our assumptions.” You felt Halsin release a heavy, but elated, sigh as he once again pressed his lips to yours. It was a firm kiss, but any lingering lust from earlier had long gone. Instead, this was a kiss filled with love and, above all else, radiant hopefulness. 

“Shall we head back, my heart?” Halsin asked with one final kiss to your forehead.

“No,” you said softly, “let’s stay here tonight. We haven’t had a night under the stars in quite sometime.” You both lay there happily, limbs tangled together and bare skin pressed together firmly. It didn’t take long for sleep to wash over you, your cravings sated for the time being and your body thoroughly spent. You slept peacefully while in the embrace of your lover and with the thought you could be bringing a child into the world together.

Tag List: @incrediblethirst, @reignydeys @thoughts-of-bear

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #halsin #halsin x reader #reader x halsin #gender neutral reader #daddy halsin #halsin romance #halsin brainrot #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #halsin fluff #halsin fanfic

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 14.

Summary: Our second look through Oliver's eyes as he thinks back on the night he and Felix get champagne drunk on the bridge, and then when he gets to Saltburn. Looking around both Y/N and Felix's rooms, he gets to know more about them, and finally he meets the Catton Family.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, reader is said/implied to be high for some of the chapter (based on my experiences & understanding of weed)

A/N: 8506 words. you have all deserved a good feed and i am here to provide. sorry it's been a week, the dam broke, things are looking good in my personal life which is nice, and i am BACK on main fic nonsense. we get another Ollie POV, please let me know what you think, im so excited to have everyone at the estate and hanging out!! got big plans going forward!! excited to be setting it all up!! yeah please feedback, my darling friends!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Sometimes Oliver feels like he was put on this Earth solely to exist in Felix Catton's affectionate gaze. Everything else in life is just filler.

That night on the bridge, he and Felix in suits, drunk on champagne and bathed in the twilight of the evening, will haunt him, he's sure. He welcomes it with open arms, surfacing when his mind is idle and elsewhere. Felix smiling at him, Felix trying to bring him closure even if he doesn't really need it, Felix hanging on his every word, ever story he would fabricate to keep Felix's eyes fixed on him and only him. Felix so close, Felix with his arm around Ollie, Felix's thigh pressed up against his as they sat alone on the edge of the bridge.

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Oliver feels dwarfed by him, never more so than these moments where Felix insists on occupying Oliver's personal space, and then some. But he'll never complain; Felix's affection is intoxicating, addicting even. To be so wrapped up in it, in him, it's bliss, though Oliver never wanted to seem needy for such affection, that's why he waits for these moments, for Felix to make first contact. He wonders if Felix had realised the way you so quickly had in the beginning.

Everyone reaches out for Felix, everyone else appears so desperate. Its why Oliver's always held back from touching him, always waited and let Felix make the first move. Felix was made to be wanted, he basks in it; Oliver gives him the chance to want. Isn't there a thrill in that? A novelty?

And to be wanted by Felix... That was a gift in itself too.

Oliver had, admittedly, been worried that he'd lost his chance at that. After sleeping with you, Felix holding him at arm's length, he could feel his grip slipping. Plucking at the strings of Felix's clear saviour complex was enough to claw back into his life, but he now knew his place was precarious, and most tentative of all was everything about you.

So he'd held back from you. On purpose. Often distinctly, even when you'd give these confused, disheartened looks. He tried not to look at you in those moments; his focus was Felix, Felix seemed harder won.

But when he'd tried to apologise on the bridge - at first he wasn't going to bring it up, but it was dark and he was reasonably drunk and the only person who's ever smiled like Felix had been smiling at him in that moment had been you - Felix had, at first, laughed him off. No, he can feel it now, weighing on him; he needs to balance the scales. He wants Felix so bad it aches in his bones, but Oliver knows his want goes beyond just the beautiful boy by his side. Every part of you, how you interact with the world, interact with him, the way you exist and exude confidence and love, drew Oliver in like a moth to a flame. If Felix is the hook, you were the line. The bait, and the trap. The sun, and it's warmth. He wants to always be the focus of your loving, attentive gaze. Always wants you to want him too.

Oliver is the helpless fly in the web you and Felix have woven, to be so lovingly obsessed with you both as you are, and yet still drawn further in, to love the love you share. He feels trapped and utterly helpless against his feelings for you both.

So he has to make it right. Has to make it... even? Was that how to make it right?

But Felix is different on the bridge. Different to the jealous creature he tried so clearly to hide in the weeks before. Something had changed.

"You never need to apologise for making them happy," he says easily, affectionately. Oliver tries to be insistent, that he never meant to get between the two of you. He's rambling and tipsy, but not enough to miss the faint choked noise of what Oliver could have sworn was intrigue that Felix makes at that, but he knows better than to dwell or comment on it. Instead, Felix claps him on the back; "you wanna make it up to me we can say you owe me one," he says far too easily.

"Owe you one what?" Oliver frowns, playing oblivious for a moment as he takes a sip of the champagne before Felix gives him a cheeky wink and a grin.

"Shag, of course."

Oliver does a spit take with surprise, not having thought Felix would be so casual and genuine about it, almost falling off of the bridge in the moment. Felix catches him, arm around him as he laughs through an apology.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry mate," he wheezes, carefully clapping Ollie on the shoulder, "also I apologise for assuming, poor form, sometimes I forget people can be weird about these things- not saying you'd be weird, we've just never spoken about this kind of thing."

It speaks to how much he must genuinely trust Oliver, considering how light the conversation remains. Or perhaps it's the bubbly. Still, Oliver has a little bit of an inkling about what this kind of thing may be. But part of him needs Felix to say it, to confirm his suspicions, to keep stringing him along with further crumbs of hope.

"Assuming what?"

There's a single moment, the way in which Felix looks at Oliver out of the corner of his eyes, smile briefly frozen on his face as he must be considering the weight of what he's about to say. Its in the moment that follows, when Felix laughs almost self consciously and withdraws his hand that Oliver wonders how out Felix is. Oliver had always just kind of assumed - hoped - on the basis of his relationship with Y/N, but it occurs to him that the general perception of Felix, the talk and rumours and gossip that surrounded him, never really entertained the idea that he was actually queer. Felix's affection towards everyone in his life was simply a by-product of who he was, and you're his best friend - and his cousin, according to Farleigh - so of course you don't count, and otherwise Felix Catton was a known lady's man, right?

Not quite, it seemed.

"That you'd even be into guys like that," it sounds so easy when Felix says it, like Oliver can't see the tension in his shoulders as he reaches over, taking the bottle of champagne back. Its almost empty. Oliver doesn't mind if he finishes it.

Felix looks at the sky, at the stars.

Oliver thinks about the VHS tape of Maurice that he stole from a rental store after looking at the back cover. He'd kept it stashed in his sock drawer and watched every week under the cover of absolute darkness until it literally became unplayable. Yes, Oliver liked guys, and spent his teen years having just as many lewd fantasies about boys with posh accents, and charmingly youthful features, and floppy, brown hair, as he did about girls with big, dark eyes, and high, perfect cheek bones, in bright red wedding dresses. His sisters hated Beetlejuice, thought it was gross, but he and his mother would watch it together on occasion, sharing a blanket his gran had crocheted, and a bowl of popcorn. She'd get all giggly over Alec Baldwin, while Oliver couldn't help but fall for Winona Ryder for the duration of the film, every time.

For a moment, he thinks of the sunlit kitchen he grew up in, and his mother cooking Sunday lunch with a record playing. The last Sunday before he left for Oxford. In the yard, he can hear his father mowing the lawn, and he's sure Emily is in her room packing for her own journey back to her third year of studying. But Oliver comes out of his room just as Jump in Line (Shake Senora) begins to play. Serendipity. Already excited by the song, his mother looks up from the dishes, and practically lights up at the sight of her son. She's going to ask him to dance. He's going to say yes. They're both going to love this moment; she says it's their song, and Oliver dances along to their song. When it's over, Oliver won't admit that he's disappointed it had to end, but he tells his mother he'll miss her too when she hugs him especially tightly. For that one moment he hadn't ached to leave the way he'd been for months, for years.

Looking now at the rock in the rubbish that represented his father, there's a momentary pang of guilt for lying so dramatically about him he hadn't been expecting. So he pushes it out of his mind.

Felix finishes the bottle, and Oliver watches him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Effortlessly beauty.

Oliver wants to focus on his future, not his past.

"Haven't got too much experience with 'em, but that doesn't stop me from liking them well enough," feeling especially bold, he levels a sly smile at Felix, "so if it's all good with you, maybe we do say I owe you one."

Felix blushes the most beautiful scarlet as he barks a loud, pleased laugh. But most importantly, he relaxes.

"It's not that hard," he offers so nonchalantly, amending with a sheepish grin, "well it is, that's part of the point -" but Oliver can't help himself.

"I said I didn't have a lot of experience, didn't say I was completely inexperienced."

"No, I know," Felix's voice turns all smug and teasing, and Oliver can feel his face beginning to heat up as he realised the implications of Felix's tone, "I've heard rave reviews." Oliver had taken the time to have his fun, to have a few hook ups here and there in the past year, usually with girls or guys from town or other campuses who had no idea who he was otherwise. There's only one person who'd be giving him rave reviews, as Felix had called them.

Huh. It's quite the compliment; he had gone out of his way to give you the kind of attention he suspected few people ever bestowed upon you, but rave reviews? What had you actually told Felix?

Instead, considering that this still feels like potentially rocky territory, he tries to bring it back.

"It's one of the few ways I ever really learned how to make people feel appreciated," his gaze drops with his tone, and hopes that Felix takes the bait. The threads that tie back to the story of his unfortunate upbringing, but also perhaps the threads that subconsciously tie his attitude and behaviour to you in Felix's mind. Even if you don't say it, he knows it's part of how you operate, and he's willing to bet that Felix had picked up on that too.

It works. Felix wraps an arm around him, assuring him that he has so much to offer the world. God, he sounds so sincere when he says it; if Oliver hadn't knowingly baited him into the compliment, he would have believed him entirely. At the very least he basks in how good it is to hear Felix say.

They talk through the night, Oliver tentatively feeling his way towards his goal, the opportunity to spend Summer with Felix too, to make sure this connection doesn't wither in the interim. Of course he plays at being humble, at refusing the offer despite how clearly uninhabitable the sob story home he'd made up for himself was, but just as he'd predicted, Felix, ever the saviour, refuses to take no for an answer. Apparently his mother has people stay for months at a time anyhow. Oliver wonders idly if that's where Felix got it from.

"Y/N will be so pleased, I can tell you that," Felix mentioned with fondness. Of course Oliver had anticipated that you would probably be spending at least some of your Summer with them, but he's surprised that when he enquires further, Felix admits, "yeah they live with me at Saltburn when we're not at school, have for ages now."

"What, all the time? They really are a ward of the Saltburn Estate?"

Felix wears a strange little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes; there's an unfamiliar kind of melancholy that doesn't look quite right on him, Oliver thinks, as Felix shrugs again.

"Some people's parents just aren't meant to be parents."

For a split second Oliver feels a rush of guilt as he comes to realise he may have fabricated a life for himself that you had actually lived. In the moment, however, he dips his head, a sign that he understands, that he agrees.

"Then we're lucky to have you."

Felix throws an arm around his shoulders, pulls him in tightly and presses a kiss to the side of his head, assuring him it's no trouble at all.

"What are friends for?"

Yes, this moment would be burned into his brain; Felix so warm beside him, Felix smiling against his temple, Felix champagne drunk and willing to share his life, if only for six weeks. Every fibre of Oliver's being is willing it to work out, willing it to be more than just these six weeks -

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Except the minute he knocks on the doors of the house that looms so large he feels like he's about to be swallowed whole by it, he feels like he's failed a test. The look in the terrifying doorman's eyes, his tone of voice, the unflinching scrutiny when faced with Oliver's continual awkwardness and questions, makes him feel like he's failed several more in rapid succession.

Oliver's actually pretty sure he's never been quite so glad to see Felix as the exact moment he calls out to Oliver with absolute joy. Which is saying something. It's never felt like Felix is judging him, at least not in a way he can't pass. Thank fuck. Felix, in this moment, is the only one who matters, he tells himself.

That being said, Oliver had been expecting you to be by Felix's side when he'd come bounding in to save him from Duncan's scrutiny. That's generally where he's come to expect you. Not that he wasn't grateful for Felix giving the tour, it was just... unexpected.

Honestly, when you appear from a door on the other side of the long gallery, opposite Felix's bedroom, Oliver's surprised by how relieved he is to see you. The room you've exited seems to be themed in pale purple from the brief glimpse Oliver sees, and you've got a leather bound folder in your arms, but neither of those is nearly so interesting as the look in your eyes. Looking back, Oliver sees Felix lounging in his doorframe, looking between you both with patient amusement.

"Ollie!"

Oliver's pretty sure no-one in his life has ever sounded this excited to see him. The only person who comes closes would be Felix, five minutes ago.

"Ollie, oh Ollie - Fi, hold this," you pass off your folder to Felix, who of course takes it without argument, before Oliver's swept up in a tight hug, "you're early, you smell nice," you hug him so enthusiastically the two of you spin for a moment, before pulling back, holding him at arm's length like you're assessing the state of him. Instead, you beam, holding his hands as you turned to Felix, "Fi, Ollie's here! We love Ollie!"

This time when you meet Oliver's gaze, he's surprised to see not just love, but want. You'd worn that look in the weeks before the two of you had fucked, like all you could think about was how you'd once begged him to want you, and how he of course admitted he did. When had he started missing this look in your eyes? All he can think about is that night in the warmth of your bed, the way you'd sounded so fucking certain and needy - of course I want you - and how he can see it in your eyes again now. For a moment his mind and resolve is fuzzy; why had he ever stopped reaching out for you?

"We do love Ollie," Felix agreed with further amusement, and that's when he remembers. Except... this isn't the jealous version of Felix that had shown up in the aftermath. This was the Felix who'd brushed off Oliver's apologies about the whole ordeal on the bridge and proceeded to overtly, if jokingly, flirt with him. Already he feels just a touch more relaxed in this new dynamic that was being set up for the Summer.

Actually, Oliver, for just a second, thinks he may have died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck, Ollie, look at your nails," he hears next, however, and it immediately shatters the illusion as he pulls his hands away from you and your judgemental eyes.

"Don't be mean," Felix chides, and you look up with surprised, as if you hadn't realised your own less than complimentary tone. Looking between Oliver and Felix, there's apology in your eyes.

"Sorry Ollie," you're quick to offer, and he awkwardly tries to act like he's not embarrassed, "I'll give you a manicure, I can paint your nails; we can match!" You smiled brightly, hands pressed flat and warm to his chest all of a sudden, "I match Fi's shirt today; Farleigh painted my nails -" your eyes go wide as if you'd just remembered; "Farleigh; shit."

You run for the door to the blue room. Oliver, deeply confused, watches you go. Then, he hears Felix sigh with fond exasperation, holding out the leather folder. A moment later you burst through the door again.

"Documents. Shit. Thanks, Fi!"

And you're off again.

"Is this... how they normally are just at Saltburn?" Oliver finally asks with faint concern, looking from the door to Felix in the darkened doorframe.

"My lovely cousin is an atrocious influence on our dear Y/N," Felix said with incredible diplomacy. But Oliver's mind momentarily catches on the wording.

Our Y/N.

Just like before, a strange thrill, a rush; he remembers the look in your eyes when he'd first said 'Our Felix' to you. An exclusive kind of possessive, one you'd willingly share with Oliver. He liked this dynamic, he wondered how hard he'd have to push it to get beyond the simple semantics.

We love Ollie!

We do love Ollie.

Perhaps it wouldn't be too difficult at all.

"What do you mean?" He asks instead, and Felix turns to him with that same amused smile.

"They're fine, don't worry mate, they're just high is all," clearly Felix's feelings are mixed on the subject; Oliver knows he has no problems with getting high himself, so he suspects Felix cares more about Oliver's first impressions of his home and his family than he was wanting to let on. You were his right hand after all. There's something endearing about how much he seems to want Oliver to want to be here. Which he does, for the record.

"So this is your room?" Oliver enquires, shooting for brightness, despite the momentary awkwardness. He watches the tension leave Felix's shoulders. It's enough for Oliver, and his gaze drifts, roams around and tries to catalogue every single piece of Felix he can glean from the clutter. Even with an army of servants there's something unkempt about how he decorates the otherwise old and ornate space. CDs he'll spend time poring over, stacks of books, and trinkets, and tchotchkes. Felix even has a balcony; stone railings and enough decorative chairs, and even a lounge and small table, for company.

Here and there in the room itself, however, a few things seem out of place; shoes that didn't look like Felix's sitting neatly by the door, two dressing gowns, one maroon and tossed over the bed, the other in navy and draped more deliberately over the end of the bed. Two glasses of water, one on either side of the bed. Tell-tale signs that clue Oliver in before Felix even confirms it -

"Mine and Y/N's, yeah," he says it so easily, so nonchalantly, no bothering with pretence here at Saltburn, "you'll be staying just next door," Felix continues on with a wide, easy smile over his shoulder as he continued to flit through the rooms, catching light, voice echoing amongst the decorative walls.

"Bathroom," he offers, before turning, adding, "we're going to be sharing a bathroom, by the way, I hope you don't mind," and Oliver finds himself drawn to the sight of the ornate bath, as if on purposeful display in the middle of the room, "otherwise you'd be miles away on the other end of the house," Felix explains, continuing on without even considering his words as he says them. No, of course Oliver didn't mind.

All Oliver can think of is everything that simple sentence implied. Closeness. Implicit want. A sudden flash in Oliver's mind as Felix continues through to the dressing room, of sweat beading along skin and hands clutching desperately at the cool, porcelain edge of the tub, of water sloshing and spilling and overflowing, and the sound of breathless moaning -

He tries to focus, tries to simply watch Felix's hands as he taps idly on the red walls of the dressing room as he lead into what Oliver can only assume to be his room. He stays out of his head, leans into the moment, and lets himself relax as Felix gestures broadly, brightly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Your room!"

It's bright, all wide, open windows looking over the beautiful grounds of Saltburn, honey coloured wood and lamps that glow in such a way that he was reminded of Oxford. Already someone's brought his suitcase up, set it out at the end of the bed; he'd get to unpacking that later tonight, for now he took his time relaxing into the space. Felix had already sat himself down, seemingly at home in the old, wooden rocking chair, watching Oliver, almost like he was trying to hide his nervous anticipation.

"I'm really glad you're here, mate," for just a moment, Felix sounds more honest than he'd been since Oliver had arrived. There's something in his eyes that Oliver hadn't been anticipating, in the brief moment in which their gazes meet. There's a kind of arrogance, Oliver thinks, to calling even a sliver of it something like love, but it's adoration and appreciation nonetheless. It's gone in a flash, too brief to be anything serious, he thinks once more as Felix stands, "right, I will, er... I'll leave you to it."

And Oliver is quiet. It's a kind of reverence, or perhaps it reads like shock and awe at the whole place, but he listens quietly as Felix tells him about his mother's aversion to stubble and ugliness and piercings and -

"Anything else I should know about?" Finally he asks, sensing Felix was close to rambling on a nervous tangent. Thankfully, Felix actually seems relieved by the interruption, assuring him that there was nothing else to worry about.

Felix tells Oliver that he just needs to be himself, that his family will love him. That it's relaxed. Oliver loves Felix dearly, but doubts he, a man who rarely seems to be anything but relaxed, would be the best judge of that. Especially in a place like this. Still, Oliver smiles like he believes him, and watches the way Felix hangs himself back from the door on his heels, almost like a little kid, telling Oliver that his family will be in the library when he's ready.

Library?

His mental image of Saltburn grows with each moment. Soon it will overwhelm him, he's sure.

So he tries, just for the moment, to get acquainted with the room he's been given. His own, honey-coloured piece of Saltburn, if only for the Summer. Hopefully beyond, that dreamy little voice of want whispers in the back of his mind. Another flash of desire runs through him, the image of a quiet evening on Felix's balcony, a purple sky and a glass of scotch, book in one hand and Felix's head in his lap. He'd be too big for the little sofa, legs hanging off the edge, but he's comfortably fallen asleep with Oliver's fingers carding through his hair; when you drape yourself over Oliver's shoulders, there's loving affection in the way you call them 'your boys' -

God he'd been entertaining these fantasies for months, sure, almost since he'd met you and Felix, but never this vivid, never so detailed or hard to push away, to pretend like he'd never had them when he next tries to look you both in the eyes.

Yeah, me and Y/N's room. You're right next door. We'll be sharing a bathroom.

This is either going to be a dream, or the hardest Summer of his life. Pun entirely intended.

The room itself is rather charming, once Oliver finally breaks free of his own fantasies. Charming in a different way to the rest of the house, but in a way that was hard to put his finger on at first. Saltburn was like if a place could put on a performance of itself, none of it felt lived in, or at least, not for a very long time. Except Felix's room, it had his youth and carelessness that gave it a feeling of home, as, for some reason, did Oliver's.

Except then he sees them. Then he understands. There's space stickers on the top drawer of what he can only assume is the otherwise expensive bedside table. Some are peeled off, some even leaving the ugly, half-peeled, paper residue of planets and stars and little cartoon astronauts. The second of the two drawers is in much the same state, but depicting a faded sea creature theme. It's so unexpectedly, joyfully childish. There's two books in the top drawer, a collection of Edgar Allen Poe's short stories, and a copy of Emma. Oliver swallows hard, trying not to wonder what you must mean by that. Otherwise the drawers are empty, almost hotel-like in it's severe starkness.

There's other little things, however. Fairy lights curled up and around the headboard that glow a comforting, warm white once he finds their switch. A digital clock at odds with the rest of the room's aesthetics, red numbers glowing in the afternoon light. The painting on the wall above the bookshelf that looks far more modern than anything else he'd seen so far on the walls, a rich, blue night sky glittering with stars, and a dreamy silhouette of a figure with a cigarette almost glowing orange against the darkness. Despite the vagueness of the figure, there's a comfort, a kind of love with which they'd been captured that Oliver can somehow feel in his chest when he looks at it.

The little bookshelf itself in the corner is filled with titles he can imagine you specifically enjoying, but a few anomalies here and there - books on botany and Edwardian flower code stick out in particular. It's completed with a small stack of CDs and a CD player gathering dust on top. When he crouches down, however, he's surprised to see an old, portable cassette deck taking up space on the bottom row of the bookshelf, mostly hidden behind several stacks of what appeared to be blank cassette tapes, crammed into the very corner, almost out of sight.

How strange. How... human.

There is an echo of someone else in this room, but to his relief, it feels like you. For the barest moment, he almost feels like he's already home.

It's a short-lived feeling, however, as Felix's words come back to him once more. His reflection in the bathroom mirror as he carefully rids himself of even the barest traces of stubble, doesn't meet the standards he's sure the mother of Felix Catton must hold.

Oliver's never considered himself particularly beautiful, nor did pretty much anyone else, it had always seemed. His mother was of course biased, Felix was filled with too much affection to be considered anywhere near reliable about that sort of things, and you - something inside Oliver squirms almost with embarrassment for even thinking so poorly of himself in the past few moments. Maybe a face like his would make Felix's mum happy, if the look in your eyes meant anything, every time you saw him.

Oliver chooses to leave the way he was brought in, taking a long few moments in Felix's room, leaving it untouched, undisturbed, but treating it like a museum to his best friend, clues about his life he couldn't glean from conversation alone. Felix's bookshelves were bigger than yours, stacked with comics amid countless fantasy and adventure books, but a surprising number of cowboy and western titles, though it's not as if there appears to be any kind of sorting system. There's a ceramic bowl that looks hand made, full of faded wristbands for events all over the world for the past five years. There's a shoebox that apparently used to hold a pair of lady's runners, now sitting at the end of one row that now has 'A Stupid Box For Feefs Stupid Rocks <3' sharpied on top in handwriting he doesn't recognise. A thick textbook about space on the bottom shelf with a cracked, worn spine and sticky tabs seeming to note various pages, various guitar tab books for different, popular bands that Felix would definitely be interested in. Four decks of cards stacked on top of each other, boxes looking so worn and used they were practically falling apart.

For a very long time, Oliver finds himself caught, looking at the little cork board full of photos leaning on top of the bookshelf. Countless photos of Felix, Farleigh, Venetia, and Y/N throughout the years. He hadn't realised just how long you and Felix had even known each other. How long you'd practically been a fixture at Saltburn in the Summer. There's a photo of the four of you all in your bathers, laying asleep on the grass beside the lake, all next to each other on brightly coloured towels, none of you could have been older than twelve; you fit right in along with the rest of them.

There's a photo strip, the kind taken in a booth at a mall or a museum, that Oliver thinks he recognises, but it takes him a long moment of staring at it to figure out why. It's you and Felix, and the strip itself says it's from an aquarium. Smiling. Laughing. You blurry, covering your laughter as Felix looks particularly goofy and pleased with himself, as if he'd just told a stupid joke. The last one has been ripped off.

Oh. Right. He'd seen it while snooping through Felix's wallet a few months ago; the photo had been the reason he'd put the wallet back at all. The way the two of you were kissing in the final photo, so wrapped up in each other, and love, and joy, had made Oliver feel almost physically sick with both want and jealousy.

God, he has to leave, has to stop snooping again and actually find this library and the rest of the Cattons.

Walking through Saltburn's many rooms alone makes Oliver feel like he's constantly out of bounds at a museum. There's hints of life throughout the building, but they're few and far between compared to the ornamental, carefully curated decorations of each room. Even the hints of the Cattons themselves seemed... too purposeful. The little, animated 'Catton Family Players' puppet show is the kind of thing only rich, whimsical weirdos could ever think was charming, and not just bizarre, vain, and haunting in the same way that porcelain dolls were.

But then he hears laughter, and warm chatter from down a hall, and the tinny, purposeful shouting from what could only be a movie or TV show. It sounds so much like his own family's living room on a cheerful evening that it's almost relaxing. Almost.

Because as he's approaching, he realises they're talking about him. They're picking apart the life he'd fed Felix as if it were mere gossip, speaking so airily, their sentiment so clearly out of touch that he'd probably find it amusing if he didn't have to pretend to be living it. Briefly, he wonders if they spoke like this about your life, or if the novelty of you had worn off in the years before. Perhaps you were just glad they could focus their pity and unapologetic classicism on someone else for a change; he couldn't hear you in there, which surprised him. Maybe part of him had expected you to defend him the way you had back at Oxford. Maybe you don't feel like you can at Saltburn. At least Felix sounds embarrassed, irritated as he admonishes Farleigh for having told the rest of the family.

Before he enters the library where the rest of the family has gathered, Oliver pauses by the door, both to get a better idea of what they're already thinking about him, but also because he'd spotted someone watching him from one of the adjacent rooms.

Bleach blonde hair, stars clinging to the tights on her legs, she's reading a book that Oliver can't quite see the cover of. Venetia was written on the collar of the little, blonde puppet in the Catton Family Players; Oliver suspects this is her. Oliver thinks she could be considered very beautiful, if she didn't seem quite so sharp. The way she huffs a laugh and wears a dangerously amused smile after she'd taken her own time in analysing him seems to prove as much. That being said, Oliver's not sure if she's laughing at something about him, or about the fact that they can both clearly hear her family's disparaging remarks about his apparent upbringing.

"Farleigh seems to think he's ghastly," Oliver hears a woman say as his hand comes to rest on the door handle, "why are you and our dear pet even friends with him, darling?"

"Dirt poor, not attractive, and his parents are drug addicts," a second woman's voice seems to surmise as Oliver lets himself into the room, "I can't actually -" but Felix makes a noise as he sees the door opening, and the woman goes quiet as Oliver peers in.

"And here he is now," Farleigh sounds as thrilled as he ever was to see Oliver, "we were just talking about you," like he's trying his best to make Oliver feel as unwelcome as possible. It's... kind of working. Bastard. However looking over at him does solve one mystery; you and Farleigh are sharing a sofa at the back of the room that's only just big enough for the both of you as long as you're tucked up against him, his arm slung over the back of the chair behind you.

And you're fast asleep against him.

The blonde woman on the sofa who shares Felix's elegant, effortless beauty admonishes Farleigh, even though Oliver can tell from her voice she was one of the ones very much talking about him only moments before. Oliver has the grace to pretend like he hadn't heard, though is still glad for the vaguely embarrassed, apologetic look Felix is already giving him.

This has to be Felix's mother, the blonde with the airy voice who immediately gets up to greet him, to assess him.

"Oh, what beautiful eyes," oh thank god, "oh, how wonderful!" There's genuine surprise and adoration in the way Felix's mother regards him, and Oliver can't help but feel relieved, like he's finally passed the first of what he's sure will be many tests during his life at the Saltburn estate.

"Yeah, we told you he wasn't a minger," Felix pointed out when his mother turns to him.

"Oh, but darling, you and pet are kind about everyone; neither of you can be trusted about those you're fond of." Pet? Does she mean Y/N? Suddenly Farleigh's comments over the months make a strange amount of sense. At the very least Oliver's heart begins to sing at the idea of you and Felix speaking so kindly of him to the others that they know you're both especially fond of him... And you both seem to think he's beautiful enough that you mention it when he's not around. Huh.

But yes, the moment the woman explains her aborrance of ugliness Oliver knows he's talking to Felix's mother. At least she seems to like him well enough, going so far as to ask if he'd seen Venetia yet, that even she'd been dying to see him, but had chosen to drape herself around the house as if laying in wait for him. Indeed that's how it had seemed when he'd spotted her earlier, but none of them have let Oliver get a word in edgewise.

Felix's father is the next to introduce himself, all long limbs and warm handshake to match his smile, just like his son. When he asks Oliver about his trip to the estate, Oliver finally breathes, can finally respond.

"Oh, God, don't with the 'sirs'," Felix's mother waves him over to sit down, insisting, "no, no, no, we can't stand anything like that here," though her outburst seems to have been enough to rouse you. As Oliver sits, he hears, syrupy and warm with sleep from behind him -

"Ollie!" As you had each time since he's arrived, you sound so genuinely delightful. Farleigh makes a noise in the back of his throat. Oliver turns in time to see you elbow Farleigh in the ribs.

"I liked you better when you were asleep."

"Fars," your voice drops low, like a warning, and Oliver's surprised by how sharply Farleigh looks away, jaw clenching tightly, "be good." Oliver almost thinks Farleigh might be angry, but then he sees the gentle way Farleigh's holding your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles against your upper arm; from what Oliver can see, he realises Farleigh's expression is almost embarrassed -

"Children, stop bickering," Felix's mother orders brightly, and your expression returns to unbothered and chipper as you refocus on Oliver.

"Hi Ollie," again, then as more of an offer to the rest of the room, "isn't he just lovely?" Oliver flushes, but gives you a fond smile, even as you settle back against Farleigh. Even though Farleigh persists with glaring at him, when he turns back, he rests his cheek against your head, oozing malevolence as he seemingly tucks himself against you too. But he does indeed remain quiet.

After the altercation passes, Oliver gets a brief introduction to one of the other house guests at Saltburn, Pamela, brief being the operative word as she's quickly sent away to ask about tea from one of the staff members at Felix's mother's insistence. Pamela herself doesn't exactly seem confident in the task, but that's once again when you speak up. Much to Oliver's surprise, you give a detailed physical description of the woman - Annie - and succinct directions to the kitchen itself, following it up with a yawn and -

"The Irish one, a bit mousy, might have trouble meeting your gaze but she's nice enough."

Pamela looks far more confident thanks to your directions. Oliver's genuinely shocked at your level of detail and knowledge, but everyone else seems to be so casually used to it.

"She is a bit like that, isn't she?" Felix's mother muses with an idle air, and when Oliver glances back at you, you still have your eyes closed, as if close to falling back asleep, while Farleigh has his faint, fond laughter pressed against your temple.

Before Oliver can even reckon with the moment that had just come to pass, Felix's mother is regaling him with all of Pamela's dirty laundry, before she dives right into pitying Oliver himself, and the sob story of his life and most recent 'tragedy' she's heard.

She looks at him just the same way Felix had. He think of the moment he'd decided to commit to this Dickensian kayfabe, that day in the pub when Felix's eyes were fixed on him, all pity and desire and a desperate need to fix, to save, to be a light in Oliver's life. The way this woman speaks, the way she looks at him in this moment, makes Felix Catton make total and complete sense. Something inside Oliver relaxes; she would not be hard won.

As they circle back around to the tragedy of poor Pamela, however, something about what Farleigh says, pointing out that the tragedy of her was the only interesting thing about her, sticks in the back of Oliver's mind.

Being beautiful and tragic would only ever get him so far, would only ever make him a novelty. It takes another glance back at you for him to realise a little more of why you behaved the way you did; tragic and beautiful and useful. That's the thought that turns over in his mind, even as Felix's mother starts her line of questioning about the sordid details of his upbringing, and Venetia joins them only to stare at him like a bug, and Farleigh only seems to be holding himself back from outright contempt at your behest. You are once again asleep. At least Felix makes a token effort to reprimand his mother, not that it appears to make much of a difference.

Oliver offers what little he can get away with, and feels only relief when Felix insists they start getting ready for dinner. Oliver practically bolts, he doesn't even wait for Felix like he probably should have, just desperately hoping he's got the right door to his own room. Clearly he has, swearing when he's finally in his little piece of sanctuary, but after a beat he realises that even that has been breached.

His suitcase is no longer at the foot of his bed.

In another moment, the door that connects his room to the bathroom squeaks open and there's two more people in his room without bothering to even knock. At least Felix is apologising for his mother. Part of Oliver thinks he should have expected the Cattons to be exactly as out of touch as this house implied, that he should have braced himself better, that it's not Felix's fault, but the apology is still nice.

Also he's rather distracted by the fact that all of his clothes have been organised neatly in the old, wooden cupboard.

"Did someone unpack my suitcase?" Oliver hears himself ask distractedly. Looking back when Felix makes a noise of guilt, he sees Felix sitting on the edge of his bed with an apologetic smile, and you next to him, laying back on the bed and looking at the ceiling.

"Uh, shit, yes, I should have told you," Felix admits, "they do that kind of thing here." Rich, whimsical weirdos, the lot of them, "the maids all report back to mum, by the way," Felix informs him, while you're just quietly swinging your legs off the edge of the bed. Felix's tone turns teasing, however, "so I hope you didn't pack anything scandalous." Oliver leans on the wooden foot of the bed, into Felix's space with an amused smile at the thought - pushing his luck, pushing into Felix's space to play off of the idea of scandal, so close to Felix and his mischievous smile. Felix leans back, the tease, giving Oliver space to quietly say -

"Just my old boxers."

You snicker. Felix grins.

"No, they're used to that, don't worry," but then Felix is up again, almost too close, looking at Oliver like he knows this is all some kind of joke, like he know - like he wants Oliver to keep looking at him, at his teasing smile, at his lips like that, "Duncan will be thrilled." Like this is all a game. Oliver snorts a laugh.

But the moment doesn't last, and Felix is moving again, getting up, telling Oliver a new rule - ahead of time this time. Dinner at Saltburn is an event you dress for, with the kind of dress code that requires a dinner jacket and cuff links and - Oliver would be properly embarrassed if it didn't mean he got to wear Felix's spare jacket. Felix seems almost embarrassed by it all, his casual nature clearly butting heads with the formality of his heritage. In this moment he almost seems childish, it's rather sweet. Judging by your smile, you're endeared by his behaviour without even having to see it; you hadn't even thought to sit up; your eyes have fallen closed, as if basking in this moment.

Oliver watches you, the way you radiate contentment. You were not born into Saltburn, but you'd made it your home. You'd won the love of Felix Catton, and a place in his life, that no-one else had managed to achieve. Hope was a beautiful thing, and you were both in this moment.

"I'm really happy you're here, Ol," Felix finally murmured, and finally Oliver believes him, "I'm sorry everything's so... old fashioned."

"No," Oliver's voice is soft, "it's wonderful."

The pleased smile Felix wears as he heads through to his own room makes everything about this strange, ritualistic, obsessive, critical world worth it. Over his shoulder, he asks if you'll be coming through too, and you tell him you'll catch up in a second. Felix closes the door over quietly, and after a moment, Oliver joins you, laying back on the bed.

"I like your room," Oliver breaks the silence after a moment. After a moment, a hum that's more like a contented laugh escapes you. You mumble a thanks; it's been a few hours since he'd seen you initially, your chatter had died down considerably, it seemed like you'd sobered up a good deal in the afternoon that had just passed.

There's a million things Oliver wants to say in this moment, things he wants to do, questions he has about you, about Felix, about Saltburn.

"It's not-" he finally starts, voice so soft as he finally turns to you, "it wasn't your fault, by the way."

When you turn to meet his gaze, there's surprise and confusion in your eyes, clearly not sure what he was referring to. Its been a long time now since he'd deliberately reached out for you, since you'd slept together, since Felix had first started giving him resentful looks. Things are better now. Much better.

"What?"

All it takes is a deliberate, gentle touch, his hand taking yours, apology in his eyes. Its enough to acknowledge that he'd spent time pulled away from you, that you weren't crazy to think that, and that you weren't at fault.

Oliver's always liked watching you process things, at least when you allow the world to see it happen on your face, not making an effort to hide it. You look down at his hand on yours, grip loose like more of a reassurance; raising your joined hands like you can't quite believe the sight, he takes the opportunity to link your fingers. It wasn't your fault.

Looking deliberately back at the ceiling, he gives you the time and space to process this development without feeling so watched.

"Oh," you mumble quietly, finally, "it's..." you give his hand a squeeze, "thanks?" Oliver smiles, and knows you see it, can see in his peripheries the way you're watching him now, but when he goes to withdraw his hand, you hold him tighter for just a beat, as if on instinct, before you let him go.

"Can I be bold for a moment?" He breaks the moment, breaks the tension, voice light and inquisitive.

"I like your boldness, Ollie, you know that," you respond automatically, matching his energy easily. Sitting up, Oliver turns to fix you with a scrutinising look for a long moment, and you wait, you watch him with eyebrows raised and an amused smile painted across your lips.

"You're sleeping with Farleigh," it's not a question. Your smile grows wider and far more smug.

"Ollie - Oliver - look at me," you prop yourself up on one elbow, gesturing down at your body, "look at where we are," you gesture around at the bedroom itself, "how many Summers do you think unrelated teenagers in close proximity, growing steadily more attractive with each passing year, can get through without ending up deciding to fuck to pass the time?"

Oliver, charmed by your blunt confidence, can't help but laugh, while also being able to connect enough dots to the implication that he should expect you to be just as close to Felix's sister too. You join him in his laughter, finally sitting yourself up. Oliver knocks his knee with yours, deliberate, and watches with a kind of fondness as you immediately focus on the moment of brief contact. You'd missed him, just as he'd anticipated.

But the laughter dies down, and you finally stand, sighing that you should probably get yourself ready for dinner too. Before stepping away, you lean back down with a wide, goofy smile that reminds Oliver a bit of Felix, and gently grasp his chin, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Oliver, a little startled by the gesture but welcoming it nonetheless, feels want burn through his veins momentarily as he watches you head to the door.

"Oh, Ollie, there's some stuff under the sink for you," you yawned and stretched and Oliver tried desperately not to stare at the way your shirt rode up, "shampoo, toothpaste, contacts; junk like that, you know, just in case." Wait, what was that last one?

"Contacts?"

"Yeah," like it was perfectly fucking reasonable, your hand on the door, "in case you didn't bring any or you ran out - there's actually a spare pair of glasses as well, if you'd prefer. Same frames as yours, I wasn't sure-"

"You know my prescription?"

"Yeah?"

"How...?"

You go quiet. You shrug. Its not a real answer.

Right; a magician never reveals their secrets. Its not particularly reassuring for a man lying about a large portion of his life.

For now Oliver just tries to remind himself of the way you look at him, the way you want him, the way he loves you, for who you are, for all you can do.

"Thank you," he says quietly, gives you a smile and hopes you believe it, "you're good to me." He's not sure what about that surprises you, but he catalogues this in the back of his mind. There's something beautiful and, he suspects, rare, about catching you off guard. But your next words are enough to return the favour, have his heartbeat in his ears, hopeful and quick as a humming bird right before you leave.

"Of course I am, Ollie, I love you."

And he's not sure why, but he believes you.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #saltburn imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #head heart hand fic #manic writer

[directdogman]

Hello Hound!! Since it's Dialtown's 2nd anniversary, I've been planning up a few "general" related questions about your series that I've been meaning to ask, but I decided to save them up for the big day because why not? Anyways, here's what I've got, these were meant to be fun to answer so don't sweat it :]

1: How do you feel about Dialtown's success? Are you proud of how far you've come? 

2: Which character was the MOST fun for you to write, and which was the most PAINFUL?

3: What is something you wish more people would talk about or just know about related to Dialtown in general?

4: If you had the opportunity to write a FULL complete, detailed life story of any of your characters, who would that be?

5: What's a character you wish you could have given more screen-time or just in general content? (Considering iirc you were trying to make sure Dialtown wasn't TOO long, so I was wondering if this ever came to mind)

6: From what I know, you've been doing the job of cosplaying several characters in the game and acting out their sprites, which one was the most fun to act out?

7: Speaking of sprites, do you have a sprite you could consider your favorite, out of ALL your characters?

8: Do you have a specific line of dialogue you could consider your favorite throughout the entire game?

9: Could you ever see Dialtown expanding into perhaps sequels or maybe even prequels? More DLCs mayhaps? Heck, maybe even a Dialtown 2 or a Chapter 4??

10: If you could make any fan-made interpretation (such as headcanons, designs, or ships) canon if given the opportunity, what do you think would be your pick?

11: What was the MOST fun part about developing Dialtown? Coming up with new characters? Writing them? Adding all the bizarre dialogue options?

12: And last but not least — on a scale of 1-10, how fun was developing Dialtown just in general?

That's all I have for now, and I'm really excited to see your answers!!

I normally don't answer this many questions, but... alright, sure, tis the season!

1: How do you feel about Dialtown's success? Are you proud of how far you've come? 

Yeah, of course! I'm a lil proud, admittedly, but I'm aware of how comically little I really have to do with it all, even if I did make the game. Luck does play a LOT into it, of course. Granted, I made my share of predictions that wound up being useful, but it always comes down to lady luck at the end of the day. I've seen good projects fail and bad ones go viral. It's really all just a hodgepodge of probability and whimsy. That being said, I am very pleased with DT's success, and the community that's formed around the game! It caught me by surprise!

2: Which character was the MOST fun for you to write, and which was the most PAINFUL?

Gingi's always fun to write. And Mingus. Most painful is tough to say. Maybe Crown. I got a little weird when I wrote his full backstory, kinda caught up in the emotion Norm talks about. Never been a fan of stories getting cut short. You gotta wonder what would've happened if he'd made different choices, y'know?

3: What is something you wish more people would talk about or just know about related to Dialtown in general?

Honestly? Karen, probably. She's super underrated for sure. The fandom still loves her, but she doesn't get the same kind of attention as Oliver, Gingi, Randy, Norm. She's worth it.

4: If you had the opportunity to write a FULL complete, detailed life story of any of your characters, who would that be?

Oh, I already have. I have this monstruous 30-40 page document detailing Crown's life and entire career. It's quite a read. and quite a mind-fuck if you don't know Dialtown's universe too well.

5: What's a character you wish you could have given more screen-time or just in general content? (Considering iirc you were trying to make sure Dialtown wasn't TOO long, so I was wondering if this ever came to mind)

Oh yeah, a few characters had scenes that were cut. Stabby, Shooty, Mingus, Bunny, even Bigfoot! There's also the game's cut 6th datable, who was an interesting character with ties to other characters in the cast who I wanted to do more with. Ah, maybe one day.

6: From what I know, you've been doing the job of cosplaying several characters in the game and acting out their sprites, which one was the most fun to act out?

Bigfoot. I made the ape noises in the suit. Had to. It felt right.

7: Speaking of sprites, do you have a sprite you could consider your favorite, out of ALL your characters?

I quite like Norm's set, Mingus' too. Karen's poses too are quite good.

8: Do you have a specific line of dialogue you could consider your favorite throughout the entire game?

That answer probably changes every day. I like pretty much any scene where Mingus loses her temper.

9: Could you ever see Dialtown expanding into perhaps sequels or maybe even prequels? More DLCs mayhaps? Heck, maybe even a Dialtown 2 or a Chapter 4??

I'd love to make sequels one day! I've got a lot of ideas for where the characters/story would end up. By the time DT1 wrapped up, I'd conceptualized way too much stuff to put in one game (without it taking another few years to finish), so if I ever wanted to make sequels, I'd 100% know where to start! But, that's a later down the road conversation.

For now, I'm gonna keep working on the Roger DLC and if there's demand for more, I can go from there :)

10: If you could make any fan-made interpretation (such as headcanons, designs, or ships) canon if given the opportunity, what do you think would be your pick?

I guess I COULD do that with, like, anything. Nothing immediately springs to mind, since, y'know, I'm in control of the canon anyway. I will say, I've seen headcanons and theories that ARE scarily accurate to canon, to the point where I've feared people would just think I'm lifting stuff from the fanbase! It's a good thing I talk about these things with collaborators, huh? I've got a PAPER-TRAIL!!!

11: What was the MOST fun part about developing Dialtown? Coming up with new characters? Writing them? Adding all the bizarre dialogue options?

Finishing a new scene and realizing how stupidly long it was (without me realizing it) was always a treat. But yeah, writing the characters had to be it. Specifically any scene where a character the audience knows meets someone the audience doesn't know well (or at all), with the dynamic changing. Those are fun to write.

12: And last but not least — on a scale of 1-10, how fun was developing Dialtown just in general?

Hard question to answer. I do really wanna give a high number, but truthfully, a lot of game dev actually isn't super 'fun'. Some tasks are, granted, but many parts are a slog. Sitting and formatting dialogue, and then adding text pauses and pose changes isn't exactly a super thrilling activity. The engine itself also has some issues which I have to work around that adds to the workplace. Play-testing a scene for the 4th time isn't super fun either, or trying to figure out why the game crashes on some PCs and ONLY very rarely... Those tasks are Sisyphean to some degree.

...But, while most of those parts aren't fun, it's all still rewarding. There's a sense of accomplishment when you finish a scene. You get to look back at your hard work, remember the hours you spent typing dialogue into a text box and formatting mass amounts of pngs, painstakingly + manually getting the game's awful pre-loader to deal with the sprites right, etc... and suddenly, at the end, you've got this lil experience that people can play and enjoy. Somehow, the sum of all of those not so fun activities has created something that's going to make people laugh, feel happy. That's special. and even if some parts of development weren't super fun on their own, that's always what I remember. That in the end, all of those not so fun days mattered.

The route I agonized the most over was Oliver's. I went through a few weeks of writer's block, and now, it's one of the most popular routes in the game! Crazy how that happens. I was SURE for about a week that people would rank the route at the bottom! That's what I mean, all of the stress I went through trying to figure it out amounted to something people connected with! To think I almost CUT the route entirely!!!

And y'know, God knows Dialtown gave me something to throw myself at during a time where I REALLY needed the outlet. I'm very grateful to the project for that. So, I'll give DT an honorary 8 out of 10, even if it wasn't a consistently 8/10 experience making it heh heh! Sure glad I did, though and I'm very glad if any of you reading this had a really good time playing it! :)

Thanks for the questions!

[jo-harrington]

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 2: Out of Character

Previous Chapter: Alternate Universe

Summary: Things are starting to get weird in Hawkins. Weird for Eddie, especially. (AKA Eddie Munson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week)

Word Count: 9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Angst, mention of virginity, Smut (male masturbation), sexual fantasies, brief Breeding Kink mention (I SWEAR IT WILL MAKE SENSE bear with me), Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Lovesick Eddie, jealousy, satire, a Monkey’s Paw type situation, Cliffhanger, Meta Fiction, Eddie acts a little OOC—it’s in the title

Note: Hey everyone, we're back with hopefully some more regularly posted chapters now that my baby SMVerse is complete. Very sorry for how long this chapter is, the next one is admittedly planned to be shorter. There was just a lot of dough to knead here. Thank you to @dr-aculaaa @powderblueblood and @rosewaterandivy for their contribution to some details of the chapter. IYKYK. And they know. Especially how much it means to me.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

It goes without saying that your newfound independence had led to the most fun you’d ever had.

You weren’t afraid to be by yourself; on the contrary, it was almost like you were by yourself for the first time in your life.

That was the thing about living in a small town, everyone knew everyone else and your friends and neighbors always popped in unannounced, usually to a lot of fanfare and excitement.

There was never a dull moment with your friends.

But every aspect of your life in Port Geneva hinged around them, and now you could really focus on you. Realize that you were worth more than what you did to enrich someone else's life. Now you could enrich your own.

You listened to music you'd never heard before. What music had you even listened to before?

You ate foods you'd never eaten before. If you really thought about it, what had you ever eaten but short stacks with strawberries and sandwiches from the deli and cafeteria pizza?

You saw the world; sketched buildings and landscapes that were so different from the ones you were used to. Had you ever seen a house that didn't look like the ones in your cookie-cutter suburb? Or seen grass that wasn't perfectly manicured?

Who knew that wildflowers existed outside of storybooks?

Sometimes you stayed for a while; got a little room at a motel in a town that reminded you a lot of home and nothing like home at all. Too homesick to keep jumping around but not homesick enough to go back. You'd get a job for a few weeks--always lucking out on an opening for a waitressing or babysitting gig or something--pad your pockets, fall in love with the town and sometimes with the people there.

Then the need to leave simmered in your bones once again and you were forced back onto the road.

There was one town you were almost loath to leave. A midwest town and a goofy guy named Ed who made you laugh and called you sweetheart and kissed you shyly; he really understood you, understood the need to march to the beat of your own drum, because his big dream was to get out of his hometown too and make a name of himself.

Which is why he wasn't mad when it was time for you to go.

You'd always remember Stuckeyville.

But it was no matter; the world was yours for the taking. You'd keep going, on and on to the next destination, until you couldn't anymore.

Then one day, a year-or-so into your trip, it happened.

You'd been driving, thinking of the postcards that were burning a hole in your backpack to be sent back home. It was late, and you were tired and ready to make it to your next destination.

That's when you crashed.

December 1985

"Ed..."

"Hmmm?"

"I've gotta get up."

"Five more minutes."

"You're lying on my arm." He could feel the slight movement of something beneath him. "God, you and your big fat head, my hand is numb!"

Eddie groaned as you pushed at him and before long, your finger--cold and wet with spit--slid into his ear, rendering him fully awake and squirming to get away from you.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed as he hopped off his bed and tried to rid himself of the phantom feeling of your invasion. "Gah, ugh, gross!"

"A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do," you grinned and got up from the bed to stretch. You put your hands on your hips and glared at him playfully. "Especially when she's gonna be late. You should know how Bev is better than anybody."

Violation quickly forgotten, Eddie watched you run back and forth around his room; a satisfied feeling settled in his chest as you picked bits of clothing up to layer back on, fixed your hair, swept the fingers over the corners of your eyes to wipe the sleep from them as you got ready for your shift at the Hideout.

It was a feeling that he was quickly becoming addicted to.

How many weeks had you been dating now?

Not enough to satisfy his rapidly increasing dependence on you.

Dating.

You even called him your boyfriend. God it still seemed like such a dream to him. One he never wanted to wake up from. But it was real. You had dates and you took naps together and talked on the phone; sure it was just easier to cross Forest Hills and sit on one of your porches to chat until it was past midnight and you were dozing off, but as the cold weather rolled in, the phone was the easier bet.

Racked up a bit of a phone bill but who was he to complain?

He always paid Wayne back.

It was worth it.

More often than not he started the call with the obligatory “what are you wearing” despite having most likely seen you earlier in the night. But you, not one to leave a man hanging, would always come up with a comical response: astronaut suit, Princess Leia’s bikini and a clown nose, pajamas made out of the hide of Big Bird himself.

It was ridiculous and nothing less than Eddie expected from his favorite tv character and the one true love of his life.

Thankfully, the two of you decided that sickeningly sweet was not your style. Not like some couples. There was no you hang up first or schmoopsie pet names. More often than not he just called you sweetheart; it rolled off the tongue. And you? Called him your idiot.

Yours.

He'd worried with Paige once upon a time that he didn't know how to be someone's boyfriend. Turned out, he just had to find someone to be a friend first, then the rest just...fell into place.

And aside from some of the nerves he'd had when you first showed up in town, and the ever-present question of just how you came to be in Hawkins--

There was a knock on the door to his bedroom.

"'Right Ed, I'm heading off to work," Wayne said through the door.

"Wait up," you called out to him as you hopped to pull your boots on. "I'm about to leave too."

You stopped briefly to give Eddie a tender kiss, and he chased after you when you tried to pull away. His lips refused to part from yours, his hands found your waist to tug you closer, and his heart soared when you sighed and gave into him a little longer.

--Everything was perfect.

You gave him a dreamy smile when you pulled away, one that quickly turned into a feral grin.

"I'm gonna be late," you whispered conspiratorially. "And the old man is gonna question whether your innocence is still intact or not if we take any more time."

Eddie froze.

Well. Almost perfect.

You took the opportunity to stick your tongue out at him and reached up to honk the tip of his nose, before you bolted from the room to leave.

Once the door to the trailer slammed shut and Eddie was alone, he fell back onto the bed with his hands over his face; his head spun as he wondered how the fuck he'd gotten here. To this point. This moment in time.

Because somehow...some way...you thought he was still a virgin.

"Somehow," he grumbled to himself after a second. "You're the one who told her you were, you idiot!"

And he had.

It was a funny story; it always was with Eddie.

Except this was anything but funny.

It has been the third date and there was just…a natural progression of things on your sofa after a day out at StarCourt. Music was playing, hands were wandering; he’d gotten a bit excited and rocked his hips against you creating a delicious crescendo of moans from both of you.

Then for some reason, Eddie thought back to Port Geneva.

Besides a few sweet kisses you shared with douchebag Mark Fisher, you never engaged in any…physical show of affection. No one did, actually. There had never been anything heavier than hand holding and kissing—maybe the occasional make out—shown on screen. Which, in hindsight he should have rationalized as being obvious; it was a family show on television, after all.

Instead he’d opened his big mouth and asked “hang on, are you a virgin?”

Rather than answer, you got bashful all of a sudden; you turned the question back on him, stuttering all the while.

“Eddie…a-are you a-a virgin?”

What could he say looking into your big wide eyes and kiss-bruised lips, thinking you were nervous and wanting to fix his gaff—especially considering all the blood had rushed from his brain to his cock—but yes?

Next thing he knew you were cuddling him, coddling him, and telling him that you could proceed with whatever next step he wanted, whenever he was ready.

In that moment how could he admit that it was all a lie? That he was an idiot and a liar trying to make you feel better? That he was no bumbling, blushing virgin; he was only saying it because he thought you were.

He knew if he tried to backtrack, you’d either believe he was a jerk or that he tried to lie again to feel less embarrassed.

So he let it slide.

Whatever. Virginity was a bullshit concept anyway.

The truth would come out eventually. It just made everything a little more complicated in the mean time.

“As if everything isn’t complicated enough anyway,” Eddie huffed.

Speaking of complicated, between napping in your comfortable embrace, your kiss, and thinking of the events that led up to the unfortunate virginity confession, he was in a bit of a situation.

Stiff and aching in his jeans, he did what he always did: Eddie took care of himself.

He unbuckled his belt and quickly rid himself of the barriers of denim and flannel, then scrambled to find the bottle of lotion that he unceremoniously shoved into the drawer of the bedside table. Just like all of the other things he tried to hide whenever you came over.

Other things...including the poster of you that he'd cut out of the TV Guide.

There was a spark of desire in him—of need—at the sight of it. Of you.

"I shouldn't," he muttered as his fingers hovered at the edge of the drawer, ready to close it. He'd already found what he needed. Best just close the drawer and crank one out and be a happy camper til the next time the need arose.

"It's just...not right...right?" he tried to convince himself as you stared up at him from inside the drawer.

He weighed the pros and cons, tried to convince himself that it was a normal thing. How many other times had he jacked off to pictures in magazines, or crushes from school. Shit, he'd even done it to the fantasy of you.

But now you were real and his girlfriend. Wasn’t that some kind of moral dilemma?

On the other hand, he would just be using a picture of his girlfriend to get off. That was normal, right?

Except...well...it was you, but not you you. Rosemary Glass you. The real you just left for work. The you in real life and the you in the TV Guide were not the same. You were full of life and energy and affection and not an ultra posed picture on a page.

There was another beat of debate before Eddie made a decision.

"Fuck it," he groaned and grabbed the flimsy magazine page and then slammed the back of his hand against the drawer to shut it. If he spent any more time weighing the moral implications here, he'd lose out on the opportunity.

So, poster in one hand, lotion well-coating the other, Eddie immediately sought out his hard cock and groaned with the brief sense of relief.

"Yeah," he sighed. His tongue traced the seam of his lips and he locked eyes with yours in the poster. "That's it."

Internal debate forgotten, he lost himself to his imagination with every stroke and squeeze and twist.

You kissed on him and your hand replaced his. No, your mouth instead of your hand. His mouth on you? He knew what your mouth tasted like; what about the rest of you? It was a delicious fantasy to explore.

His eyes roamed over the dips and curves of your body; he focused on the way your legs looked in that skirt as he squeezed the base of his cock and moaned.

What he wouldn't give to rip that skirt off of you. No, wait. You deserved better than that. He would undress you carefully, show how much you meant to him, then skink into your warmth. How would you feel? Like Heaven, he was sure.

His hand moved faster now, his toes curled, as he imagined this scenario and that one. What if he fucked you in the backseat of your car? Or shit, what about if he bent you over it? Take a drive out to the quarry and have his way with you.

"Fuck, fuck," he groaned and stilled for a second, savoring the intense build of feelings, before he bucked up into his fist repeatedly. "Yeah sweetheart just like that."

He focused on that sly smile, that tilt of your head.

Would you smile up at him like that when he was buried deep inside you, finding all the ways he could make you whine and keen for him. Shit, finding all the ways he would whine for you, just like he was now. Would you ask him for more?

"I'll give it to you baby," he muttered and bit his lip as the wave of his pleasure began to crest. He closed his eyes again to savor it. Savor the fantasy of you there with him, rocking and riding the wave with him. He couldn't wait for the day. "All of it. Whatever you want. Whatever you need."

Would you let him cum inside? You'd beg for it. Beg for his cum.

"Yeah? You'd let me?" he asked breathlessly.

"Please, please," you'd whine.

"Uh-huh? Yeah?"

"Please." You'd scrunch your eyes tightly, pull him in as deep as he could go. "Put a baby inside of me Eddie."

Eddie's eyes shot open and he choked on air. He let go of the now-crumpled magazine and his throbbing cock with a shout.

Panic gripped him.

"W-what the fuck?" he panted, rapidly coming down from his high like a man plummeting to the earth with a parachute that simply wouldn't open. "What the fuck? Why?"

His mind raced.

How had he thought of that? Where did it come from? He wasn't...he didn't...he'd never fantasized about something like that before. With anyone. Ever. Not alone either. Shit, he'd even accidentally checked out a porno from Family Video once that had a pregnant...

"Blagh," he gagged at the memory and fully lost the edge of his erection. The need to come was now gone; in fact, he suddenly never wanted to come again. Not if it meant that he was going to think thoughts like that?

With intense clarity, he tried to retrace his metaphorical steps. Tried to remember what exactly got him to those thoughts, to that...well, he could hardly call it a fantasy now could he? Nightmare. But he simply couldn't fathom how it had cropped up.

"Fuck," he groaned and looked down at himself. At his softening cock slick with lotion, at the crumpled picture of you with the sparkling eyes and smile. And he was reminded of the moral dilemma that he'd encountered a short while ago.

"No," he shook his head. "Not her. Rosemary Glass. That's all it is. I just...fucked myself up fantasizing about Rosemary Glass and my mind punished me. Haha Eddie, jokes on you, got the girl of your dreams and you'd prefer a picture. That's it."

Yeah, that's all it was.

All it had to be.

Otherwise...what the fuck was wrong with him?

What the fuck was wrong with Eddie Munson?

That seemed to be the question of the day, every day, for the rest of the week.

Well, that was what everyone seemed to ask Eddie; friends, teachers, bullies. To Eddie, though, it seemed like everything else was wrong.

It all started in O'Donnell's history class the following day after the, uh...fantasy incident.

He was excited to show up to class.

No, that wasn't why things were wrong. He'd been passing History, working hard ever since that first study date, excited to show up and succeed and actually graduate. And that day they were due to get a test back, one that he actually studied and prepared for.

So yes, he was excited.

Imagine his surprise when Mrs. O'Donnell placed the packet face-down on his desk and shook her head at him.

"I don't know what went wrong here Edward," she tutted. "You were making some real improvements. Such a disappointment."

Eddie frowned as she walked away, and he quickly flipped his packet over to the oh-so-familiar sea of red pen scribbles and a big fat F at the top of the page.

Not just an F. A zero.

"What the fuck?" he whispered.

He might not have been a star student but he’s never outright tanked a test before. Especially not one he’s studied for.

He went over every question again and every answer, wracked his brain for the responses he knew to be true—he had several B’s and C’s on quizzes to prove it—and then read the wrong answers on the test for all of them. Written in his obvious chicken scratch with doodles in the margins just like he remembered drawing when he took the test. So it's not like someone just wrote his name on their test.

O’Donnell took pity on him at the end of class and said he could sit for the test again during his study hall, especially since he’d been making some improvement. He’d practically kissed her.

Only for him to fail again.

He burned with self-hatred at first, and then simply turned his rage on O'Donnell, because he knew all of the answers. She must have just been a picky grader.

That was it, right? She just had it in for him.

But then other things just got worse.

Jason Carver might have been a tool bag and an antagonistic bully but he’d never been outright hostile before. Not like some of his predecessors.

Not like Tommy…Tommy H.

On an unrelated note, that bothered Eddie too. He couldn’t remember Tommy’s last name. Tommy who bullied him and his friends viciously. Tommy H…Tommy Hayes? Tommy Hagan? Both existed in his mind. And yeah normally he wouldn't give a shit but what the hell? First the History test and now Tommy H?

Regardless, Jason had been especially brutal lately.

Overly antagonistic, even calling Edde a freak in the middle of class. He and the rest of the basketball team had even begun their physical assault on him and his friends openly. The jocks pushed them into lockers, spit on them, and threw things. Gareth even got a black eye when they "ran into" the jocks after gym on Thursday.

Eddie knew he wasn't well-liked, but it burned him deep inside that no one spoke up, students and teachers alike. It was all out in the open, where everyone could see or report to the faculty. Even his friends kept their mouths shut and endured the abuse.

No one seemed to be bothered though; they kept to the status quo. And Eddie wasn’t gonna try his luck with Higgins on his own.

Cowards.

Friday morning, Eddie thought he had the answer; Chrissy Cunningham—Queen of Hawkins High and Jason’s girlfriend—spoke to him in homeroom. Not only spoke to him, but made moon eyes at him in every class they shared and in the hall between the classes that they didn't.

And it was getting annoying.

“Dude, Chrissy keeps looking over here,” Jeff whispered at lunch.

“I know!” Eddie slammed his hands on the table, startling the others. He took a calming breath and repeated himself, softer, to Jeff.

“What’s her deal? Does she wanna join Hellfire or something?”

“I dunno man, something strange is happening,” he shook his head and picked at his food. “I don’t know if she’s in some…argument with Jason and is trying to make him jealous. Or if she’s just bored and is enjoying his torment of the village idiots or something.”

“Maybe she wants to buy some weed,” Gareth piped up. “Slumber party with the rest of the cheer squad. She is the Captain. It’s her job to score.”

“Nah man,” Dave chortled. “I think it’s more likely that she’s trying to score in a different way. Get Eddie to fall in love with her or something and make a fool out of him.”

The guys all started laughing and making kissy noises, much to Eddie’s growing annoyance. Every puckering noise grated something deep within him. And it only pissed him offs more when the freshman started to get in on the fun, with Mike and Lucas singing about Eddie and Chrissy sitting in a tree—

“K-I-S-S-I-N—”

“Shut up!” Eddie slammed his hands on the table and shouted, voice echoing across the cafeteria, practically silencing everyone at the intrusion.

His shoulders heaved as he glared over at the jock’s table, where a certain someone with a bouncing strawberry ponytail waved hello, even as she sat with her boyfriend’s arm comfortably around her. And said boyfriend was glaring knives at him; if looks could kill, Eddie would be done for.

His thoughts spiraled and his ears started to ring.

What the fuck was going on? Why was everyone trying to fuck with him now? Why was everything suddenly out of control in such a short period of time? Was this karma? He got one thing he desperately needed so everything else was going to shit?

Suddenly he had an out of body experience, or at least…that’s what it felt like. He watched it all happen, felt all the movements and the words fly out of his mouth but he wasn’t in control.

One moment he was sitting at the head of his table, hands tented in front of his face as he contemplated life, and the next he was standing. Standing on top of the table, actually, and while that wasn’t an unusual occurrence, it’s what he did up there that was.

“Hey Carver, you have a fucking problem with me?” He shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. “Why don’t you step into my office and file a complaint!”

His arms swept outwards of their own volition and he bowed over to gesture to the table and to his friends.

“Pretty sure my associates have a few choice words for you too.”

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…

Jason was on his feet immediately, with Patrick and Andy quick to follow.

“What’s your damage freak?” He chuckled sardonically through gritted teeth. “Trying to have your own little David and Goliath moment? Prepare to get toppled.”

“Wait, do you think you’re David right now? You think you’re a hero?”Jeff scoffed and got to his feet, spurning the rest of Corroded Coffin to do the same, sending jeers and taunts across the room. The jocks did much of the same, name calling and shouting vicious threats.

“I’m gonna kick your ass Emerson!”

“Kick? How about kiss! Just like your mom likes to do!”

It kept going until Eddie took a few steps down the table, leant down, and scooped his fingers through Mike’s gloopy mashed potatoes, ready to fling a handful towards the enemies.

He was prepared for the worst as he witnessed it all from inside his own body, as he felt the gravy slip down his hand and into the sleeve of his jacket. An all out war, the need to protect his friends again—worse this time with the Freshman—the dread of listening to Gareth’s fingers breaking once more…it would all start once the first shot was fired.

If there was a God—or some fate writing this in the books of the universe who was just really bad at writing a fight sequence—now would be the time for them to make themselves known.

“Munson!”

Eddie inhaled the air greedily as he regained control of himself, and he marveled at Higgins' sudden appearance: standing in the doorway to the cafeteria with Coach Palmer and Nancy Wheeler standing behind him.

He’d never been so happy to see them in his life.

“Munson,” Higgins shouted at him. “Get down from there!”

Jeff, knowing what was good for them all, pulled Eddie down from the table and he stumbled on legs made weak from the rapid loss of adrenaline. Lucas passed a handful of paper napkins for him to clean off his hands as Higgins and Coach crossed the cafeteria, Coach to take care of his little minions, and Higgins to take care of him.

Despite their tenuous truce, Higgins grabbed Eddie by the arm and tugged him towards the cafeteria doors.

“Detention,” he hissed in Eddie’s face.

“My fucking pleasure,” Eddie replied desperately, suddenly a devout believer in whatever deity he had evoked.

Man, this was getting to be a habit.

As he was escorted out of the cafeteria, Eddie vaguely heard Dustin over the din of classmate whispers.

“Guys, that was weird. What’s wrong with Eddie?”

“What do you mean?” Gareth answered blithely. “He’s always like that.”

"I can't believe you got detention."

"I mean, Higgins could have expelled me. Or tried to get me to drop out again."

"I really fucking hate that guy," you muttered and reached out to grab a box from the shelf. "How about this one?"

"Seen it, fake blood is obviously fake."

"You're such a horror snob."

"Don't deny it," he whispered in your ear and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "That's your favorite thing about me."

You put the movie back on the shelf in a huff and then the two of you shuffled forward down the aisle.

Saturdays were made to be spent together; Saturday mornings specifically. Eddie would take as much time with you as he could, but Hawkins was Hawkins and there was only so much to do. So you designated Saturdays as mornings out before you went to work and Eddie made the rounds to whatever parties he could safely show his face at and make some quick cash.

You traded off on whoever made plans, and today he had pathetically suggested a movie, snacks, and cuddling on the couch, needing to find a respite in your arms after the abject chaos of his week.

He already felt worlds better, more like himself, because you listened and understood.

He ranted and cursed during the drive and you hung onto every word, only interjecting to offer gentle encouragement. You didn't pity him or blame him--well, you blamed him for almost starting a food fight and since he couldn't explain what overcame him in that moment, he accepted it--but you made sure he knew that you had been in his shoes and understood exactly how he felt.

His dependence on you made itself known when you got into the store. As much as you protested his arms latching around you immediately, he knew you secretly enjoyed the proximity and the sweetness that he lavished you with.

Hobbling down the aisles with him practically attached to you; whispered stories, jokes, and terms of endearment; and an occasional raspberry on your neck if and when you had differing opinions about a movie.

Eddie thought The Outsiders was a good movie. You preferred the book. Which was fine. You tried to tell him Rob Lowe was cute, though; that earned you some punishment.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you never had a crush on a celebrity," you snorted and squealed and tried to free yourself from his grasp. Which you did successfully as your words made him freeze. "Or like...a character from a tv show or something."

You didn't know how close to the truth you were.

He felt his world tilt on its axis as you kept browsing and spouting off names and laughing, and with each celebrity or character you named, the more he thought of Port Geneva with intense clarity.

He could hear the theme song, see the neon text of the closing card, and feel his heart skip a beat when you'd show up on screen and greet your friends "Hey guys!"

"Hey guys!" your same voice rang from the other side of the partition of tapes, same emphasis and volume and cheer as you would on tv, as you greeted Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington. "Are those new?"

"Mmhmm," Robin affirmed. "Technically they were supposed to go out yesterday for the weekend, but someone was too busy flirting with Melanie Hartford."

Steve's embarrassed trip-up over a response was overshadowed as you called out.

"Hey Eddie, come here, I think they're putting out some new movies."

Eddie took a breath to compose himself, carefully placed the mask of cool and adoring boyfriend back on, and then rounded the corner to join you.

"If it's Death Wish 3 on tape, it wasn't that goo--" Eddie trailed off as he stopped in his tracks.

He understood why Steve sounded so embarrassed.

Eddie mainly steered clear of Steve Harrington over the years; yeah he was a shithead and a bit of a bully, but especially since the Freshman insisted that Steve was a nice guy, he'd tried to put it all in the past. Best not think of King Steve and all of the opportunities and advantages that he'd gotten, no matter how good of a guy they claimed he was.

Knowing Harrington's reputation and then fall from grace over the past few months though, he wondered if Steve had ever had some unreciprocated crush before.

Because he was certainly acting like he had a crush in front of you.

A crush on you.

Eddie knew what it looked like when someone had a crush; shit, he'd felt that way plenty of times over the years. The shifting eyes, the nervous stuttering. He'd gotten pretty good at hiding it, being able to put on the cool guy front. But Steve was doing it all out in the open.

Steve watched as you and Robin passed tapes back and forth--watched you more than Robin, actually--threw a comment in every now and again. When he cracked a joke, his eyes slid directly to you, and when you laughed, he beamed brightly.

And Eddie didn't know what he was more grateful for: the fact that you seemed oblivious to it all, or that he was there to witness it and put an end to it.

He tamped down the fire that built up inside of him and closed the distance; he threw an arm over your shoulder with a cool greeting to Robin and Steve.

"I've never even heard of some of these movies, have you?" Robin asked with some bewilderment.

"I don't know, this one sounds familiar," you hummed thoughtfully.

"See that's what I told Rob," Steve interjected and Eddie grit his teeth.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Robin scoffed.

"Isn't this the girl from Legend?" You held up a video box to Eddie to show him. He couldn't be bothered to really notice the titles of the movies on display--Ferris Bueller's Day Off, The Lost Boys, Lethal Weapon--and instead he chose to press a kiss to the side of your head and continue glaring at Steve.

You turned back to Robin.

"Do you guys have Legend? I saw it when it came out but it'd be nice to see it again."

"I can show you!" Steve jumped at the chance, but Robin rolled her eyes and pushed him away.

"I've got this dingus," she waved at the tapes on the counter. "If you could finish processing these like you should've done yesterday?"

Steve huffed as you and Robin walked away, but Eddie stayed behind. He leaned over the counter, elbows resting against the edge.

"How've things been Harrington?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Uhh," Steve shrugged but pointedly ignored Eddie's eyes. "Good, fine."

"Did I overhear Buckley right? Going on dates? You finally over Nancy Wheeler," Eddie's voice got progressively louder.

"What the--listen keep your voice down, Jesus," Steve laughed nervously, gaze shifting in the direction that you and Robin had disappeared. "A guy's gotta move on. Can't be lovesick over Nance forever."

Eddie plastered a fake smile on his face and laughed heartily.

"Yeah? Gotta find someone else to obsess over?" The smile dropped almost immediately and he became dead-eyed. "Stop making goo-goo eyes at my girlfriend."

"Hey, Munson, I'm sorry--" Steve held his hands out innocently. "She just came in one day and I thought she was cute; I didn't know that you were--"

"I'm sorry," Eddie mimicked Steve, standing stiff and straight with shaking hands. "I didn't know the freak could have a girlfriend."

He reached across the counter and grabbed Steve by the vest and pulled him forward, close enough so he could get in his face.

"Don't look at her again, don't talk to her again," he hissed. "You can have literally any other girl in Hawkins, King Steve. So you better get over your crush fast."

Yeah, it was harsh, and in hindsight he should have been a little nicer about it. But after everything had compounded on him all week, it was nice to just be a raging asshole like everyone expected him to be.

Unfortunately, you had never experienced Eddie The Villain Munson.

"Eddie, what the hell!" you exclaimed as you appeared in his peripheral vision.

Until right that second.

"Let him go, what are you doing?" you rushed forward and slapped at his hands to get him to release Steve. He did, but continued to glare as he backed away and took several calming breaths.

"Hey, in all honesty," Robin laughed nervously as she returned to the counter. "Dudley Do-Right here probably said something dumb and deserved it."

"What's going on?" you ignored her and whispered to Eddie. "I thought we were just gonna have a relaxing day. You were fine two seconds ago. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," he deflected. "Don't worry about it."

"We can just go home and hang out like you wanted; you said Wayne has some Bonanza reruns on tape. We can laugh at Hoss and Little Joe and--"

His eyes went wide; the Bonanza tapes were by the TV, mixed up with the Port Geneva tapes.

"No!" he shouted aggressively...defensively; it startled you. "No Bonanza!"

"Oh...kay."

Then your whole demeanor changed.

You crossed your arms in front of you and your eyes went cold and distant; you frowned, deep enough to create lines on your forehead and around your mouth. You suddenly looked a lot older than you were, aged by disappointment and...guilt maybe? He didn't know. He'd never seen you like that before, and he suddenly felt bad.

"Let's uhh...let's just go," you offered quickly, then apologized to Steve and Robin for taking their time.

"Hey wait, I'm sorry," he tried to apologize. "We can still get a movie and hang out. I just...I don't know...I fucked up. I'm sorry."

"No, I...I forgot Bev said she might need some extra help today. Making some changes, I don't know. I need to go in. It's my fault. I'm sorry."

"Sweetheart wait!" he called out as you walked out of the store and towards your car. He looked back at Robin and Steve, who pointedly avoided looking at him, and then huffed a sigh and followed you.

The ride back to Forest Hills was tense and silent.

Eddie knew he fucked up, knew he hurt you, but didn't know what to say or how to fix it.

"What the fuck is wrong with Eddie Munson?"

That was the question of the week, and now even Eddie was asking it of himself. Especially since he couldn't even control himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to you when you parked in front of his place. "I don't know...I'm just sorry."

"It's ok," you shook your head. "Seriously Eddie, don't worry about it. You just had a bad week. I need to go to work. We'll hang out another time."

"I'll call you tonight," he promised. "After work."

"Sure," you offered a tight-lipped smile. "Just rest today ok? And feel better."

"Yeah."

"Everything's gonna be ok."

"I know."

He leaned over and gave you a kiss and there was something about the way that you kissed him...that made his heart ache, and he didn't know why.

Eddie watched as you drove away, off to the Hideout to help Bev, or whatever else you could do if it ended up being a lie so you could just get away from him.

He'd fix it; he had to. He just got his wish, got you; he couldn't lose you. It would be the last straw.

He climbed up the porch steps, lost in his own thoughts, but when he opened the door--

"What the fuck?"

--all of his worries were forgotten, because the trailer was trashed.

Wayne was blissfully asleep on the fold-out bed, but there were piles of laundry on the couch, dirty dishes piled in the sink in the kitchen. Empty, crushed beer and soda cans littered the floor; honestly, there was just trash everywhere.

Eddie had only left an hour or two ago, and the trailer...well it might have had some clutter but at least it was tidy. It looked like an atomic bomb of trash had exploded in here.

If he had just been wondering what was wrong with him, he was suddenly wondering what was wrong with the universe again.

"What the fuck?"

The rest of the weekend had been spent cleaning.

Not tidying, literally cleaning.

He'd tried to ask Wayne about it all--maybe some weird trash bandit had come or kids trying to pull a prank, it wasn't like they really locked their doors--but what was even more suspicious was that Wayne didn't blink an eye at the mess.

"I work, you have school," he shook his head and tried to go back to sleep. "Chores pile up kid. That's the way it's always been. We'll get ahead of it again eventually."

And that just made Eddie feel bad; had it actually been this bad all along and he never realized it? Had Wayne done all this cleaning and housework on his own and now the weariness and the years just started to catch up? It must've only gotten worse now that Eddie lived with him.

So Eddie kept his head down and his mouth shut and tried to make it all better.

He cleaned and cleaned, and it seemed that no matter how much he cleaned, everything only got worse. The laundry on the sofa had been put away--more laundry than Eddie or Wayne really even had clothes to be honest. The fridge was somehow both empty--even though he'd just remembered to do a little grocery shopping...or had that been the other day--and full of rotten food at the same time. There was plenty of beer though. The dishes were all cleaned and spotless, only for him to come home from school on Monday afternoon to find them all to be right back again. Has they even used real dishes? Not that he could recall.

Fuck.

He complained to you on the phone late Saturday night--

"I don't know how it happened. It's like suddenly out of the blue it all just...appeared."

"Wayne didn't hold a secret party while we were out?" you asked, although your voice seemed stiff...distant.

"He just rolled right over and went back to sleep."

--but aside from some sympathy, you didn't seem to think anything was weird.

Hell, even his friends didn't seem suspicious.

"The trailer is always dirty," Gareth scoffed at practice on Monday night. "Like...no offense man, it's a trailer park, what do you expect."

It took everything in Eddie not to knock his buddy out right then and there; how many times had he told them how awful and stereotypical that kind of idea was. How hurtful people were when they found out he'd moved in with Wayne. Only for Gare to come back and spit it back at him again?

Instead he put that hateful energy into coming up with some kind of way to make you...forgive him...or love him again or something. He'd floated the idea of a ballad or some kind of love song to the guys at practice, ready to wow you on Tuesday night at the Hideout.

They hemmed and hawed but after he promised they'd all roll with advantage during the following Friday's session, they agreed and even suggested songs to get him back in your good graces.

Now it was Tuesday night. Time had passed by in a flash and he was standing at the door to the Hideout, ready to knock your socks off.

The guys were inside already, setting up, but he'd needed a moment to think of what to say to you.

He paced in the gravel, thought about his apology, thought about the song that he'd picked. The last song of the set, one he'd dedicate to you.

It would be perfect.

He mustered up the courage and walked inside, only to be hit by shock once again.

How many times could someone utter the words "what the fuck" in one week? Eddie had to be going for a world record.

When Eddie had suggested the Hideout when you mentioned looking for jobs, he'd warned you that Bev was a curmudgeon but the nicest curmudgeon you'd meet, and that the bar itself was, affectionately, a shithole. A house turned into a bar on the side of the highway, with a bunch of plywood in the corner that doubled as a stage, a makeshift bartop that was probably older than his uncle, and chipped glasses.

Now, it was almost...nice?

With an actual small, raised stage and a few spotlights hanging from the ceiling, neon signs boasting brands like Old Style and Coors--something Bev had always said was just the glitter and not the gold--and a sleek black bar with a marble top and comfortable-looking barstools. And it all had Eddie wondering if he'd stepped into the Twilight Zone.

That was it right? That had to be it. He'd stepped into the Twilight Zone the minute you'd showed up outside of his trailer and he hadn't returned to the real world since.

"Hey, there you are," you approached him from behind the bar with a tense smile. "The guys were wondering when you'd come in. I got them all cherry cokes to shut them up."

"You didn't have to buy them drinks," Eddie shook his head. "They don't deserve it."

"On the house," you reassured him.

"I'm sorry," he choked on air. "On the...on the house? On the house meaning...Bev's treating? Bev who must've secretly won the lottery or something? Look at all of this." He gestured around the bar and then lifted his feet. "The floors aren't even sticky."

"I told you that she was making changes," you shrugged, but refused to meet his eyes.

"Changes, not...a full renovation, wow." He looked around in awe, then squinted when he saw something on one of the tables. "She even sprung for printed napkins too."

"Yeah," you laughed nervously. "Guess she did. It's as much of a shock to me as it is to you. You, uh, better get the guys before they cause too much trouble."

"Yeah I should," he nodded slowly, but grabbed your wrist when you tried to walk away. "I know I've said it a million times sweetheart but I'm sorry I scared you."

"You didn't Ed, I promise," you tried to smile but it didn't quite reach your eyes.

"Can we talk maybe? After the set? Like really talk? I'll even wipe the tables off for you." You hesitated but nodded, and he gave you the briefest peck on the cheek before running down the back hallway to the little smokers exit to find the guys.

Only to find them in a legitimate green room in what he was sure used to be the storage room where Bev kept the kegs. His friends were all laid out along leather couches that sat along the perimeter of the room, sipping their cherry cokes and chatting. There was a coffee table right in the center laden with snacks and magazines.

"Man," he commented with a whistle, alerting the guys to his presence. "Can you guys believe this?"

"I know," Jeff giggled maniacally and then reached out to grab a bag of peanut M&M's. "Brand name snacks, and not the generic kind we usually get."

"Makes me feel like we're about to hit it big," Dave agreed.

Eddie tripped over his words for a second, not entirely sure that they were as astounded by the Hideout's transformation as he was, but he shook off the bewilderment to tell them it was time to go perform.

They raced back down the hall to the stage, and although the bar had just been empty when he walked in--save for you and some of the regulars slumped in their seats--there was definitely a crowd. Or the beginnings of one. A couple canoodling at a table, a few college-aged people ordering beers, and a group for a bachelorette party or something at the large booth that had been installed in the corner by the door.

"Wow," Eddie breathed out, nerves suddenly overtaking him. They'd never played a crowd like this before. "Hope they like metal."

And they did. They were head banging and once they were familiar enough with the lyrics a few people were singing along.

It was invigorating. Refreshing. Aside from the handful of people who'd been involved in the whole...record label fiasco, he'd really never experienced this many people who were excited for his sound. Their sound.

He wasn't gonna betray his friends, his band, like that again.

There were a few songs that Jeff and Gareth suggested that weren't originally on their setlist, and they really weren't metal technically, but they all knew the songs and the crowd was excited for them, so he couldn't complain.

Towards the end of the set, he felt his stomach churn with nerves again. Worse now, because it was time.

"Uh," he stepped up to the microphone, a little too close as it squeaked with feedback. "Hey guys, thanks for uh...thanks for coming out. Make sure you...tip your bartender...and her lovely assistant." He gestured over to you and a grumpy-looking Bev at the bar.

The audience clapped, even the handful of drunk regulars.

"Now uh, speaking of the lovely assistant, I...um..." he cleared his throat and looked down at his guitar. "I might have messed some stuff up with her the other day, and I know she's still a little mad at me. So sweetheart, without further ado, this one's for you. Corroded Coffin's rendition of..."

He paused. Froze.

The words were right on the tip of his tongue: All Through The Night.

They'd practiced it for hours, really making the cover theirs. They added all sorts of guitar riffs and a sick solo that ended with him sending a kiss across the bar to you. It was supposed to be perfect.

He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Corroded Coffin's All..." He shook, struggled to get the words out. "All...All My Only Dreams. Enjoy."

What the fuck? What the fuck?

He felt that out of body experience again, just like he had in the cafeteria, as his fingers plucked at the strings of his guitar and Gareth and Dave set a slow beat.

It felt like some bad knockoff song from the 60's. Maybe something he heard on one of his mom's records. But he couldn't place it.

What was this song? How did the guys know it? Why had he said that? What was All My Only Dreams?

It was certainly not metal. Certainly not music.

"Every night I pray, I'll have you here someday," he felt himself sing. "I'll count the stars tonight, and hope with all my might..."

He stared at you across the bar as the song continued, out of his control; the couple stood from their table and began swaying back and forth and you stood there behind the bar, wide-eyed with a hand covering your mouth. In shock or disbelief or pain he couldn't quite tell.

"Every waking hour it seems, I only have you in my dreams."

All he knew was, this song kept going and going and he couldn't stop it even if he wanted to. Couldn't stop himself from playing or singing, couldn't stop Jeff from harmonizing with him on certain verses.

Until the song was over.

"If I could have just one request, stay with me girl I'll confess, all my only dreams."

He strummed the last few notes, and as soon as the audience started clapping, he felt whatever puppet strings get cut, felt himself in control again.

Eddie panicked. He didn't even wait for the applause to be over, didn't thank the crowd like he usually would. He just swung the guitar over his shoulder and jumped off the stage with the guys hot on his heels.

"What's going on?" Gareth hollered after him.

"Yeah Ed, where are you going?" Jeff caught up to him and tried to put a hand out to stop him, but Eddie just shrugged him away.

"That was our best performance ever," Dave insisted. "And applause on an original song to boot."

Eddie froze as he reached the green room, and then turned on his friends, hackles raised.

"Original song." He parroted. "Original song? That wasn't an original song!"

"Yeah it was," Jeff nodded. "All My Only Dreams. You made us practice it all night last night so it was perfect."

"We practiced All Through the Night," he laughed dryly. "Are you high right now Jeff? Fuck, am I high right now?"

"Are you?" Gareth exclaimed. "Because I didn't just learn that song so you could make it up to your girlfriend just so you could act crazy like this man."

Jeff walked over to the pile of their stuff in the corner of the room, and fished a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his backpack.

"Here I'll prove it to you," he grumbled and unfolded it. "All My Only Dreams. By Eddie Munson."

He shoved the paper into Eddie's hands and Eddie stared at it in disbelief. His handwriting, again, with words that he didn't remember writing. A little heart in the corner with your name scribbled inside of it, just like he did in his school notebook sometimes.

"What the fuck..." he muttered to himself, and then looked up at his friends, suddenly lightheaded and sick.

He felt angry, he felt like crying, he felt like...like everything in the world was turning upside down on him and it was some kind of cruel joke that everyone was in on but him.

He opened his mouth to start yelling, when your head appeared behind the guys.

"Hey, 'scuse me guys," you announced your presence and Dave, Jeff, and Gareth all parted so Eddie had a full view of you.

You looked just as sick as he felt. Your face was crumpled in a terrible pensive frown, hands wrung together in front of you.

"Can you give me and Eddie a few minutes alone? While you all break down your stuff?" you asked softly, and Eddie felt his heart drop into his stomach as the others left.

You closed the door to the green room behind you and then took a few deep breaths.

This was it.

You were gonna break up with him.

The universe was cruel to let Eddie have you, only to play these games and lose you in such a short amount of time.

He was so caught up in the panic of possibly losing you that he didn't notice you talking until you were right in front of him. Your hands cradled his face and you stared into his eyes, your own full of worry.

"Eddie, Eddie are you ok?" you asked, voice edged with panic.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Yeah, sorry...I was..."

"It's ok, don't worry," you reassured him. "It's...fuck...it's ok."

"Did you like the song?" he questioned, dumbly.

You let out a snort of laughter and then squished his face between your hands for a second.

"We need to talk," you whispered. "It's gonna be a lot. And it's not gonna be easy to hear, and I know you're gonna have a lot of questions, and I don't...I...fuck Ed...I'm so sorry."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"I..." You looked lost for a second. "Eddie, I don't know how to answer that question. No...not really."

"Not really isn't no."

"Alright smartass," you scoffed. "No, I'm not breaking up with you. But that doesn't mean...doesn't mean that this thing we've got going on now isn't over. It's...what I'm gonna tell you right now is gonna change everything."

You helped him to sit down on one of the leather couches and then you paced back and forth, nervously chewing your thumbnail and looking for a way to start.

"This..." you began tentatively. "This isn't...real."

"So I am dreaming," he looked around for a moment. "Makes sense."

"No...you're not dreaming. It's just...well, ok, Ed. It's gonna be really hard to understand. But I'm gonna need you to tap into that big imagination of yours. Ok? Because God damn, if there was anyone I could get to understand, it's honestly you. Making up all sorts of stories and fantasies for Dungeons and Dragons.

“I’m sure you’ve started noticing things happening? Weird things, uncanny things, impossible things. And it’s making you go a little cross-eyed, a little crazy, makes you feel like you’re losing your mind because the only person who notices the changes…well it’s you. But it isn’t only you.

"This..." you waved around. "It's all real. It's a real world and we live in it. I'm real, you're real. I can touch you, kiss you. But it isn't. Not really."

He suddenly felt like you were talking down to him, and felt that irrational anger start to build again. You’d made sense up to a point. This was real, but it wasn't real, but it was real enough so he could kiss you? But somehow not real enough because you were bringing up stories he created for DnD, like it was all part of his imagination. But somehow he was also crazy?

"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

"Eddie," you took a breath and closed your eyes for a second. "This right now? Everything you see? This room, that song, me, and you?"

"Yeah."

"We're all fictional. We're all...in a fan fiction."

Next Chapter: Lore Dump

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger than (fan)fiction #stff #stff updates #stranger things fic

[cobaltperun]

Lost (13) - Easier to run

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Warning for this chapter: I don't go into details, but the ending might be a bit, uncomfortable.

Word count: 3.9k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-Just washing it aside all of the helplessness inside pretending I don't feel misplaced is so much simpler than change-

Everyone who knew you and Tara for more than a day would likely say Tara was the one exception to your every rule. That all Tara had to do to get something from you would be to simply ask. There were plenty of activities that were only permitted to Tara. From stealing your clothes, in her defense they were comfy, and she felt like you were hugging her whenever she wore them, all the way to interrupting your training for valid, though admittedly silly, reasons. Well, those people had no idea what they were talking about because all the tricks in the books weren't making you give in.

"Come on, Y/N," Tara was getting desperate at this point. Puppy eyes didn't help, and she usually didn't have to resort to even that, let alone all the other options she used. She pleaded, she bargained, she tried seduction, promised things that made you smile at the mere thought of them, promised things that made you a flustered mess. "Please! I'll do anything you want," her pleading went unanswered as you got in your car.

"If you loved me, you'd do this for me," a low blow, but she was getting desperate.

You lowered your window and looked at Tara with the flattest look she had ever seen on your face. "Tara, you're not driving my car, now get in," she had no idea, but both of you had the same thought going through your heads. 'I have the most stubborn girlfriend ever.'

"You let Sam drive it," Tara grumbled when she relented and got in the passenger seat.

"I was injured! You can drive it if I'm dying or high on painkillers!" you exclaimed, clearly getting riled up over Tara's insistence on driving your precious car. Tara couldn't help herself, she grinned at your reaction. There was just something inherently appealing and maybe even a bit exciting in knowing that regardless of how much she pushed your buttons you'd only get annoyed and even then, you'd calm down after a bit of making out. So, while she really wanted to drive to Sacramento, getting you riled up would have to do.

Only... she just realized she couldn't make out with you while you were driving, and driving alone would calm you down. Tara was getting nothing out of half an hour's worth of effort.

Shit.

She guessed she could at least give you silent treatment for a bit. You were driving anyway, and not liking to talk while driving wasn’t limited to just phone, you didn’t like talking at all. You loved listening, and Tara happily talked throughout the entire rides, with you providing minimal verbal response. Honestly, she loved that about you, because you were a really careful driver, and she never had to worry about you as far as that was concerned.

“Come on, surely you’re not still moody over not driving?” you spoke up fifteen minutes after you left Woodsboro.

Tara hummed and turned her head to the side, pretending to ignore you. You huffed and she had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide the smirk on her face.

“Okay, okay, be moody. I guess we aren’t going to stop by that nice place on the side of the road, the one with that kiwi flavored ice cream you loved so much,” you had to be smirking, you absolutely had to be smirking. She heard it in your voice, you tease.

“Fine, fine, I’m not moody anymore,” she raised her hands and turned to look at you, after all, you did promise to stop by for kiwi ice cream.

“That’s my girl!” your smirk shifted into a happy grin causing Tara to blush.

~X~

Ever since choosing Blackmore University as the next step in your education, you made sure you went to Sacramento to visit Susan at least once a month, and Tara made sure she was with you every single time. In a week you'd be leaving Woodsboro so it wouldn't be as easy to travel from New York to Sacramento whenever you wanted to. So, that's how you ended up in Susan's guest bedroom with Tara getting ready to go to bed.

The fact that Tara was the one sleeping closer to the doors was enough proof of how the two of you felt regarding Susan. Right now, you and Tara were sitting on the bed, just about ready to lie down and sleep.

"I'm proud of you two, and yes, I already said that, and I'm going to keep saying that," Susan smiled, it felt good to hear someone say that, especially since it was directed at Tara too.

"Thank you," you glanced at Tara, noticing a small blush dusting her cheeks.

Every time Susan did something that made Tara feel welcomed and loved you couldn't help but like the woman just a bit more than before. "Thanks, mo-" you froze, your eyes wide as you realized what word nearly slipped past your lips.

You could feel your face burning as you wished for the ground to open and swallow you. Or for a bolt of lightning to strike you. Or anything, really, that could save you from embarrassment. Unconsciously you dropped down to the bed, behind Tara, thus hiding at least your face behind her.

A soft chuckle made you reach out and pull Tara closer to you as the bed muffled your embarrassed groan. "Good night," Susan closed the doors behind her.

Tara giggled, enjoying your unfortunate slip of the tongue. "Y/N," she pulled away from you, but only so she could lie down next to you and pull your head to her chest. "It's okay," she whispered softly, gently massaging the back of your head. "It was cute," she was enjoying this a bit too much.

"I'll never recover from embarrassment," you complained, even if you felt a bit better now.

"You're adorable when you get embarrassed," Tara actually cooed, only increasing the embarrassment you felt.

"No, I'm not. I'm an MMA fighter," you were a fighter, always ready for a brawl, proven to be one of the strongest female fighters in the world without even reaching your peak. You were not going to take this.

Tara shifted so she was face to face with you. "I don't see how one excludes the other, you're my adorable MMA fighter," the soft kisses were definitely making you just take it.

"You're lucky I love you," you playfully warned when Tara stopped kissing you for a moment.

"Oh, I know," there was a mischievous glint in Tara's eyes. Frankly, any other time this would probably escalate further, but you were at Susan's house and the mere idea of going further than kissing and cuddling felt strange.

~X~

Leaving Woodsboro and coming to New York, was, perhaps, the best decision you could make, especially for Tara. She was happy, relaxed, it was like she was being completely free for the first time in her life. Free from her mother, her past, from everything negative related to Woodsboro.

Nothing told you Tara was feeling better as well as the way you woke up that morning. It would be an understatement to say it was a surprise to wake up in your new apartment with Tara drawing random shapes on your left forearm with the tip of her finger.

Ever since Tara was attacked when the two of you slept together the two of you either spooned or slept in the same position as you were in this morning, with Tara's head on your chest, and your arms protectively around her. Cradle position, or something like that, Tara once told you.

"Hey, Love," you rasped, still a bit sleepy.

Tara leaned up, kissing the right side of your jaw. "Good morning, Y/N," you felt her smiling. "We've got a long day ahead of us," she reminded you, though with the way she nuzzled into your neck you figured she wasn't too eager to get up.

"Let's see, we're meeting that girl who answered our ad for a roommate, Sam has a job interview, I have first MMA classes," Thomas really saved your ass with that. He paid well, maybe even too well, it wasn't a full-time job, and you could use it to stay in shape as well. Because of how well he paid Sam would only need to work one job, instead of two that she was planning on. Tara could focus on studying, besides, with her asthma job options were even more limited. If she wanted to get a job eventually neither you nor Sam would stop her, but she deserved to take it easy at least for a year.

You also retired with quite a bit of money from the deal to retire quietly and the two fights you had. You considered investing it in something but figured it would be smarter to wait for a bit and see how things worked out in New York.

"Mhm, and we have to go do some shopping, mostly for our kitchen," Tara reminded you. That would be a bit of an annoyance since Sam just had to insist on getting the top floor, no elevator, apartment.

"I still can't believe there are so many stairs in this building, or that we actually have rooms now. And a kitchen. That isn't connected to the living room and bedroom. And two damn bathrooms. And three bedrooms. We have a separate dining area, Tara, a proper dining area with a table!" having spent almost three years in a cramped apartment made this feel surreal. Even the damn bed you were sleeping in was bigger now!

Tara laughed, tickling you slightly with her breath. "You can actually work out here," she teased you.

"That too!" you eagerly agreed. Finally, you could get rid of any nervous energy without heading to the gym. Granted, you didn’t have to do it that often, but just the fact that you could do it was enough. “And you can’t complain about that. Remember what you did the last time I did push-ups?”

Tara nodded, raising her head, and nibbling on your ear lightly. “Mhm, I sat on your back,” and she sounded so damn proud of that.

A knock on the door got your attention before you could reply to that. "Are you two decent?" Sam's voice came from the other side.

"Yeah!" Tara immediately said as she lowered her head back down and stopped teasing you. And you were decent, clothes on, room clean, you were just still in bed. Still, after Sam barely avoided catching the two of you in a not-quite-decent state she got into a habit of asking before entering. And you were thankful for that, because while you deeply cared about Sam, neither you nor Tara wanted her to walk in on you. And Sam was just as disturbed by the idea, so this was truly the best option.

"I was about to head to the store, do you need anything?" Sam asked, smiling when she saw Tara so happy this early in the morning.

Tara shook her head. "I'm good."

"Same here, I'll get the breakfast ready when you come back," honestly, you got used to Sam living with you and Tara really quickly. It almost made you sorry someone else, a stranger nonetheless, was about to join the three of you.

"I'll be back soon," Sam left the two of you and you stretched a bit before finally getting up.

"You two are going to spoil me," Tara sat up as well, yawning slightly.

You took the T-shirt you slept in off and went to the wardrobe to get a clean shirt. "Nothing wrong with that, Love," besides, it wasn't like Tara didn't do anything, she had her own chores, it's just that they didn't involve cooking or cleaning that could trigger her asthma.

“Mhm, how about I spoil you as well?” she came up behind you, got on her tiptoes and kissed your neck.

“What did you have in mind?” you lifted her up, smirking teasingly as she pulled back and hugged you.

“How about we watch your favorite movie, and I’ll order our favorite snacks and food so you don’t have to cook tonight?” she asked and your eyes lit up at that. She could definitely spoil you like that.

~X~

You were late. Thomas took up some of your time to talk about the first classes you taught as well as to catch up a bit. After everything he did you kind of couldn't just leave. Besides, Tara and Sam were meeting this girl, Quinn Bailey if you remembered correctly, in public, far enough from the apartment. Her dad was a cop, so that made it easier to drop your guard a bit.

As long as Tara and Sam were fine with the girl, you were sure you'd be fine with her too. If you were being completely honest, if Quinn managed to convince Sam she was harmless she was almost definitely in.

The bar Sam chose was busy, though not crowded, especially at this hour. People came and went, stopping by to get their coffee or to get out of the heat, but no one really stayed more than necessary. You came inside and looked around until you finally noticed Tara. When you joined Tara, Sam, and who you assumed was Quinn, you quickly leaned down to kiss Tara's cheek, gave Sam a brief one-armed hug, and only then offered your hand to Quinn. "Y/N L/N, sorry I'm late," you said.

Quinn accepted the handshake. "Damn, and I thought Sam was jacked, but look at you," she whistled as you sat down next to Tara.

Well, it wasn't the first time someone noticed your muscles, but the girl in front of you was pretty much ogling you right now. "Right, moving on," not the best first impression, but you could brush it off. Tara, who was frowning, probably wouldn't though.

"Where's the rush? I wouldn't mind having some fun," what was this woman trying to accomplish? You really couldn't figure it out. Was she trying to piss Tara off or something?

"Well, have fun. Without me," you reached down underneath the table to rub circles into Tara's right palm. Feeling the way she squeezed your hand it was the right decision.

"Life, I have found, is about variety, Y/N," she leaned in, reaching over toward your hand.

"Mine is about one person," you pulled your hand back before she could touch it. Tara loosened her hold on your hand, but still leaned a bit closer. You could see she was glaring daggers at Quinn and Sam didn't appreciate it either.

Quinn had a bit of a frown on her face, but it quickly changed and she began laughing. "I'm just joking with you, though I really wouldn't mind taking a closer look," she openly ogled you.

Tara faked a cough. "Well, I'm not. I'm sorry we wasted your time Quinn," there was no need for Tara to finish that sentence.

Quinn had the guts to look shocked. "Are you serious right now?"

"Absolutely," Sam took Tara's side and you just shrugged, as if to tell her 'Well, what did you expect would happen?'

"Unbelievable," Quinn pretty much stormed off.

"Do we really need a roommate? The extra bedroom can be used if Chad or Mindy decide to sleep over," Tara voiced what all three of you were thinking.

"That's probably the best option," Sam agreed, help with rent would have been welcome, but you could manage without it.

"You won't catch me complaining, that's for sure," you were definitely in favor of keeping the apartment to just the three of you. Not to mention it was the safest option.

"Speaking of the apartment, let's go back," Tara was already up and pulling you along. Sam still had her job interview, so it would just be you and Tara.

You could see she was still pissed off by the time you reached the building, so you picked her up bridal style. "Don't tell me you're jealous," you eventually asked and grinned as Tara placed her arm on your back.

"I'm not," she huffed as she unlocked your apartment.

She locked the doors behind you two and you went right to the bedroom. "What is it then?" you asked and lowered her down on the bed,

"You're mine," okay, that sounded way more possessive than you were used to from Tara. She said you were hers every now and then, this tone was different. This wasn't born of passion, or said in the heat of the moment, this was pure jealousy.

"So, you are jealous," you sighed, letting her pull you in until you were pressing against her.

"Of course I am. She, she just-" Tara huffed and let go of you, spreading her arms on the bed. You immediately recognized the mood swings from right after the attack. Your best guess was that this one was caused by Quinn attempting to take you from Tara.

"Tara," you slowly kissed her neck, gradually making your way up to her lips. "I'm yours. The only variety I want to consider is the variety of ways I can make you say my name," you grinned a bit as you heard Tara's breath hitch.

No fourth roommate. Just the three of you. With Woodsboro left behind. It felt like nothing could go wrong. You should have known better. You should have noticed Tara was too focused on ignoring Woodsboro.

You should have realized Tara was running away the moment you caught her covering the scar on her hand.

You only realized it two months after you came to New York when she first disappeared.

~X~

She may have had a bit too much to drink tonight. That might be a bit difficult to explain in the morning. Where was she anyway? She felt nauseous, but she still drank whatever alcohol was currently in her cup. Who exactly brought her here anyway? She was at one party, then somehow ended up at another one. Maybe. At this point, she was too drunk to know for sure.

How was she going to get home?

Oh well, problems for later.

She felt hands on her waist. The grip was strong. You? No, no, it was too firm, too forceful. She stumbled back, her head clearing enough to vaguely recognize a guy who was at the first party.

"What's wrong? You want this, right?"

She heard the words, but she couldn't quite understand them. The alcohol was making it very hard to stay steady on her feet. Oh, this was a mistake.

"No," she slurred, a lot like how her mother would and for a moment she felt disgusted by her behavior.

The guy laughed, clearly not believing her. "I'll take good care of you, don't worry about it."

Even as drunk as she was she felt her blood run cold. "Y/N," you weren't there, you weren't with her. She imagined your voice, telling her to breathe, angry at her, but more than anything worried about her asthma.

There was a crash and what sounded like wood cracking and then she felt safe. She felt the fresh air against her cheeks, strong arms holding her close, protecting her from anything and anyone. "I got you Tara, I got you," she heard and fell asleep in your arms.

~X~

You came back to the apartment when it was almost midnight, with Tara completely passed out due to who knows how much alcohol she drank. Sam met you at the doors, her legs too shaky to let her meet you outside. You weren't doing much better, you had hundreds of worst-case scenarios running through your head.

Sam reached out to Tara when you stopped at the front door. She shakily touched Tara's cheek, then lowered her hand to wipe a bit of drool coming out of Tara's mouth.

"Y/N...?" there was a silent question in the way Sam said your name. You saw fear in her eyes, and you were sure it was in your eyes as well.

"I think I made it in time," she nodded when you said that, leaving the unspoken question to hang in the air. The terrifying possibility that might happen if Tara doesn’t stop doing this. You didn't say it, and neither did Sam, but when you lowered Tara on the bed as gently as you possibly could Sam stepped out. So, you checked, just in case. Just in case you had to immediately get back to that damned house and murder anyone still there.

Luckily, you don't need to do that. Your hands trembled as you put your shirt on Tara and you released a muffled cry of relief when Tara just curled up, peacefully sleeping in your bed. "God damn it, Tara," you stumbled to the dining room, where Sam is expecting you. "Everything's fine," you fell apart the moment you dropped into the chair.

You pressed your hands against your eyes as you began sobbing uncontrollably. For hours you managed to hold it in, and now it all came crashing down upon you. You tried to keep it down, to be as silent as possible, but all those efforts resulted in coughs and gasps as more sobs tore through your body.

Sam was no different. shaking and crying her heart out and you just stumbled over to her and pulled her closer. And she let you, she clung to you in a way that reminded you of Tara. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, or how long it took for tears to dry up. You just feel lighter when you separate from Sam.

"We owe Anika," you finally say, your voice cracking and hoarse, you're tired from all the crying.

Sam nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment.

You realized Tara was gone when, around eight p.m. you called Mindy to see why Tara wasn't answering her phone. And then all hell broke loose because Tara wasn't with Mindy or Chad, and she wasn't answering her phone. So, it turned into an all-out search. Driving from one party to another until Mindy called you an hour and a half later. Anika saw Tara at a party and before Anika could do anything Tara left with all the wrong people.

It took slamming a man into the wall to get the address. Miles away from where you were. Miles away from your apartment. So, you drove even more recklessly than you did when you were trying to catch up to Sam.

And you found Tara.

And you wouldn't be surprised if you broke more than a couple of bones at that house.

And you called Sam to tell her the moment you lowered Tara onto the backseat of your car.

And you brought Tara back home.

And she was fine.

Just so damn drunk she barely even registered you were there.

You'd deal with Tara's recklessness first thing in the morning. Right now, you just needed to go to bed and hold her. So, you did just that, you didn’t even have to pull her closer, because the moment you slipped under the covers, she instinctively moved closer to you.

“Y/N,” she mumbled, still drunk and asleep.

You just sighed and wrapped your arms around her holding her close so you wouldn’t fall apart once again.

A/N: Honestly, I think Tara was mostly fine in Woodsboro, but then New York gives her all the opportunities to pretend nothing wrong happened, and we gradually reach Scream 6 Tara from the party.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter #scream #jenna ortega x reader #x reader

[stardew-shitposterino]

Stardew Valley Bachelors and how they’d react if you told them you’ve never dated anyone before

Headcanons about our baby girls :3 “Never dated” also refers to no romantic experience whatsoever. The Farmer is gender neutral, for Harvey’s it could be read as afab but I leave that up to your imagination

Content warning: mild nsfw

Sam:

-he doesn’t care because same LMFAO

-admittedly, he feels more comfortable with that piece of knowledge as he doesn’t feel as pressured to do everything right

-“wow, Farmer, really?! I wouldn’t have guessed, but me neither! B-but don’t worry, we will handle this together. This will be so much fun!”

-he’s excited to explore this new chapter of your life together…with lots of kissies

-can’t believe he is the first person to call you his’ and feels extremely flattered by it. He won’t shut up about it when he’s with Abi and Seb

-the smexy time with him will be a blast though. He’s maybe not the most skilled lover, but his enthusiasm makes up for all of it. He helps you relax and take it light. Be prepared for lots of praise and absent-minded filth coming from his mouth

Sebastian:

-homeboy really doesn’t give a shit tbh, he doesn’t even give you a big reaction

-we both know he hasn’t dated before either, but it’s nothing of his concern either

-“…ok, that’s cool…(?)” *proceeds playing games on his console”

-though you don’t have any reference points, he’s still trying to be the best boyfriend he can be for you because you deserve it (he won’t say that though)

-what can I say, he’s pretty indifferent 🤷🏼‍♀️

-about intimate business though…he has no clue what to do and wished at least you knew, but you both make it work. The first time is a bit too gentle, but that will change once you get the hang of it. It’s nerve-wrecking to him but he’s also excited to learn all these new things with you and make you feel good

Harvey:

-Harvey wouldn’t mind either way, he knows you’re an adult and that you can choose to live your life however you want to with whoever

-buuuut, unlike with the others, it makes him even more anxious that he is your first partner and wants to make everything right.

-“I’m not the most exciting guy, but I’ll try my best to make this relationship perfect for you, because you deserve nothing but the best.”

-His last relationship was years ago, so this feels new to him as well. He takes things slow with you, especially since he’s very shy and needs to ease into things as well. Everything being new to you makes him feel young again

-feels guilty for going further with you too as he doesn’t want to mess things up. He knows how painful and uncomfortable it can be and wants you to remember it fondly, peppering you with lots of kisses, soft touches, hand holding and prep work

-overall, he’s the best first boyfriend you could ever wish for. He’s caring, polite and cute :3

Elliott:

-ma man, ma boy, he has waited for this moment

-Elliott is a notorious romantic, of course he will take this opportunity to make your time with him the most special experience of your entire life

-“It will be a pleasure to show you the world through rose-coloured glasses, my love. *kisses your hand all so gently*. So you won’t ever forget that you are the light of my life, that you are loved.”

-not that he wouldn’t wanna do that if you had dated anyone before, but he goes along with things differently depending on your experience

-if you’re new to this, he will take it slow. The last he wants is to push you to do things you’re not comfortable with

-he’s a very romantic man, but that also encapsulates that he’s a very sexual man ( not in a creepy perv way of course, just very passionate about the whole gist of being intimate). But he waits with that for a LOOOONG time before he plans a romantic bedroom date with a hot bath, rose petals and body oils if he knows it’s your first relationship

-a lot of rom-com-esque adventures await you with this fine gentleman, and the build up to the big night will be worth the patience ;)

Shane:

-Quite frankly? He’s flustered the house lol

-I’m talking big rosy blush across his face and big eyes

-like, you chose HIM to be your first? Really?!

-he always thought highly of you, but now he has to reconsider how smart you could possibly be when you want him to be your first relationship

-“Uh, wow…a-and you’re sure you want to make this experience with me ?! Of all people?!”

-He has had many meaningless hookups in the past, but relationships….oof they weren’t that deep, and he never cared about any of them like he cares about you.

-He tries his best. He’s not an anxious mess like Harv, but he still watches how he behaves around you because he doesn’t want to break your spirit regarding relationships…he doesn’t want you to feel the way he has felt about love and trust

-though he had some hookups, it’s been A WHILE K, so he has major anxiety around your first time together. As much as he’d love to devour you, his anxiety makes him avoid it for the longest time. He wants nothing but the best for you, and he still doesn’t think highly of himself, not to mention his chub. But at some point, he is able to let his guard down as he knows you wouldn’t judge him for something like that ever.

Alex:

-ALEX, my precious…well yeah he is stoked ngl LOL

-he is a whole jock jerk but that’s all a facade, so this piece of information makes him a little less anxious but the more excited to give it his all to make this a one-of-a-kind experience to you

-“wait, REALLY?! That’s aweso- I mean, that’s interesting. I can consider myself a lucky guy to be your first boyfriend. You won’t ever regret it, I promise 😉” *dies on the inside and wants nothing but to scream in excitement*

-BUT it also boosts his ego through the roof. He can’t believe he is the guy that made you want to go the next step, especially as no one else made you want to have a relationship before him

-He’s nothing but a good old-fashioned lover boy. Man grew up with his grandparents, one of them being Evelyn (my precious granny), so he has some manners and knows how to treat a lady (if you’re not a lady, he will treat you like one regardless because that’s all he knows lol)

-I’m sorry but…man’s horny, and though he wants to take things slow for your sake, he will take the first opportunity to take you to bed with him let’s b real. He will be gentle with you and tries his best to make it “first time friendly”, but it is very hard for him as he has dreamed about this since the first time you’ve met.

#stardew valley #sdv shane #sdv #sdv bachelors #shane stardew valley #stardew valley shane #stardew shane #shane sdv #sdv harvey #sebastian sdv #stardew sebastian #sam sdv #sdv sam #stardew sam #sdv Alex #Stardew Alex #Stardew Elliott #sdv Elliott #sdv headcanons #stardew valley headcanons

[strawberrypinky]

I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed with negativity on the internet recently and thus I've decided to take matters into my own hands and spread some ✨love and positivity✨

And what better way to do that, than to recommend wonderfully written fanfiction I've come across this year? Admittedly, I haven't read as much as I would have liked, but I still want to share the few I did read. So without further ado, here are my fic recs of 2024 (thus far! Might add to this along the line):

Baldur's Gate 3 Fic recs:

O Fortuna [by @gufu-vire] on AO3 - Raphael x Dark Urge ❦ Plot: Post the events of BG3, a redeemed Dark Urge and Raphael renegotiate terms to fulfil a contract sworn upon during the crisis of the Absolute. An adventure fraught with tension, frustration, conflict, and more as the reader partners up with the devil you love to hate…

This is possibly a very biased mention on this list, because I consider Goof a very dear friend and moot, but it is a deserved spot nonetheless! I have yet to catch up with a majority of the chapters, but I'm enjoying a lot of sneak peeks and Gufu's creative process in private in the meantime. Between the conflict this story is utterly hilarious and witty and is a perfect balance between action and idle affairs. There are also so many intriguing takes on Raphael as a character & Harleep deserves a trophy on his own. I could talk a lot about this story, but truly, I cannot recommend it enough!

❦

Sleep Deprivation - [by @nyda-the-tav & Aisln] on AO3 - Gortash x Tav ❦ Plot: As Orin continues to harass the group of misfits trying to stop the Absolute, Ophelia (Tav) looks for safety in the arms of Gortash in an effort to combat sleep deprivation.

I've only recently started reading this story & both authors best believe that once I've caught up with all 50(!) chapters, I'll leave a more detailed review for Sleep Deprivation. But what I've read thus far has been nothing short of a joy, and I'm always down for a good Tav being absolutely ruined by Gortash himself. The dynamic between the supposed enemy and the hero is gripping, hilarious and not to mention really well written! Kudos to the authors! I'm really excited to read more of what you two come up with!

❦

His Star - His Queen [by @random-introverted-blog] on AO3 - Astarion x Tav/Astarion x Dark Urge ❦ Plot: An ascended Astarion kidnaps the Dark Urge/Tav from a different timeline, after loosing her in his. Desperate to save Tav/Durge from himself, Astarion follows her to rescue his love from certain suffering at his own hands.

I was recommended this story on TikTok (of all places, lol) and I wasn't sure what to expect - but holy shit. The first chapter alone had me on the edge of my seat, as you're really thrown into the action from the start, but the entire premise had me hooked as soon as Ascendant Astarion made his appearance. I often have issues with the ascended version of Astarion's character (I just looooove fixing him & I've got issues with the 'make him worse' story arc), but the exploration of what could have been in tandem with trying to save the heroine from inevitable suffering is beautiful & I can't recommend it enough. I've yet to catch up with every chapter (can you tell I've got trouble keeping up with fics, lmfao?) but either way, "His Star - His Queen" is deservedly on this list!

Note: This fic includes non-consensual sexual content

❦

Judgement by the Hounds [by @septembersummer] on AO3 - Gortash x The Dark Urge ❦ Plot: A look into the relationship of The Dark Urge (Seren) and Gortash, from their first meeting up to their shared end. "The rise and fall of the worst situationship of all time" indeed.

This one I actually finished (very slay), though I'm not sure I actually processed it. I went through all five stages of grief reading this and I'm not even sure I can say anything without spoiling the entire premise. Dear author, you have written possibly the most captivating and enchanting portrayal of Durge and Gortash & though I knew how it would end, I was wishing for a happy end through it all. There's nothing to say about this, other than it was utter perfection.

❦

Miscellaneous One Shot recommendations:

legacy with no memory by @discordsmuse on AO3 - Gortash x The Dark Urge The Weight of A Promise by @sserpente on tumblr [Part 2 is equally good!] - Gortash x Tav/OC kiddo. by @avocado-writing on tumblr. - Gortash & OC

to have and to hold by @littlejuicebox on tumblr. - Astarion x Tav

choices. by @deadtired-highkeyenergetic on tumblr - Astarion x Tav

how to win a custody battle in one easy step. by alltears on AO3 - Astarion x Tav

Dangerous by NaeveTheWizard on AO3 - Astarion x The Dark Urge

❦

Honourable Mentions:

I'm also giving a shout-out to @avani-telvanni & @infernaldaydreams, because while neither have written fanfiction I could recommend, I am obsessed with their respective artworks for Tav x Gortash/Durge x Gortash. You guys are absolutely amazing and I'm conistently in awe of what you create. You deserve all the recognition you receive and more 💕

Hogwarts Legacy Fic rec's: a very short list, but two are dear to me nonetheless!

Victory [by @jonquil] on AO3 - Victor Rookwood x Original Female Character ❦ Plot: Victor Rookwood is enraptured by the new, ancient-magic-wielding student attending Hogwarts - and Victor Rookwood always comes out on top.

Technically I started reading "Victory" in 2023, when it first came out, alas, it was finished earlier this year and I couldn't help but include it, because it remains one of my favourite fanfiction ever. To me, it's the best fictionalisation of "Enemies to Lovers" in a long time, as I was rooting for the villain to win from start to finish. From the wonderful characterisation of Rookwood to the alternative canon timeline and ultimately the victory of the villain - there's nothing like it and I was hooked from start to finish. I am still sad it's over, but I'm excited to read the prequel (as soon as I get to it, lmfao), because I know it'll be equally spectacular!

Note: This fic contains non-consensual sexual content.

❦

Invisible String [by @legacygirlingreen] on tumblr (though it can be found on both AO3 and wattpad too!) - Sebastian Sallow x Reader ❦ Plot: In an alternative, victorian-attitude-compliant timeline, Sebastian Sallow falls for the new fifth-year. This story explores the sweet beginnings of a tender love amidst hardships and battles ahead.

Admittedly, this is possibly the most biased fic rec ever, but I stand behind it nonetheless. While this fic started in March of last year & brought me and my platonic soulmate May, aka legacygirlingreen, together, it remains my favourite Sebastian Sallow fic to this day. The amount of love, time and creativity May put into this has me in awe time and time again. The sweet and tender love the two protagonists experience is perfectly fluffy and slice-of-life, yet the alternative version of the canon events of Hogwarts Legacy add the perfect amount of drama and action. I will always come back to this fic, because yes - It is that good.

#fic recs #fic rec #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #bg3 #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #enver gortash #lord enver gortash #gortash x tav #gortash x dark urge #gortash x reader #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #raphael x durge #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #ascended astarion #victor rookwood #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fic #hogwarts legacy #in 2024 we are spreading love #and positivity #truly a huge shout-out to all the incredible authors and artists i've mentioned because y'all are amazing #so so much love to all of you #lets all be more kind and loving towards one another in 2024 bc i genuinely cannot with all the negativity online

[froggyfics]

The Deadliest Poisons Are The Sweetest - 5

Your wedding day arrives.

Note: (09/15/23) PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. If you have read this series before this date, please note that I have combined chapters 1 and 2 together. This may seem confusing, but I have decided that as a creative approach, I would like the chapters to be longer. Therefore, the original chapter 4 is now chapter 3. Chapter 4 is new. This chapter and beyond are up to date.

Btw y'all it's gonna get saucy in the next chapter lmao

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Word Count: 4,844

This is the closest you’ve been with him in weeks. The intimacy of the moment is warped however, with underlying feelings of inadequacy. 

This is your wedding day. Yet, you feel as though you are imposter. You can feel the red-hot glares of the jealous maidens in the crowd. After all, you are marrying the most eligible bachelor in the entire realm. If only they knew that you felt sick to your stomach, and you wished that they were in your place. 

You don’t even look him in the eyes. You stare at his mouth, as if you needed to do so in order to understand the vows.

“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

No, you won’t, you say to yourself. You led me to believe that we could be more, but you tricked me! 

He places a ring on your finger. Your hand suddenly feels like it’s weighed down by a ton of bricks. You nearly choke on your vows as they stumble out of you. When you arrived in Gotham a month ago, you were admittedly excited for this day. However, Damian’s icy demeanor as of late has left you bitter. How could it be possible to be so close with someone one day, and then completely cold the next. It befuddled you. Damianbefuddled you. 

Your vows were sealed with a chaste kiss. Cheers and whoops erupted from the crowd. Through the noise, you could distinctly hear your father’s booming claps and mother’s animated laughs. Of course they were happy! Their daughter was married off – to a prince no less. Your marriage ensured a lifetime of stability and wealth for them. Not bad for a baron and baroness. 

You wobble to the great hall for the wedding banquet with Damian’s hand clasped in your own. It wasn’t your choice to make physical contact – he was the one that initiated.

“Weddings are the end of their lives as they know it. The beginning of a prison sentence. The end of youth.”

This is an act. You must admit, if acting was a respectable career choice, Damian would be a top-notch performer. The vows meant nothing. The kiss was expected. The hand holding was necessary for the performance. 

You sat right next to your husband. Aristocrats, both strangers and now familiar faces, approach to wish glad tidings upon you and Damian. You accept their kind words as politely as you can. All the while, you twist your ring, round and round, underneath the table. 

You light up when Rachel approaches the table. A genuine smile finally crosses your face.

“Lady Rachel!” you call out excitedly. 

You jump when you feel Damian’s presence near your ear.

“How do you know of Lady Rachel?” he asks.

You gape at him while Rachel curtsies shyly. His question is not shocking – you chalk it up to mere curiosity. It’s the fact that he’s talking…to you! Willingly. And the conversation does not revolve around simple greetings or pleasantries. 

You can’t even answer him. Anger bubbles inside of you. He almost completely ignores you for four weeks and now suddenly acts like you should be receptive to his conversation. You have half a mind to ignore him in favor of speaking to Rachel. However, the ring sits heavy on your finger, and you suddenly remember your place. 

He is now your husband. He is the heir to the throne. If there is anyone you should hold your tongue towards, it’s him. 

“We met one week ago,” you reply. Rachel beams at you while you recount how you met her. 

“We’ve only become closer and closer, day by day.” You hold your hand towards her, and she takes it affectionately. 

“The princess is right,” Rachel adds. “It is almost like we have known each other our entire lives.”

Damian speaks only after he gulps his entire drink quickly. “Well, wife,” he emphasizes when he grabs your hand, “I am glad you have made a friend in Gotham.”

He smiles menacingly. You can tell by the way his lips unnaturally stretch over his teeth and the reddening of his face. 

Rachel glances at your conjoined hands and clears her throat. “Well, I just wanted to say that I wish for the two of you to be happy.” She raises her cup and you raise yours with your other hand in support.

“To the happy couple,” she concludes. The edge of the cup reaches her lips, but she does not drink. She instead curtsies once more and disappears among the crowd of people.

As soon as she leaves, Damian releases your hand, wiping his palm on his pants as if you were a leper. You clench your teeth so hard that they squeak in retaliation. You manage to take deep breaths to calm yourself – in and out, in and out, in and out. It’s truly an act for him. 

Everyone looks to be so happy. Not for you, of course not. They are happy for their own selfish reasons. Guests are fed the most delicious food and drink that the realm has to offer. Your parents rub elbows with highly ranked aristocrats. Your siblings dance merrily along the aisles. King R’as laughs heartedly a few seats away from Damian while speaking to his friends. Even Talia seems to be in a cheerful mood, scarfing down her food. 

Perhaps you can attempt to be happy, too. It is your wedding day after all. You inhale deeply to gather confidence.

“Husband.”

Damian doesn’t acknowledge you.

You clear your throat and repeat yourself once more.

He doesn’t even look up from his plate.

“Damain!” you half-shout.

His head shoots up immediately. “Yes, wife?”

You want to punch him in the throat. His polite tone seems genuine, but it sounds fake to your ears. 

“Are you…” You scan the great hall. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

He nods his head slowly like he has trouble understanding your question. “Quite.” He returns to his plate.

You growl, but say no more. After all, there is no point making a concerted effort at conversation now when you apparently have the rest of your life to do so. You might as well take what little enjoyment you have now and ignore the glaring loneliness that dwells within you. 

The wedding took place at noon, but the reception continues well past sunset. You did not even know that there existed so much food in the entire city. Drinks flowed like a river all night long. Some people fell asleep in their seats, despite the rambunctious behaviors of others. Some people danced and danced until you thought their feet would fall off. 

You remain glued to your seat nearly the entire reception. There were a few moments where you stretched your feet, such as when the guests stacked cakes on top one another, so that you and Damian could kiss over them. You managed to peck each other’s lips without the cakes collapsing to the ground, which made the audience break out into cheers. After all, if the cakes fell, it symbolized bad luck for your marriage. 

As if you needed any more of that already. 

The reception seemed like it would never end. Your posture slowly deteriorated over the hours, until you were slumped in your chair. Muscle aches began to surface for sitting for so long. You wanted the night to be over. 

“Damian!” R’as called.

Damian pushes the table to make room to get up. He travels just a few feet farther to his grandfather who whispers something in his ear. Whatever was said made Damian stiffen and glance at you.

You suddenly develop that prickly feeling when you feel like someone is talking about you. Damian’s glance made you certain that you were the subject of their conversation. The realization made you shift in your seat. You decide to study the wooden table to distract yourself from your insecurity. 

A tap on your shoulder breaks your concentration. You find Damian looking down at you with a stoic expression. As usual, you can never determine what he’s thinking.

“Follow me,” he bluntly says. 

He doesn’t move an inch and you don’t realize until a few moments later that he expects you to get up first. You push yourself from the table and slowly stand up. You’ve been sitting for so long that your knees crack upon straightening. 

Damian maneuvers you so that you remain in front of him. He’s mere inches behind you and his hands fix themselves to your waist. He pushes you forward, directing you towards the door. 

The once lively room suddenly quiets down, until cheers are erupted once more.

You peer behind you to see that nearly everyone is looking directly at you. Men are jeering, throwing their hands in the air. Your father kisses your mother’s forehead while she blows a kiss towards you. Women are clapping obnoxiously. You face forward once again in mortification when you realize that they are cheering for your consummation. Everyone knows that you are walking out the hall a virgin – only to become a true wife by tomorrow. 

You look back again, scanning the crowd for Rachel. She has been one of the few sources of support you’ve had as of late. You just want to look at her, to search for comfort in her eyes. You find her violet eyes eventually, only for your humiliation to turn into sadness. Her eyes do not necessarily brim with tears, but they are certainly glossy. 

You give her a comforting smile as the door to the hall opens. 

Don’t be sad for me, you want to say to her, but the door of the hall closes before your message can be relayed through your eyes. 

Damian continues pushing you from behind through the castle. You are eventually brought to an all-too familiar, yet unfamiliar room. 

It certainly has changed since you were in here last, all those years ago. Damian’s room still exudes extravagance, worthy of an heir. However, small details have changed.

There are several arms-related items laying around. A full armor suit sits at the corner of the room. Several weapons – swords, axes, morning stars – are hung on the walls. Papers are strewn across the room. They’re on his desk and dresser and end tables. Most importantly, the room feels larger than it did when you were a child. Well, that was probably due to the fact that you felt smaller now than you did then. 

The door behind you slams shut. You jump in surprise at the loud noise and see Damian leaning on the door.

You hate it. You hate that you feel so nervous. It’s all too much. This room brings back happy memories that you cannot – should not – dredge up in fear of living in the past. You stand in a room, alone, for the first with someone known as your husband. Someone who is actually a stranger to you still. You can’t help but look down. It may be due to submission or shyness; you’re not entirely sure. All you know is that your girlhood has officially ended, and adulthood is crashing upon you.

You see his shoes from your peripheral. He stands toe-to-toe with you. You can’t bear to look him in the face. No good could come from falling for those green eyes. 

He cautiously raises his hands to your waist. You grow numb as he removes your belt. Your dress puffs out into a shapeless blob. 

He grabs your shoulder and turns you around, your back facing him. You can feel your dress loosening as he undoes your corset, one string at a time. Your breathing quickens at the intimacy of the act. You’ve had maybe two decent conversations with this man, and now, he has full access to your body. The discomfort makes you twitch.

“Raise your arms,” he commands. And you listen. He reaches down to hem of your dress, and pulls upward. You become blind momentarily until your dress is fully removed, and all that remains is your paltry smock. You feel overexposed. Your shoulders, arms, and legs are bare. Bare! You instinctively cover yourself the best you can with your arms, but Damian, while still behind you, firmly grabs your forearms to place them at your side. You gasp when he places a quick kiss on the back of your head.

You remain stuck in place despite hearing the crumpling of clothes behind you and await for Damian to direct you. There’s a creak, and several more creaks, and the crinkling of sheets.

“Come.”

You turn around and are met with a shirtless Damian, already beneath the sheets. He pats the unoccupied space next to him, and you follow his orders. You slink underneath the sheets and lay flat on your back, burning holes into the ceiling. The only sounds that could be heard is your breathing and the crackle of the fireplace. 

You await for his orders once more. And wait. And wait. And wait some more, even as he slips completely underneath the sheets completely. From your peripheral vision, you can see that he turns his back towards you. You bite your lips nervously and you dare lift your arm up in an attempt to touch him.

“Good night.”

His words make your arm drop back down onto the mattress. The finality of his words make you close your eyes. There is nothing to do, nothing to expect. He is an actor, and you are at the whim of his play.

The extinguished fire from the fireplace doesn’t wake you. Neither does the blearing sun peeking from behind the curtains. What does wake you are the stomps of your ladies-in-waiting. 

Your eyelids instantly open, the crust that developed during the night making it difficult at first. 

“Princess, it is time to wake,” Matilda says in a voice that it all too loud this early in the morning. She wretches the curtains open and sunlight streams in. You hiss at the light, still walking the line between unconsciousness and alertness.

Joan grabs your shoulders and heaves you into a sitting position. In a militaristic approach, Joan, Matilda, and Honora perform your morning routine. You’ve had a month to adjust to their “help”, but it has only become slightly easier to tolerate their grubby hands and rude shoves. You can only say – Ouch! – so many times until you realize they do not care if they cause you pain. You are a job for them. They may be your household staff, but they are certainly still Talia’s minions. 

The hubbub of the morning almost makes you forget where you are and what had happened the night before. You glance at the spot Damian was sleeping just a few hours prior. In his place is the outline of his body on the mattress.

“Where has my husband gone?” You wince when Joan tugs your hair particularly hard while brushing it. 

“You have been summoned by Lady Talia.”

It hangs in the air, but you don’t expect them to answer your original question. It’s the nature of your relationship with them. It only reminds you to formally add Rachel to your household staff. Perhaps an ally in the mornings would improve your days. 

You’re prodded and shoved and squeezed until you are dressed. A green and black gown once again. An emblem of the house that you married into. You are no longer a daughter of a baron – you are now a princess of the House Al Ghul.

You’re led to Talia’s room within the castle. A guard stands upright outside her door, and opens it for you and your brood. Within, you find your now mother-in-law with a table full of assorted small plates. Fruits, cheeses, bread. Your stomach grumbles in hunger, but you doubt you’ll be able to enjoy your meal. Not with Talia. 

“Lady Talia,” you politely greet. 

She waves you over without looking up. As you approach her, she finally glances at you, but now before grunting in disapproval.

She is now your mother-in-law. You must remain polite. You repeat the mantra to yourself several times as you become situated in the seat across from her. Your ladies-in-waiting stand off the side, along with Talia’s servants.

A moment passes. Then two. Then several. Talia says nothing and continues to eat. You recognize that she will not speak to you first, and that you must initiate the conversation. You desperately want to your roll your eyes, but you remember your mantra. 

“Ahem, Lady Talia,” you start. “I have heard that you summoned me. Might I ask why?”

She sharply glares at you. “Do I need a reason to call upon you? After all, you are now my daughter.”

“Of course not.” You smile as sweetly as you can while simultaneously wanting to burst. You stomach rumbles again to remind you that it is empty, so you swiftly gather some items to make your plate full. 

“Will Damian be joining us for this –”

“No,” Talia interjects. 

“Oh.” Silence befalls the room except for the occasional chewing of food. “Is it possible for my mother to come join us? She will be leaving –”

“No. Is my presence not satisfactory to you?”

“Of course it is, Lady Talia,” you grit. She feigns a smile at you, and her eyes sparkle.

She knows that she’s irking you. She loves it.

“Are you close with Lady Rachel of House Azarath?” you inquire. The best use of your time here with Talia is to at least introduce the idea of Rachel as an additional lady-in-waiting. 

Talia sips her tea generously before answering. “Yes, she used to be quite close to my son.”

“Well, her and I have only recently met, but we have become incredibly close. She honestly feels like a sister to me –”

“You’re talking about Lady Rachel?” 

You gulp and shakingly nod your head. “Yes, I am. Erm – like I was saying, she has become a true friend. Since my family will return to my birthplace soon, and I have left behind my childhood friends, I was thinking about having Lady Rachel join my household staff. As a lady-in-waiting.”

Talia stares blankly at you, her green eyes burrowing into your soul. Her façade soon begins to break as her lips twitch and her eyes crinkles. Soon, she releases out a howling cackle. She laughs and laughs, holding her stomach to support herself. 

Joan, Matilda, Honora, and the remaining servants in the room look to one another curiously before they begin to laugh as well. Their laughs start as awkward chuckles until they are bellowing to match their master.

You sit in utter disbelief at the situation unfurling in front of you. There’s a joke hidden in Talia’s laugh, but you remain oblivious to it.

“Oh, oh, my.” Talia wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Why, yes, of course! Lady Rachel is free to join your household staff.”

Your face is red with embarrassment as the laughs finally die down. You’re not sure what the joke was, and you so desperately want to know. 

The food no longer looks appetizing to you. The measly few bites you had appease your stomach for the time being. Desperate for the attention to be off of you, the course of the conversation is redirected.

“Erm – thank you, Lady Talia. Say, how did you enjoy the festivities yesterday?”

“Ahem, yes, it was fine.” Her joyful tone suddenly reverts to its malicious nature. “I presume you enjoyed your wedding night, especially. How very lucky you are to bed a prince when you are…” She points in your general direction. “Well, when you are…you.”

A forced chuckle exits your mouth. Never have you ever met someone as blatantly, yet simultaneously subtly, rude. It dawns on you that her status allows her to speak however she wants, and that social graces are only for those inferior to her. 

“I am eternally grateful that Prince Damian chose me to be his wife.”

She waves your pleasantry off. “Yes, yes. After all, he chose you out of…every maiden. I am certain you will do your duties as a wife to ensure his happiness. As long as you bear him heirs, I suppose that is all I can ask for.”

The conversation feels unpleasant to you. After all, shouldn’t your marital relations with Damian be kept between you and him? Admittedly, you’re not sure whether you should alert Talia to the fact that you did notbed Damian last night. Sure, you slept in the same bed, but you are certain that is not what she cares about.

The question that she was dancing around finally is brought to the forefront. “Last night was…successful, correct?”

Your hunger has not yet returned, but you abruptly feel the urge to stuff food into your mouth to avoid answering her. 

“Mmhm.” 

She leans in dangerously close. She remains across the table, but it seems like she will pounce on you if you dare utter one wrong word.

“Did you bed Damian?”

You breathe in deeply, having had enough of the intrusion. “Lady Talia, I feel as though my relations with your son –”

“This is a yes or no question, dear,” she seethes. “Did you or did not do your duty as the wife of Prince Damian?” She slowly stands as she asks you her question, her anger palpable. 

“Does it matter?” you counter. “Why is that any of your business?”

“So, you did not bed him.”

You eye twitches in annoyance. “Lady Talia, I did not say that.”

“You don’t have to.” She slams her hands on the table, shaking it. You jump in surprise and grab hold onto the arms of the seat. The other women in the room hold their breath in frightened anticipation. 

“What was the point then? What was it?” She places her hands on her waist and circles you. “There were so many others – richer, prettier, friendlier. Some of them he grew up with. Why you if he doesn’t even want to bed you?”

You remain glued to your seat. Talia looks down at you with rage in her eyes, while you look back with confusion. You don’t know how to answer her question, because ultimately, you’re unsure of the answers yourself. If she had asked you a month prior when you first arrived in Gotham, you probably could have answered that you and Damian shared a sweet encounter from many years past, and that encounter led to your marriage. However, with Damian’s aloofness, you also are uncertain as to why you were chosen to be his bride.

Talia groans in frustration at your muteness. She stomps towards the door, but not before a servant rushes over to open it for her. You watch as she disappears into the hallway, presumably to confront Damian. 

You let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Take me back to my quarters,” you order your ladies-in-waiting. “And send for Lady Rachel.”

You pace back and forth in your room, practically burning a hole into the floor. A loud knock disrupts your fervent strides, and in comes your rescuer, Rachel.

“Rachel,” you whimper as your nearly run into her open arms.

Her arms wrap around you tightly, like how a snake suffocates its victims, except her hug was full of love instead.

You’re shaken up by your encounter with Talia, but the culmination of the previous 24 hours bears down upon you. You sink to the floor, Rachel helplessly attempting to lift you back to your feet, but the energy is no longer within you.

“Everything is wrong.”

“What is?” Rachel finally sinks to the floor next to you, holding your head to her bosom, holding you like a mother would do to console her child. 

“Everything. This cursed family has brought me nothing but misery. I will be miserable until the end of my days, I fear.”

Rachel gently quiets you and strokes your hair. “No, that will not happen. I will not allow that to happen.”

“It will!” you exclaim. “Damian hates me!”

“He does not hate you.”

“Yes, he does!” Embarrassment sinks into your bones when Rachel asks you to explain.

“Last night was a disaster,” you murmur into her chest.

Rachel stops stroking your head momentarily. “Hmm? How so?” She starts once more playing with your hair.

“I am…still a virgin.”

She pulls your head backwards so that her eyes meet yours. “Do you mean…he has not bedded you yet?”

You cringe in embarrassment. Her shock has only solidified your insecurity – something must be wrong with you. That’s the only explanation! 

“No, no, darling,” Rachel clucks. “Do not hide your face from me. It is not your fault – hey – look at me. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

“Then, what is wrong?” You swiftly get to your feet and resume your pacing. “If not me, then what? It’s silly to think that there is another issue at play here.”

Rachel grabs hold of your shoulders and firmly shakes you. “Listen to yourself! You sound mad.” She looks around the room as if it isn’t empty and leans in close to whisper. “Understand that there may be other factors at play. The emotions of man can certainly affect his…libido. Take it from me, I should know.” 

She releases her grip, but remains planted in front of your face. “I have had…prior relations.”

You nod at her wide-eyed. This is the first you’ve heard of Rachel speaking about her romantic life. 

“Certain emotions can make it hard for a man to perform his husbandly duties. I do not think it wise to push the issue, as to not cause any embarrassment for him.”

You nod your head emphatically, whole-heartedly internalizing her speech. “But – what if he doesn’t bed me tonight either? Lady Talia is already speaking about heirs.”

“Again, do not push the issue. You would rather not face Damian’s wrath.”

A singular, harsh knock interrupts your discussion. In stomps in the subject of the conversation, the man of the hour, your lifeline and your ruin – Damian.

Rachel immediately curtsies out of respect and lowers her head. He opens his mouth to speak, but is seemingly stunned by the presence of another human in your room. He looks back and forth between you and Rachel.

“Husband,” you greet.

The sound of your voice brings Damian back from his trance. He nods his head towards the door and several servants, including your ladies-in-waiting, pile into the room.

“Wife,” he starts. He strides over to you and plants a kiss on your forehead. His lips leave a burning sensation on you, as his sudden display of affection jars you. “Pack your essentials. We leave soon for my father’s.”

“Damian,” you whisper. His face reveals his agitation: his lips are stretched into a scowl and his forehead wrinkles deeply. “Is everything alright?”

His palm reaches to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. You want to believe he does it lovingly, but your heart can’t take that risk. 

“You should have called upon me,” he murmurs. “As soon as my mother disrespected you, you should have come to me.”

You look down in shame. So, he’s heard of your interaction with Talia earlier that day. “I did not think that was an option. I did not even know where you were.”

He lifts your head up with his index finger on your chin. He bends as best as he could to meet you at eye-level. “Of course, that is an option. You are my wife.”

You swallow hard. The way he’s looking at you, and comforting you – it’s too much. It’s too sudden. You shimmy your way out of his grasp and look to Rachel for support, only to find her back facing towards you and Damian.

“Lady Rachel has been consoling me.”

Damian stiffens and his jaw tightens. “Thank you, Lady Rachel,” he starts. He looks over his shoulder her, and she does so too ever so slightly. Neither face each other completely, however. “You may now take your leave.”

Rachel nods her head and without turning to say goodbye to you, she starts heading towards the door.

“Wait, no!” you call out. You circle around Damian to reach Rachel’s arm. “Lady Rachel is to be my lady-in-waiting. She must remain by my side.”

Damian’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Your lady-in-waiting?” he repeats brashly. 

You huff in irritation. You’re not sure why everyone seems to be so astonished that you want Rachel to be a part of your household staff. “Yes,” you reply. 

Damian clicks his tongue in disapproval. The amorous façade he performed just moments prior is now gone. It’s been replaced with the real Damian – the stoic one. 

“Fine.” He pushes back you to reach the exit before stopping by the door. He doesn’t even turn around. “Remember, just the essentials. 

#dc comics #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x fem!reader #damian wayne x y/n #league of assassins #loa!damian wayne #damian wayne

[project-sekai-facts]

Hey so I noticed that in the most recent EN event there's almost a secondary focus on Nene and her reactions to Tsukasa, arguably more than Rui, who is the driving factor for the overarching story here, setting up her next event, in a way. I was wondering if there are many more times where a character gets a heavy focus in another's focus event to set up their immediate next event (only other example I can think of is Kohane's 2nd focus and An)

Hopefully this makes sense and it isn't completely dumb

From memory:

There’s like a post-credit of sorts (that’s what it feels like even if it technically isn’t) at the end of Although Wavering You Continue Moving Forwards (honami1) where Iori is introduced and shows interest in recruiting Shiho, which feeds into Resounding Twilight Parade and Resonate with You. She’s not really in focus for the rest of the event all that much, this is just a really random scene at the end

At the end of Canary (nene4), there’s a scene where Rui and Emu talk about Tsukasa and Nene’s performing and Rui thinks to himself about some sort of plan, leading to our happy ending. Admittedly that wasn’t a Rui event, but he did get a whole chapter to himself lol and also Emu was in the scene from Canary prominently

Ena notices that something is up with Mizuki in Secret Distance, which becomes the focus in the Ena-centric Exciting Picnic mixed event not long afterwards

Minori’s feelings about switching course are a background plot in Retie Friendship, with her deciding to switch course at the end of the event. Her feelings about the switch are the focus of Step by Step

I think this is what you were referring to in the ask but An has a moment in Awakening Beat where she reacts to Kohane’s improvement, which becomes important in Bout for Beside You

Mafuyu was in heavy focus in the three niigo events prior to Saying Goodbye to my Masked Self as the game built up to her running away

apologies if there are any mistakes, i haven't read any of these events in a long time. also i'm writing this when i'm half asleep.

#asks #i am also very very behind on events since 3rd anniversary so i probably missed something from one of those

[shellbilee]

Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 5

A Glen Powell RPF Series

Apologies for the little hiatus guys. I'm hopeful that I'm back to regular posting, Glen's recent content influx has certainly helped with my inspo! Please comment if you'd like to be tagged! x

Billie

Billie hears a groan of effort and looks back at her phone sitting in the cradle on her dashboard. The metallic sound of dumbbells hitting the floor rings out and suddenly a face fills the screen, familiar brown eyes looking back at her. 

“Alright I’m done with my set now, sorry”.

Billie laughs and shakes her head, looking away from the phone and back at her reflection in her rearview mirror. 

“You’re the one that called me, Brad” Billie counters to her brother, smoothing back the baby hairs near her forehead into her slick ponytail.

Bradley, her brother had facetimed her ten minutes ago, Billie having since pulled into a car park at the address Glen had sent her this morning.

“Yeah, cos’ I feel like we haven’t spoken in ages and I miss my little sis’” Bradley says with a smile before taking a quick sip from his water bottle, “Besides, who else am I gonna speak to at this time? You’re the only one I know that would be awake”.

“Speaking of, why are you doing a workout at----” she pauses, lifting her wrist to check her watch, “Three AM?”. 

Bradley shrugs nonchalantly, as if going to the gym in the early hours of the morning is the most normal thing in the world.

“Just came off a week of night shift. First day sleep routine is always kinda fucked. Couldn’t sleep, so figured I’d come and do a workout rather than wake Jords and the kids”.

“Have you tried reading a book?”.

Bradley pulls a face and Billie can’t help but laugh at it.

“Oh yeah sorry, I forgot you’re allergic to reading” she teases, knowing her fire-fighter brother hated every single second of school and study and she, the book smart one in the family, was the complete opposite.

Bradley rolls his eyes and wipes his face with a sweat towel. “Where are you off to anyway? Gym?”.

Billie looks back at her reflection again - she’s wearing activewear again, this time a pair of tight latte coloured shorts and a white racer back tank whose neckline makes her shoulders look toned.

“I don’t know actually. It’s a date” she says with a soft laugh, looking back down at the facetime call.

Bradley snorts. “A date? Dressed like that?”.

This time it’s Billie’s turn to pull a face.

“He said to wear something I don’t mind sweating in, and to bring a change of clothes”.

Billie swears she can see Bradley’s face morph into older-brother protective mode.

“Don’t mind sweating in? Who is this guy?”.

Billie only smiles. “Just a guy I met at Rufus the other day”.

She stays tight-lipped with the rest of the details - namely, that the guy also happens to be a Hollywood celebrity and is so gorgeous that just looking at him makes her want to melt into a puddle on the floor. Though she and Bradley were close and told each other almost everything, she decided to stay vague about her date. 

Right now, she’s happy being in her exciting first-few-dates bubble. And she isn't ready for it to burst by involving other people. She would tell Bradley later, maybe. 

Bradley starts to ask another question when Billie looks down at her watch, looking back at her phone and interrupting her brother to say she needs to go.

“I’m gonna be late ok? I’ll talk to you later in the week?”

Brad nods, “Yeah yeah, you better. Be safe ok?”

“I always am, Brad. Give my love to Jords and the kids yeah?

“I will. Love you Bil”

“Love you too”.

The call abruptly ends and Billie lets out a deep breath, suddenly aware that her heart is hammering in her chest. She’s nervous, nervous to see Glen again even though she’d seen him less than twenty-four hours ago, though admittedly the last time she’d seen him she’d kissed him without warning.

She can still feel his lips on hers, their plush softness moving against hers in a gentle dance, his scent in her nose, his fingertips on her skin. She’d struggled to think of little else during her bosses housewarming barbecue last night, flashbacks of their kiss invading her every thought as she’d mingled with her work friends.

Billie realizes she’s closed her eyes, opening them a moment later and letting out a breath as she looks out the window at the busy LA street in front of her. She double checks the address on her in-dash car GPS confirming she’s at the right place, before taking a final look at her reflection, grabbing her bag and stepping out of the car.

It’s a sunny Sunday morning in LA, the sunshine instantly blinding as Billie closes her car door behind her, reaching up to shield her eyes and looking at the modern brick building in front of her.

Oh my god. 

It’s the Alo gym.

God, it’s a workout date.

Billie can’t help the breath that escapes her throat then.

Glen really did take her advice about unconventional dates seriously.

Fuck.

Billie sucks in a nervous breath and reaches up to smooth down her hair, making her way towards the entrance and doing her best to ignore the mass of butterflies that have suddenly started flapping wildly in her stomach. She knows it’s nerves, but part of her also knows it’s excitement at the thought of seeing Glen again.

She gulps silently.

Here we go.

--

Glen

Glen’s sitting in the entrance area of the Alo Wellness club, relaxing into one of the sleek, cream coloured lounges. His right leg is bouncing like he needs to go to the bathroom, but he knows it has nothing to do with his bladder.

He looks down at his phone in his hand for what feels like the tenth time in a minute, looking at the numbers above his screensaver of Brisket.

10.02am.

Glen knows he’s nervous, but he doesn’t know why. He’d been on hundreds of dates in the past but for whatever reason this one feels different. 

They’d spent most of yesterday together, talking and laughing for what felt like hours, they’d even kissed yesterday - albeit unconventionally, but still. His stomach is a tangle of nervous thoughts and feelings, and all of a sudden he can’t help but second guess his date idea. 

Billie had said unconventional, but was this taking it too far? Especially so soon?

He’d come up with the idea almost instantly yesterday, calling Keith, his Alo trainer as he’d driven home from his Ikea trip with Billie. Some part of him had decided that a personal training session for the two of them would be a great second date idea, given he and Billie had bonded over their frequent exercise and gym habits.

It ticked all the boxes - it would be an activity she told him she enjoyed, one they both regularly participated in, and it was certainly not a traditional date choice.

It was the kind of activity that he would never even attempt with a lot of girls, let alone on a second date, but with Billie? It seemed like the perfect choice. At least it had when he’d come up with it yesterday.

Glen shakes his head as if he’s arguing with the voice inside his head, ignoring his thoughts and standing firm on his decision. He exhales through pursed lips and flips his phone over in his hand again, looking up when he hears the entrance door open.

In an instant, all of his fears and concerns are gone. 

Billie looks every bit as gorgeous as he remembered, even better if that were possible, his eyes running over her as he watches her ask for directions at the front desk. There’s a smile on his face before he can even think about it, standing up from the lounge just as the receptionist points in his direction.

He feels his breath catch in his throat when Billie’s eyes meet his, and suddenly there’s a smile on her face too - a smile that makes every single muscle in his chest contract.

Glen stays put as she makes her way over to him, unable to help his gaze from following the sway of her hips. She's wearing a pair of light brown coloured shorts and a tight white tank top, both accentuating her fit figure and making her golden skin glow. 

Glen’s fingers tighten around his phone and he fights the urge to bite his fist and audibly groan, suddenly wondering how on earth he's going to get through this date without dying when she looks like that.

“Hey darlin’”.

Billie grins gorgeously. “Hey you”.

Glen steps forward to kiss her cheek just as she does the same, the turn of her head making his lips land dangerously close to her mouth. He sees her cheeks immediately flush as they step apart, and Glen fights the urge to groan out loud again for the second time in thirty seconds. 

Fuck.

If they hadn't been somewhere so public he'd have tipped her chin and pulled her in for a bruising kiss. 

Glen swallows and reaches down to pick up his gym bag, grinning down at Billie.

“So, what do you think?”

Billie tilts her head and smiles, “I see you really were listening when I said unconventional dates”.

Glen laughs. “Told you”.

“So what are we doing?” Billie asks as Glen gestures for her to follow him, heading over to the elevators at the back of the room.

Glen shrugs and presses the ‘up’ button on the wall, looking up when the elevator immediately dings. “You'll find out in a second”.

Billie laughs and flashes a worried smile. “I’m actually kind of terrified”.

He returns her laugh as the doors open and they step into the modern elevator, Glen stepping forward to press the button for level seven. 

“You’ll be fine, I promise”.

The doors close and a moment later they’re going up, Glen struggling to ignore the less than three inches of space between them. That, and the sweet, spicy peach scent of her perfume that’s once again filled his nose, the one that’s plagued his brain since their kiss yesterday, the one that seems to be permanently burnt into his every waking thought for the past twenty-four hours. 

God.

A moment later the elevator dings again and the doors open almost as quickly as they closed, revealing the sprawling, modern black and white gym floor of level seven.

They step out and Glen smiles when he sees Billie look around in awe, spying Keith up ahead standing and talking to Mike, one of the club’s other trainers. Glen nods when Keith sees him, leading Billie over towards him to introduce her.

“Hey bud” Keith says, pulling Glen in for a handshake hug in that way that only men do, Glen stepping back and gesturing to Billie.

“Billie, this is my trainer Keith. Keith, this is Billie”.

They shake hands and Billie smiles, Glen momentarily caught up in how beautiful he thinks she is for the tenth time in only ten minutes.

“Glen’s told me a bit about you. You’re a physical therapist?”

“Yep! I work at Evolution Sports Rehab, on Olympic Boulevard?”

Keith nods, “Ah I know the one. I’ve sent some clients there before actually, to see Ross?”

Billie nods enthusiastically, “Yes! He’s my boss. He’s incredible. He’s a big part of the reason I’ve worked there for so long”.

Glen watches Keith and Billie chat, impressed at the way Billie so effortlessly converses with new people. He smiles to himself as he looks down at her. 

No wonder she’s such a good physical therapist.

Glen takes Billie’s bag off her shoulder and puts their bags aside, returning to stand with her and Keith holding two water bottles in his hands.

“So, what fresh torture have you got for us today?”

Keith laughs and Billie looks mildly terrified, Glen putting his arm around Billie and offering a reassuring squeeze.

“You did say you wanted a bit of a challenge” Keith says pointing at Glen, Billie dropping her head back in dismay, “And you did say that Billie was basically an athlete”.

Billie’s head snaps back up and she looks at Glen in alarm, “An athlete? On what planet?”.

Keith drops his head back and laughs, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding” he says holding his hands up in surrender, “But he did say you work out quite a bit, so I’ve put together a team challenge for you both”.

Keith turns to make his way over to the squat rack, motioning for Billie and Glen to follow. As soon as his back is turned, Billie punches Glen’s arm playfully.

“You have definitely talked me up way too much”

Glen grins as he looks down at her, winking mischievously. “No such thing darlin’”.

Billie grins and rolls her eyes adorably, Glen taking her hand and pulling her until they’re both standing in front of Keith again.

“So, we’re going to do a bit of a circuit challenge. It will be a mix of strength and cardio, but you’ll need to work together to get through it” Keith says, pointing at various equipment around the room. “There will be ten stations, and at each one there will be a rep target which you can divide up between you, so you can sub in and out as you need”.

Glen reaches up to stretch his arms above his head, the corner of his mouth tugging into a sly grin as he looks over at Billie’s wide eyes.

“For example, battle ropes. There will be four hundred reps. Billie you could do one hundred, then Glen does a hundred, and repeat until you get to four hundred. Ideally, the goal is to do the entire circuit in under fifty minutes”.

Billie exhales loudly. “Have you done this exact circuit with people before?”

Keith nods. “The record is forty-six minutes”.

Glen bends his left leg behind him, holding his ankle so he’s stretching out his thigh, glancing down at Billie and back to Keith. He scoffs out loud.

“Forty-six minutes? Easy”.

The look of alarm is back on Billie’s face, though this time she’s looking at Glen like he’s insane. 

Glen can’t help but chuckle at her expression.

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

He grins down at her, loving the way she smiles back at him. 

“You said unconventional, remember?”

Billie shakes her head. “I think I’m starting to regret saying that”.

Glen laughs, and they both turn back to Keith.

“So, the key is to know your strengths, and what exercises you’re good or not so good at”.

Billie looks up at Glen, tilting her head playfully.  

“Surely there are no exercise that you’re not good at”.

Glen opens his mouth to speak but Keith beats him to it. “Maybe ask that again when we get to the core exercises”.

Glen pulls a face and both Billie and Keith laugh.

“Alright then” Keith announces, clapping his hands together and looking back at Glen and Billie. “We ready?”

---

Forty-five and a half minutes later, Glen and Billie collapse on the floor on their backs, panting and breathless, and covered in sweat.

Glen feels like his chest is going to explode.

He knows it has nothing to do with the workout he’s just done that has his heart rate hammering at marathon race levels, and everything to do with the stunning, sweaty, sexy girl lying panting next to him right now.

Doing that workout with her was like forty-five and a half minutes of foreplay.  He’d never been so simultaneously impressed and turned on in his life. 

Watching Billie move and jump and squat and press had Glen thinking all kinds of things, things he definitely shouldn’t have been thinking while doing a workout in the gym. He couldn’t help but stare as he did his own exercises, frequently losing count of his own reps, his eyes dragging over her back, her legs, her ass. He was totally enamoured by her, by how strong and fucking sexy she looked, even now as she lay on her back, her chest heaving, breathless from the finishing the fifty burpees they were both determined to get done before the timer ticked over to forty-six minutes.

Glen turns to look over at Billie, his eyes running over her face, her lips parted as she sucks in breaths, her cheeks flushed and covered by a glowy sheen of sweat. He swears she’s never looked more sexy than she has in that moment, and all of a sudden he can’t help but imagine what she'd look like after another kind of cardio that has nothing to do with the gym. 

And nothing to do with clothes.

“That” Billie pauses, sucking in a breath and exhaling loudly, “Was not the way I thought my Sunday would go”

“Probably not the way you thought this date was going to go either” Glen retorts, watching as Billie finally turns to look at him beside her.

She grins at him, that same gorgeous, breathtaking grin, her beautiful eyes sparkling, and it takes everything Glen has not to roll over and kiss her right there in the middle of the gym.

“You guys killed it. Broke the record and everything” Keith says suddenly, standing over the two of them and clapping his hands. “Glen, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you work that hard before. But I guess you had some extra motivation this time”

Glen chuckles and Billie laughs, but it sounds strained through their panting breaths.

“And Billie, that was pretty incredible. You smashed it out of the park, awesome stuff”

“Thanks Keith” Billie breathes, still panting, offering a weak thumbs up before dropping her hand back down to the ground dramatically.

Keith laughs. “You’re welcome”.

They talk for a few more minutes before Keith announces that he has to run to see another client, Keith bending down to shake both of their hands before waving and walking out of the gym. 

Billie sits up and leans back on her hands, her legs still outstretched in front of her. Glen is still lying on his back beside her, dabbing his face with his sweat towel.

“Glen, that was fucked”

Glen tips his head back and laughs, dropping the towel back to the floor. “But you killed it”.

“I think it killed me” Billie replies exasperated, dropping head back and looking up at the ceiling, “I am going to be so sore tomorrow”.

Glen chuckles and moves to sit up from the floor, his sweaty skin sticking to the floor beneath him.

“I really need a shower”.

“That makes two of us” Billie laughs, “But I don’t think I can stand up”.

Glen laughs, letting out a groan of effort as he hauls himself upright and stands. He reaches down for Billie’s hand and pulls her up, unable to stop his eyes from flickering to boobs in the tight white tank she’s wearing.

God.

“I also need food” Billie announces, taking a long sip from her water bottle and smoothing back her sweaty hair,  “I’m suddenly starving”.

Glen nods in agreement. 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to grab a bite after this?” he asks, eyes searching her face as he looks down at her, “If you still have the day free of course”.

Billie’s lips part into a smile, and Glen can’t help the way his own smile grows. 

“My day is totally empty”

“Oh really?” Glen inquires, one eyebrow raised, “Does that mean I can steal you for dinner too?”.

Billie laughs, shrugging her shoulders adorably, “If you don’t get sick of me before then, sure”.

Glen shakes his head and reaches out to touch Billie’s arm, flashing her his most charming grin and loving the way she looks back at him in that moment. 

“I’m not sure that's actually possible Billie”.

Billie smiles, and Glen can’t tell if her cheeks flushing is from their workout or from his comment.

They walk over to their bags, Glen bending and handing Billie hers before bending to pick up his own. 

“Did you want to shower here? Or head home and meet up again?”

Billie shakes her head and holds out her hand, “I brought a change of clothes like you said, I’m happy to shower here. But it’s up to you?”

“No no, here’s good” Glen says, dabbing at his face again with his towel, “the bathrooms here are pretty fuckin’ amazing”. 

They walk towards the elevator and step in when the doors open, Billie’s perfume filling his nose as she brushes past. Glen presses the button for level 12, the two standing in comfortable silence as the doors close and they move up the building. 

The elevator dings and the doors open up to the reveal the luxury spa, shower and sauna level, Glen letting Billie step out in front of him.

“The female bathrooms are that way” Glen says, reaching up to run a hand through his sweaty hair, “I’ll meet you back out here?”

Billie nods, looking over in the direction of the bathrooms and back up at Glen with a soft smile.

“See you in a bit”.

---

Billie

This shower is better than the one at Billie’s house. No actually, it's the best shower she's ever used. At the gym of all places. 

It's all dark moody tile and black furnishings, the rainfall shower head providing the most amazing water pressure on her already aching muscles. Not to mention the luxury skin care products that are just free to use.

She’s in shower heaven. 

Or she would be, if Glen was in there with her.

Billie tips her head back and lets the warm water cascade over her, unable to think of little else except Glen. 

The way his muscles had rippled beneath his skin as he’d pulled himself up on the chin up bar, the way his biceps had flexed and moved as he’d picked up each dumbbell. Billie had barely been able to concentrate on her own exercises, not when Glen was looking like that, and certainly not when he was looking at her the way he had been. It was like he wanted to devour her - and if they hadn't been in public, she probably would have let him. 

Right there in the middle of the gym floor.

Their workout has left her feeling all wound up in more ways than one, like forty five minutes of insane heated foreplay without a finish line. If she were at home, she’d probably play with herself. 

She thinks about Glen in the shower, thinking about how badly she wants to have him pressed up naked against her, to feel his thick arms around her frame, his lips on her skin. 

Fuck.

What was this man doing to her? 

She wonders idly if he’s thinking about her the same way she is right now, suddenly remembering that he’s probably waiting for her outside and that she should get on with it. She exhales heavily through her nose and rinses the last of the soap suds from her skin, letting herself enjoy the shower for thirty more seconds before she turns off the tap.

Billie steps out of the shower and dries herself with the fluffiest white towel she’s ever used, changing into a pair of light blue mom jeans and a loose white button up shirt. She looks back at her reflection in the giant mirror of the luxury bathroom, tucking the front of her shirt loosely into the waist of her jeans and buttoning it just enough that it teases just a hint of cleavage.

She reapplies her makeup keeping it glowy and natural, using the gym’s very expensive hair dryer and blow waving her hair just enough that it’s tameable. She pulls her hair back into a loose braid leaving out a few face framing pieces, spritzing her favourite peachy perfume onto her neck and wrists. She steps back and looks over her reflection once more, deciding she’s happy with her look, packing up her things and walking out of the bathroom.

Billie does a double take when she walks out to find Glen sitting waiting for her on one of the cream leather lounges near the elevator, looking somehow even more handsome than he had earlier. 

He’s now dressed in a cream henley shirt and brown trousers, a pair of brown leather boots on his feet. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough that she can see the beginnings of his dark chest hair, his hair still damp from the shower and falling messily but somehow still perfectly.

As if he wasn’t handsome enough just looking like that, Billie feels her breath catch when he looks up and sees her, his lips parting in an utterly gorgeous smile.

Billie tries not to notice the way her body feels as his eyes run over every inch of her, following her hips as she walks towards him.

“You look gorgeous”.

Billie smiles. “See, I was just thinking that about you”.

Glen laughs and stands up in front of her, pressing the button for the elevator and holding open the door for her as they walk in. 

“Were you feeling anything particular for lunch?” he says looking down at her, Billie standing close enough to smell his delicious aftershave and fighting the urge to reply with ‘Besides you?’.

“I’m not fussy”.

Glen nods. “Good, I know just the place”.

---

Glen

“Were you really?” Billie asks, shaking her head in exasperation, “No way, I’ve seen that movie a thousand times, I’d have recognised you”

Glen laughs and nods his head, putting his hand on his heart to emphasize that he’s telling the truth,  “I swear I am. I’m in the stock exchange scene”. 

Billie’s brow furrows, like she’s replaying the scene in her head, and Glen chuckles when she reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. 

“No way. I have to look this up”.

They’d just had lunch - they’d gotten sandwiches at one of Glen’s favourite spots near the Santa Monica beach. It was a little hole in the wall place with an outdoor courtyard type area at the back, and best of all, it wasn’t too well known about. On this sunny Sunday afternoon, it was the perfect choice.

He and Billie are sitting side by side in a wooden booth together, having just finished their food. They’d been there nearly three hours now, the conversation and laughs between them flowing effortlessly. It’s only been two days, and yet somehow Glen feels like he’s known Billie for months. 

They’d been talking about music choices when they exercised, Billie revealing that she actually liked to listen to movie scores when she ran - namely, superhero movie scores, saying that they made her feel motivated and pumped to keep going. That had brought them to talking about The Dark Knight Rises, at which point Glen had laughed and told her that he was actually in that movie.

He keeps his eyes on her face as she types on her phone, looking over her glowy skin and dark lashes, her full lips that make him want to kiss her for hours.

He hears the beginnings of a video play, the familiar menacing voice of Tom Hardy’s Bane character, watching as Billie’s eyes suddenly light up, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

“Oh my God it is you!” she exclaims adorably, looking up at Glen and then back at her screen still in disbelief, “How have I not noticed that before? How old are you there? You look like a baby”.

Glen laughs and takes a sip of his soda bottle, tapping his fingers against the plastic. 

“Twenty-something---, twenty-four, I think?” he says just as he hears Bane smash his character’s head into a computer.

“You know, I actually got a real concussion during that take. Tom got a bit too into his character and instead of just tapping me on the head like he was supposed to, he actually slammed my head down. Had to go see a medic and everything”

Billie’s eyes widen in shock for the second time, a soft laugh of surprise slipping from her lips. “Oh my god, really?”.

He nods and they both laugh, Glen looking over Billie as she shifts in her seat to better face him.

The afternoon sun is warm and Glen has since shed his jacket, his gaze hidden behind his sleek sunglasses. He takes advantage of that fact, savouring every moment of his eyes on Billie’s available skin, the edge of a pale blue bra peeking out from the dip of her shirt from this new angle.

He tries not to notice the way one of her denim covered thighs is now pressed against his, or the way one side of her white shirt has slipped down to expose her golden collarbone. He finds his imagination wondering what her skin would taste like on his tongue, how it would feel beneath his lips if he kissed along it.

Billie lifts her hand to look down at her watch and back up at Glen.

“You need to go?”. 

“No no, just thinking about Nugget”.

“If you want to go home and check on him it’s okay Billie”

“I want to” she says, her voice trailing off into a pause, “But, I also don’t want to leave”.

Glen smiles back at her, his eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses.

“Well, how about this then?” he asks, reaching up to run his fingers through his now dry hair, “You go home and grab Nugget, and then the two of you come to mine a little later for dinner?”

Billie tilts her head as looks at him, the corner of her mouth tugging into a smile, “Oh that is incredibly tempting”.

He grins and leans in towards her, loving the way her gorgeous hazel eyes are looking back at him. 

“Anything I can do to make it even more so?”

Billie ponders for a moment, her eyes still on his, her tongue sliding out to wet her pink lips.

“Well, for starters, keep smiling at me like that” Billie says, leaning her elbow on the table between them and resting her cheek on her hand, “Do you have any idea how handsome you are? Like, it's almost unfair how attractive you are”.

Glen chuckles softly, the sound rumbling in his throat.

“I’ve been thinking that same thought about you since the moment I met you at Rufus, Billie”.

“Oh really? You think I’m handsome?” Billie teases, a laugh bubbling up in her throat.

Glen only grins, reaching up to brush a loose hair from her face, swearing he sees her suck in a silent breath.

“Actually you know what” Billie breathes, her voice almost a whisper, “I think there is something you can do to tempt me more so”.

Glen raises a curious eyebrow, acutely aware of how close his face now is to hers.

“What’s that darlin?”

Billie exhales quietly, her perfect lips stretching into a soft, sexy smile.

“Kiss me”.

Glen needs no instruction after that.

He tilts Billie’s chin with his finger and angles her face to his, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to hers.

---

Previous Chapter

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[yuujispinkhair]

Separation Anxiety (Chapter 01)

Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love

When a ritual separates Sukuna from Yuuji, Sukuna is delighted to find that besides having his own body, there is also another gift handed to him: The brat has lost all his memories and is now the perfect little plaything to take home and manipulate. At least, that's the plan. But the King of Curses isn't prepared for the feelings that come along with being human again. And another complication is how cute the brat is when he has no idea who Sukuna is and, instead of hating him, treats him with genuine love and affection. So, without realizing it, Sukuna suddenly finds himself on a journey of learning how to be loved and how to love.

Pairing: Sukuna x Yuuji Genre: Memory Loss AU, fluff, smut, light angst Word Count: 3k Playlist: Separation Anxiety Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of violence, dub-con (Yuuji has lost his memories, and Sukuna lies to him about being boyfriends). All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

This story is set in the canon JJK universe, but Shibuya and the Culling Game never happened. Yuuji is 20 years old and has already spent several years as Sukuna's vessel. The first half of this chapter is a flashforward moment set seven months after the separation ritual. After that, the story will be told in the chronologically correct order.

Chapter 01

Welcome to my cage, little lover (Bottom of the deep blue sea by MISSIO)

Tokyo, seven months after the separation ritual

He crosses the road at a slow pace smirking to himself. It would be so easy to kill everyone on this crossing. Barely a snap of his fingers is all it would take. But Sukuna feels no desire to do so. After all, he has two large cups of coffee to carry, one vanilla, the other caramel, and it would be a waste to spill them. He's grown rather fond of the taste of vanilla since he got a human body and can finally experience all human senses again.

It's a short way from here to the modern apartment complex he lives in now. It doesn't look as impressive as the temple he used to reside in a thousand years ago, where people came to pray to him and bring him sacrifices. But it has all luxuries that modern life has to offer. A penthouse in one of the most wealthy districts of Tokyo is quite fitting for a King.

He pushes through the nameless flock of mortals, gloating at the way the crowd seems to part for him, unconsciously sensing that there is something much more powerful than them walking this street. He wonders if the more sensitive ones experience a strange sensation when passing by the King of Curses. A light tingling on their skin or a sudden image of glowing red eyes staring at them.

The servant, or security man as he is called in these new times, at the entrance to the building Sukuna lives in nowadays, lowers his head in a polite bow. Sukuna nods at him before entering through the wide glass door and heading to the elevator that will take him to his penthouse.

Uraume picked the place for him while Sukuna was still trapped inside Yuuji's body. They chose only the best for their Master. A luxurious penthouse in a wealthy neighborhood right next to a park with a small shrine. At least a little something that reminds Sukuna of his former life a thousand years ago. He almost gets nostalgic when he gazes out the large floor-to-ceiling windows and sees the bright red of the Shinto shrine.

But that life is long gone, and admittedly the memories of it are hazy. He knows, though, that most of the time, he was horribly bored back then. His new life in these modern times offers more excitement.

He precariously balances the two cups of coffee on his left forearm while fishing his keycard from his pocket.

Sukuna steps into the elevator, checking his reflection in the floor-length mirror. He's still surprised whenever he sees how snugly modern clothes sit on his body, but he must admit that he looks good. During the last few months, he has taken a liking to tailored suits in red or black combined with fine dress shirts and ties. He looks dashing in them, just like those wealthy businessmen in the movies he watches. He laughs softly at the thought, watching how the corners of his lips lift in a genuinely amused expression.

The face looking back at him is very similar to the face he has seen reflected in mirrors and windows for years while watching the world through the eyeslits on his vessel's cheeks. Sukuna can see a lot of Yuuji in the face he is wearing now as his own. He isn't a carbon copy of him, though.

Sukuna has a hard time recalling how exactly he looked a thousand years ago before he abandoned his human body for his King of Curses form, the monstrosity with four arms and eyes. But he thinks he sees some of his original human appearance in his reflection now. The pair of light blue eyes that glitter like two sapphires, the angular jaw, and the high cheekbones are all things he recognizes. He was a beautiful man back then, admired by many. And he is beautiful now, a thousand years later.

Sukuna checks his wristwatch. 8:37. Good. He was pretty fast.

The elevator doors slide open, and Sukuna steps into his home and slips out of his fine dress shoes. He likes the clean look of his modern palace. Shiny white surfaces and high-quality furniture. Large wall panels depict scenes from the time when he was a human sorcerer. Magnificent vases full of blooming chrysanthemum flowers add bright colors and an ever-present soft flowery smell.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a majestic view over the huge city, fitting for a King who wants to overlook his kingdom. Or a God who gazes down at the worms he cursed to suffer and crawl at his feet. The shiny white marble floor is spotless and warm under Sukuna's feet. Another luxury of modern life.

But what Sukuna likes the most about this place is the large kitchen. An expansive room with all the lovely modern appliances that one can buy with money. The heart of every house. The perfect place to prepare every meal the King of Curses desires.

That's where Sukuna is headed now. He enters the kitchen and is just about to put the coffee cups on the marble countertop when he hears it.

"Kuna?"

A smile spreads over Sukuna's face. He turns around slowly, leaning against the counter, eyes fixed on the open double door.

And a moment later, Itadori appears in the doorway, fresh out of the shower, with a towel slung low around his hips. His damp hair is sticking up in funny places where he tried to rub it dry. Water droplets run down his tan, naked chest and over his defined abs before disappearing in the fluffy white towel around his hips.

And there it is again. That weird feeling Sukuna has been experiencing lately. That fluttery sensation in his stomach and the tightening in his chest. Not painful but strange because he cannot explain why it feels like he is filled with warmth.

Yuuji's golden eyes meet Sukuna's across the room, and the boy smiles that big smile that lights up his whole face. Like the sun has risen, not just outside the window, but here in the kitchen too.

"Ah, so I heard right! You are back! And you brought coffee, yay!"

He's practically bouncing over to Sukuna, eyes scanning the two large cups in Sukuna's hands. More happy laughter fills the room.

That's another thing that is so different from how Sukuna's former life was. He can't remember ever hearing laughter or other loud exclamations of joy in his former home. It was always eerily quiet in his temple. The few people who visited were ghostly silent, fearing to wake Sukuna's anger with a wrong move or wrong noise. The only one who talked to him was Uraume. But those were soft words, spoken in a respectful and humble way.

Yes, his former life had been very silent. Sukuna remembers that he found it maddeningly at times. That he thought it would drive him insane. The silence, the solitude, the absence of anything real. Everyone who came to see him only came because they wanted something from him, a prayer here, a plea there. Sukuna-sama, please grant us a good harvest. Sukuna-sama, please protect us from our enemies. Sukuna-sama, please accept this sacrifice so we will be in your favor.

He had been surrounded by fake smiles and whispered words. But, Itadori is never calculated or quiet. His laughter is loud and honest, just like everything about him is loud and warm, and passionate. He is so full of emotions, displaying them so openly. He is so full of life.

Warm fingers land on Sukuna's, caressing them before they take the cup from him. Golden eyes sparkle at Sukuna, and the boy beams at him,

"Aww, you even got caramel for me? Thank you, baby! You're the best!"

He is all in Sukuna's space, pressing against him, getting Sukuna's fine dress shirt wet as he kisses Sukuna's cheek with a loud smacking noise and a happy chuckle. Sukuna automatically wraps an arm around the boy's waist, laughing softly as he pulls him closer.

"Careful, darling, don't spill your coffee."

His lips brush over smooth skin, leaving a whisper of a kiss on a glowing, smiling cheek.

Seven months prior

A victorious smirk lights up Sukuna's face as he emerges from the scarlet drizzle of blood and the cloud of smoke that smells of potent magic. He lifts his hands into the air looking triumphantly at the movement of his fingers as he wiggles them experimentally.

It worked! The ritual was successful! He has a body! After a thousand years, the King of Curses can finally walk this world again freely in human form! This is different from just borrowing the brat's body for a few short moments. This is Sukuna's own flesh and bone now. He is truly reincarnated this time!

He laughs as he becomes aware of the pounding headache in his temples and the painful tension in the muscles on his back. Typical human sensations he hasn't felt in eons and certainly isn't fond of, but right now, they taste like sweet victory. He is no longer trapped in his domain where he felt nothing, and the years dragged on in a seemingly neverending numbness.

The pain of having a mortal body is something he welcomes in those first moments after being reincarnated. For someone who has spent the last thousand years as a shadow, it is astounding to feel those little inconveniences again.

Mankind is such a funny species, so weak and full of pain. But luckily, Sukuna is more than a mere human. He pulls on the cursed energy simmering under the surface. The powerful magic that runs through his veins and tingles potently on his fingertips. He has had enough taste of the ache that comes with being human.

The uncomfortable feeling in his back and head vanishes almost instantly, and Sukuna grins triumphantly. Unlike those maggots, Sukuna is a God walking the earth in the guise of a human.

He takes a step and frowns. There is still a strange sensation that didn't go away. A dull ache in his chest. He can't place his finger on what this feeling is. He can't remember ever experiencing it before. It's not outright pain. No pounding or stabbing. It's more like... the absence of something. A strange feeling of emptiness. Like a phantom pain from a limb that is missing.

Before Sukuna can analyze it more, the smoke around him dissolves, and he can take in the surroundings he gazed upon earlier still from inside the brat. He is in a large underground room. The former car park of an abandoned office building. Candles are arranged in complicated patterns, ancient incantations spelled out in Uraumes handwriting all over the floor and the walls.

Sukuna hums in approval. His loyal servant prepared everything perfectly. Uraume found a good place for the ritual, abducted a body they could use as the new shell for Sukuna's soul, and then lured the brat here during one of his missions.

Sukuna's gaze lands on the crimson-red pools of blood staining the floor. Why is there so much of it? Did the brat blow up or something? Sukuna huffs. Pathetic little worm.

He doesn't care whether the boy survived their separation or not, but he can't help but feel a hint of disappointment. He thought his vessel was more robust than this.

Sukuna follows the bloody trail across the room only to discover that the source of it isn't his former vessel's body. Instead, it's the severed limbs and head of a man Sukuna doesn't know. And that's when Sukuna's steps falter for a moment.

Scattered over the floor are the bloody remains of the body Uraume planned to reincarnate Sukuna into.

"I fear your soul is too strong to reincarnate in a mere mortal's body, Master Sukuna. It ripped him to shreds. But it seems you regained your original human body. So I hope you are pleased with this unexpected development."

Sukuna laughs softly as he turns to look at Uraume emerge from behind a makeshift altar and bow deeply to Sukuna.

"Oh, I am very pleased. This is by far more favorable than wearing a stranger's skin. And we got rid of the brat too. Let's.."

Sukuna stops abruptly as the hollow feeling in his chest suddenly increases, cutting off his air supply for a few seconds and filling him with a deep desperation that he cannot fathom. Blood is rushing loudly in his ears. His hands feel numb, fingers crooking weirdly in a claw-like gesture.

He is faintly aware of his servant's voice calling out to him. But he cannot bring himself to answer. Instead, something is tugging him forward, away from Uraume and towards the part of the room where the smoke hasn't cleared yet. Almost as if an invisible force is pulling him towards it.

With every step he takes, the strange feeling of emptiness in his chest lessens, and he can breathe more freely again.

Sukuna steps into the smoke, and his gaze catches a flash of color on the floor before him. A familiar shade of pink. Tousled pink hair, stained with blood, and a pair of wide golden eyes that look around feverishly.

Sukuna lifts an eyebrow. Oh? So the brat is still alive?

A chuckle escapes Sukuna's lips. The weird sickening feeling from a moment ago is gone. Instead, Sukuna feels an exhilarating tingle in his veins. A smug smirk is tugging at his lips as he shoves his hands casually into his pants pockets and takes in the sight in front of him.

Itadori Yuuji is lying on the dirty floor in a small pool of blood. A crumpled heap, lying on his side, curled up like a scared child, bloody and bruised. He looks like a broken puppet his Master threw away after getting tired of playing with it. He's shaking, and blood is running down his face from a wound above his right eye while he's hugging himself and rocking back and forth.

Oh, he looks beautiful like this! So broken and pathetic! Sukuna watches the boy with a triumphant glint as he slowly prods his shoulder with one foot.

"Well, well, what did I find here?"

Sukuna's tongue darts out to lick his lips. He likes the way things turned out. Not only does he have his own body now, but he also has Itadori right here at his mercy. This doubles the fun.

The brat is staring at him with wide, panicked eyes. Good, he's terrified. He knows he stands no chance against a fully reincarnated Sukuna. He knows he can't do anything to stop Sukuna from spreading his reign of terror over the world.

Sukuna will take his time with him! Make him suffer before he kills him! Toy with him like a cat plays with a mouse before it kills and eats it. Make him watch as Sukuna tortures and kills every person the boy ever cared about!

His triumphant thoughts get interrupted by Itadori's voice, unusually weak and full of fear,

"Who...Who are you? What happened? Where am I?"

Sukuna sneers at the brat.

"I won. That's what happened."

Golden eyes widen with utter confusion and blink at him uncomprehendingly.

"I don't understand. Won what? Who...who are you?"

Sukuna's eyes narrow. Why does the brat not recognize him? Sukuna hasn't seen his reflection yet, but Uraume said he looks like his former self, and that wasn't all that different from the brat's face. Plus, all his markings must still be clearly visible on his face. So what is the brat playing at? Could it be that he is confused after the ritual?

"Do you not remember who I am?"

There's a growing panic in the brat's eyes, and for a moment, Sukuna is sure he finally realizes who is standing in front of him. But the boy's next words contradict that,

"No... no...I don't know you... I.. Fuck.. I can't remember anything at all!"

His voice breaks at the last word, turning into a scared sob. His breaths come out in short pants as panic takes over.

Sukuna sighs and gets on one knee in front of Itadori. He puts a finger under the boy's chin, making him lift his face so Sukuna can inspect him thoughtfully.

There's genuinely no sign of recognition in those honey-colored eyes. Just confusion and fear. Could it be? Did he really lose his memories? Sukuna lets his gaze wander over the cut on the brat's forehead, that's still bleeding profusely. Apparently, he hit his head during the ritual. Maybe he had a concussion, and that caused temporary memory loss.

It makes Sukuna laugh gloatingly.

The brat has always been stupid, but right now, he is outright ridiculous. Utterly helpless in his state of confusion. He doesn't know a thing in the world right now. He doesn't know how strong he is. He doesn't know that he usually runs headfirst into danger without any regard for his own safety. He doesn't know that he is a hero. Right now, he is just a weak and lost little thing.

Sukuna feels a spark of desire shoot through him at the thought. Seeing the usually so stubborn and rude brat so pathetic and scared turns him on.

Sukuna gives it one last try:

"Your name is Itadori Yuuji. You used to be my vessel. The vessel of Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses."

The brat's face just scrunches up in more confusion.

"What?"

And Sukuna roars with a new fit of laughter.

"You really lost your mind, didn't you, brat? How cute!"

Sukuna lets go of the brat's chin and gets to his feet again just when the soft voice of Uraume drifts to his ears.

"Are you feeling alright, Master Sukuna?"

"I am feeling splendid!"

He smiles over his shoulder at Uraume, stepping to the side so his servant can see the boy lying at his feet.

"Oh, you found your former vessel. Do you want me to get rid of him for you, Master?"

Sudden irritation washes over Sukuna. His reply is harsher than he remembers ever talking to Uraume before,

"No! Don't touch him!"

He can see Uraume's eyes widen, but they let their hands sink obediently to their sides again and bow to him,

"Excuse me, Master. Of course, I won't touch him if you forbid it. What shall we do with him then?"

"We're taking him with us."

Why would he want to get rid of the brat when he is in such a beautiful state of confusion? It's too perfect of an opportunity to pass on. Sukuna just got handed his detested former vessel at his most vulnerable. Sobbing and terrified, void of all the memories of his former life. So perfect to toy with to Sukuna's heart's content.

Sukuna's face lights up in a cruel smirk, and he adds gleefully.

"The brat has lost his mind. I want to see his face when he realizes what has happened."

The brat looks at him uncomprehendingly before his eyes roll back, and he slumps back to the floor in a graceless unconscious heap.

Sukuna snorts and picks him up, throwing him over his shoulder and signaling Uraume to lead the way to his new home. It doesn't even occur to him to order his servant to carry the boy. Itadori is Sukuna's personal matter.

Triumph is pumping through his veins. He came out of this whole thing as the clear victor. Finally, he has a human body. The King of Curses is walking the streets of Tokyo in the flesh, ready to take over the reins of this modern world. And he even got a little welcome-back gift. A confused Itadori Yuuji who is entirely at his mercy.

The so-called perfect vessel, which was nothing but a cage to hold Sukuna back. But not anymore. Now Sukuna is free, and the boy is nothing. Reduced to a powerless and pathetic object of ridicule. A plaything for the King's enjoyment. Sukuna will decide what to do with him later when the brat's mind works again. Kill him or fuck him, or make him watch as Sukuna burns the whole world down.

"We will have lots of fun, brat."

Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of my new Sukuita story!! I first started to write some scenes for this about one and a half years ago. This AU was the very first idea I had for this ship, and I am so happy that I could finally put it into words and publish it! It's a big comfort to me to write my own version of how Sukuna and Yuuji deal with their separation.

I have already written all 15 chapters of this story. I still have to edit them, but I hope I can publish a new chapter every week!

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!! Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs make me happy!

#sukuita #sukuna #sukuna x yuuji

[partially-controlled-chaos]

New Life Shall Prosper, ch. 3

Pairing: Halsin x Reader (as gender neutral as possible, given the context)

Rating: T? (not really smut, but there are some little spicy moments later on)

Warnings: Little spicy moments, but nothing extreme. Pregnancy complications, birthing process that isn't graphic, so much dialogue

Summary: Months after the fall of the Absolute, you and Halsin have carved a happy life for yourselves within Thaniel's Realm, making a safe haven for all. A life full of hope and prosperity, only enhanced once you discover the very real possibility that you are with child.

Word Count: 10.9K

an: Finally had time to finish this chapter up after a very long work week. I've got one more chapter planned for this fic and it'll be complete! Thank you so much to everyone that had interacted with this series and enjoyed it!!

Follow up to this post.

Read on AO3 here if you prefer!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4

Masterlist

Supper by the campfire always brought back fond memories of your days on the road and you admittedly missed the nights of fun and story telling that would follow a long day of battle. Although the tadpoles were certainly a looming threat, the laughter that would erupt from the camp always made things a bit lighter. That’s not to say you didn’t enjoy the suppers you shared now under Thaniel’s Realm. Even though your small army of children listen to stories more than they shared their own, you adored the excitement that would show when a long tale was about to begin. They certainly preferred Halsin’s stories, but were quickly adapting to yours.

They’d had plenty of time to grow accustomed to your stories. What was meant to be a journey lasting only a ten-day had quickly surpassed the mark. A ten-day turned to a fortnight. A fortnight stretched into a full month. And the full month stretched into the beginning of a second. And now time was about to eclipse the end of the second month and Halsin still had not returned home with the scouting party. Because they had yet to return and you hadn’t received so much as a bird with a notice, you were unsure of how everything was. They could be lost, dead, fighting more, or possibly worse, but you had no way of knowing. You tried not to let this bother you in front of the children, not wanting them to worry either, so you always made it a point to tell the most exciting stories and perform with the enthusiasm of a bard reciting an epic tale. But deep down, you were worried. You wanted them all to return home safely, but you were mostly worried about your lover.

The children were huddled at your feet, seated on the ground before you after filling their bellies with the nightly supper. You had gathered them around the fire for their nightly tale, struggling to come up with one for the evening; your mind more focused on the lack of a druid than an engaging tale. You seated yourself on a log stump, sighing at the relief that came with no longer having to stand. By this point, you were in the last stages of your pregnancy and were mere days away from giving birth. Your belly had grown to as large as it would, making most movement difficult and uncomfortable. Not to mention the swelling and aches that accompanied the later stages. 

“Will you tell us another story? Please, please! About an adventure!” Begged a child from the middle of the group, bouncing with excitement in their seat.

“No, no a battle!” Shouted another. The questions from the children broke your mind of its thoughts, pulling you back to the present quickly.

“Let me think,” you said while lightly tapping your chin with a finger with a playful grin, “have you been told the story of the frog of the bog?” You were greeted by a series of giggles and whispers. You couldn’t help but smile at the enjoyment in the children’s faces as they eagerly awaited your story; after seeing so many displaced children around the city that were scared and alone, it brought a great joy to your heart to see them enjoying the smaller things life could offer.

“I thought you said this was going to be a story about a battle?” Asked a child in the front of the group.

“Oh, but it is!” You said enthusiastically, “One of my greatest and most difficult.” As serious as you were, you couldn’t help but giggle at the look on the children’s faces. It was obvious that they didn’t believe that someone who had saved them from tentacle-faced monsters struggled to fight a tiny little frog.

“Frogs aren’t tough. They’re small and don’t even have teeth!” Shouted a younger tiefling, “Do they?”

“This one was fierce, my doves! Small and unassuming, but quite the challenge. Let me explain, little ones.” The children huddled tighter around at your feet, their excitement almost humming in the atmosphere as they eagerly awaited your tale. 

You told the children the story of the addled frog you and your companions had stumbled across in the swamps near Ethel’s lair; the poor creature having been driven to the brink of madness from the hag. With kindness being in your nature, you had wanted to help the frog in any way you could, knowing what monsters lurked deep in the swamps only fueling the desire. But, given the confusion of the poor creature and your inability to speak with animals, what had initially started out as something close to a rescue mission, resulted in one of the genuinely tougher battles you had faced while playing host to a tadpole.

The ferocity and strength of the frog had caught you off guard, giving you a disadvantage when the small creature suddenly turned hostile against you and your party. You remember the stings of the poison released from the creature, the faintest of scars still on your body from the encounter. You expressed to the children the intensity of the battle and how one unsuspecting amphibian had downed three of your companions and had almost taken yourself in the process. The children gasped and squealed with excitement as you told your story, trying your best to move around and almost animate the fight for them, given the weight of your pregnancy.

As the children murmured amongst themselves about what you had shared of your story so far, your breath hitched. A sharp, unfamiliar sensation shot across your lower abdomen; not exactly painful but surprising enough to catch you off guard. It wasn’t a movement from the child or a rumble from something you had eaten, but something else you couldn’t quite place. You lightly pressed your fingers against the source of the discomfort and adjusted yourself in your seat, hoping the change in position would take away the feeling. The pressure and seating changed helped for a few moments, allowing you to recompose yourself, but when another wave made its way across again, you realized what you were experiencing; a contraction.

“Please, little one,” you whispered, “just wait a little longer. Just a few more days, please, my little love.” Your hand rested along the tender spot of your belly as you pleaded with your child, begging them to wait until Halsin’s return. Another mild contraction rippled across, seemingly lighter this time. You prayed to the Oak Father that this was simply false labor and could still be allotted a few more days to wait for Halsin. He had been gone much longer than the promised ten-day and your faith in him returning in time for the birth was dwindling rapidly. 

You also offered a quick, silent prayer to Silvanus that Halsin would return and soon. He needed to be here; he deserved it. Halsin had expressed his excitement about the child to you in the months prior, the smile on his face had never been so big as he spoke of wanting to hold the baby in his arms with you by his side. He had also confided that he never realized just how badly he wanted a child of his own until he had figured out that you were pregnant. Centuries of duty and responsibility had barred him from starting his own little family, and given that he was the only surviving member of his family, he had come to terms with being the last of his line. But now that you were expecting, he was overjoyed with the idea of his very own little one running around.

And this excitement was present in everything he had done in the months since. Halsin put in a labor of love to hand craft a crib from the finest wood of the area, carving and engraving as if it would be his lasting masterpiece to this world. He had whittled toys for the child from similar wood and you always found him carving away when there was downtime and had started nesting almost immediately. There was a newfound youth and spring in his step that had only increased the closer you came to your delivery date. He no longer treated every day as if he was an old man pining for missed opportunities. Now, he was a young man bursting at the seams with anticipation. 

Along with this, he made sure that you wanted for nothing, until now at least. Right now, you wanted him home. Halsin deserved the chance to witness the birth of the child and be the first one to hold them in a loving embrace. You knew that was what he wanted as well. You both had been adamant that when the time came for your labor to begin, he would be there by your side to help in any capacity, but also be the one to deliver the child into the world. He was an accomplished healer so anything that could threaten either of your lives could be remedied by him, but also for the simple fact that he wanted to be there for every step. 

To see nature in action in welcoming the first bit of new life into this once barren wasteland would be euphoric to him; added satisfaction because it was his child that would break the curse of death in the lands. But, more selfishly, you wanted him home because you were terrified to give birth alone. However, given the circumstances and the new pain shooting across your abdomen, it was becoming more and more likely that your greatest fear would become a reality. 

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

With a huff and more effort than you’d like to admit, you seated yourself on one of the old stumps by the market, your basket of collected produce dropping to the ground. Your fingers rubbed against the side of your belly, trying to coax whatever limb was sitting in your ribcage to move to a more comfortable position, your eyes closing at the momentary reprieve. Much to your relief and praise, the pains you had felt the night prior were merely symptoms of false labor and not the actual act, although the discomfort you’d felt since was never ceasing. By this point, your belly had dropped and you had a much harder time moving around, signaling that you were rapidly nearing the end of your pregnancy. And as much as you wanted Halsin home for the birth, you were also ready for the experience to be over. Movement was difficult and mostly unpleasant and you had become reliant on others for usually simple tasks; something you were not overly fond of.

What was supposed to be a quick trip to the market for food ended up taking much longer than expected. Frequent breaks and rests were needed just to get through the sizable market and by the time you had finished, you were exhausted. With the evening sun now low in the sky, you were ready for a warm bath and the comfort of your bed. Reluctantly, you’d decided to skip the communal dinner and story time with the children to simply retire early. Nesting had taken root in the past weeks, urging you to have everything ready and perfect for the arrival of your little one. Now that you were there and satisfied with the state of everything in your home, the only thing you wanted now was to rest and wait. However, the peacefulness of the late afternoon was quickly interrupted by stirring sounds in the distance.

Your eyes shot open and head turned as you heard the increasingly encroaching sounds of commotion coming from the edge of town. You felt fear grip your heart, unsure if the sounds were of the people you now considered your family or an another onslaught of Absolutists assaulting your home. Your eyes darted around, scanning anything and anyone that moved in an attempt to get a feel for the situation. You saw people, children included, rushing towards the entrance to your home, but fear was not an emotion present. The sense of urgency in the crowd wasn’t from the need to escape, but the need to embrace. It wasn’t until you saw familiar faces filtering in past the people of the realm that you realized why there was such a fuss at the gates.

The scouting party had returned.

You felt your heartbeat quicken as you tried to lift yourself from the tree stump, cursing yourself for the amount of time it took recently for you to come to your feet after sitting for too long. You groaned softly when you finally managed to get up, leaving your basket of procured produce at the base of the stump as you made your way towards the gates as quickly as you body would allow. Due to the size of your belly, your speed was anything but swift and your walk was more of a waddle, but nevertheless you hastened your steps the closer you came to the gate. You held your breath, pausing to both rest and scan the crowd for Halsin. Given his height, he would be easy to see standing a head and shoulders taller than anyone else nearby.

Your held breath released when your eyes finally landed on Halsin, who had already been swarmed by every child that now dwelled in these lands. You laughed as he was surrounded by dozens upon dozens of excited children, some going to far as to latch onto his limbs in an attempt to pull him to the ground. Nothing was malicious, of course. You had frequently seen the children swarm Halsin while in bear form and after almost two months of being gone, they had certainly missed their favorite shapeshifting druid. You watched as the elf tried his best to greet each child or give them a pat to their head, but also noticed he kept looking around him, searching for someone particular in the crowd of people beginning to form around the returned scouting party. 

“You’re quite popular for someone who came to supper so late.” You teased as you waddled your way to him, weaving through half the children of the realm in the process. Your voice instantly grabbed his attention, his head whipping around to where you stood, the biggest smile you’d seen from him quickly gracing his features as he drank your from in. Halsin attempted to make his way through the onslaught of children, but had to yield until he’d said hello to each and every one. You didn’t mind waiting; just seeing him in front of you after so long was enough to sate your worries. When the final child had departed and scampered off with the rest, Halsin held out his hand to you and pulled you to him, the feeling of your hand in his taking his breath away.

“Look at you,” Halsin said breathily as he cupped your cheeks with his hands, “By Silvanus, you’re more beautiful each time I set my eyes upon you. Are you certain you’re not a deity disguised as a mortal? Sent from the heavens themselves? Kiss me, my heart, and let me know that you are real.” His lips were on yours in an instant and the feel of them sent your mind spinning. Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest, excitement, relief, and a dozen other sensations were swirling in your mind as you finally felt the kiss of your lover on you after so long. 

You finally pulled from Halsin’s lips when the last bit of remaining air had been sucked from your lungs, leaving them burning, but you gaze never faltered. You felt hot tears begin to prickle the corners of your eyes as your lip quivered, your words sticking in your throat as you voice threatened to crack. Happy tears, of course, but with the amount of hormones swirling through your bloodstream, you soon found yourself sobbing with a wide smile spread across your face. 

You forcefully pulled the druid into a hug before he had time to soothe your tears. Your arms firmly wrapped around his neck as you stood on you the tips of your toes to embrace him. His size being one factor that made hugging difficult, but the swell of your pregnant belly almost keeping you at arms length. You felt Halsin’s hand snake along your back as the other wormed its way into your hair; holding the back of your head as he pressed your frame to his as best as possible. His lips made contact with the top of your head and you melted into his embrace. 

“Are you all right, my heart?” He asked with a slight chuckle, finding your surge of emotions amusing. You felt his nose nuzzle against the crown of your head, taking in your distinct scent that he had so greatly missed.

“Gods yes,” you said through a few remaining sniffles, “now that you’re back. I was so afraid you wouldn’t come home.”

“I’m here,” he said against your hair as his hand slowly ran along your backside, “I’m here.” 

You stood together in each others embrace for a long while, simply enjoying the feel of each other after months apart. Your head settled to his chest, your ear pressed against him so you could hear the steady thumping of his heart beneath you. It was something tangible and real to keep you grounded and reminded you that this was real and not simply a luxurious daydream you were having while napping in the summer sun. Despite the seemingly slim odds and your own reservations, Halsin had proven you wrong and returned home before the birth of your child. And with this, you had never been so happy to be wrong in your life.

“How lucky I am,” Halsin said proudly, “to have the most beautiful creation of nature in my arms again. I’ve longed to set my eyes on you again, my heart.” He took a step back, still clutching your hand in his, and took his time in observing you. You felt a slight flush begin to rush to your cheeks, but quickly pool in your abdomen at his lingering stare. The slightest of smirks settled along his lips as his gaze washed over your heavily extended belly and you felt chill bumps form along your arms and the back of your neck as his fingers grazed over the swell. It wasn’t long before he pulled you to him again, his eyes ever so slightly darker as his eyes settled on the plushness of your lips.

“You must be starving.” You said after you’d heard a rumble from deep within his chest. Although you weren’t entirely sure if he was ravished for a bite to eat or something a bit more pleasurable. 

“Famished,” Halsin panted as his lips caught your cheek, “although the only thing I have an appetite for is standing here in front of me.” Halsin’s voice was low as he spoke against your ear, his lips quickly descending upon your neck, leaving wet kisses in his wake. Your skin prickled again at his words, filling you with excitement. 

“There are others watching.” You whispered as you glanced around the crowd. You didn’t catch the first glance your way, but you would have preferred more intimate touches to be in the comfort of your home or even in a secluded section of nature.

“I don’t think it’s much of a secret as to what we’ve been up to.” He chuckled as he ran his palm along the expanse of your abdomen and settle along your hips.

“Behave.” You whispered playfully before Halsin’s lips were on yours once again, heated and hungry. Soft growls escaped his lips as he deepened the kiss, lovingly assaulting your lips with tongue and teeth, the intensity behind it mirroring the passion displayed the first night you spent together while on the road to Baldur’s Gate. Your kiss was short lived and broken when the dull ache that had been present in your lower back for the better part of a week flared up again, causing you to grimace and groan as you attempted to stretch out the cramp. 

“Are you truly all right?” He asked after you had parted, “Anything I can do, please, tell me.”

“I am,” you said as you stretched your back a final time to alleviate the ache, “just a bit sore is all.”

“Then let’s head for home, my heart.” He said as the grip on your hips tightened ever so slightly, “I do believe I have a remedy for such matters.”

“Are you sure?” you asked as you felt Halsin gently begin to walk to you backwards in the direction of your home, “I’m sure there are others who would wish to welcome you back and there is still supper over the fire. I can’t hog you all to myself, as nice as that sounds.” 

“Festivities and greetings can wait.” He said before stealing another kiss from your lips, “There will be plenty of time to enjoy the company of everyone later. But right now the center of my world needs attending to.” 

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

“More?” Halsin’s voice was low in your ear and you could feel the smirk on his lips as he kissed along your jawline. 

“In a moment, my love,” you said between heavy breaths, “certain activities are a bit more labor intensive for someone with my condition.” Your head rested on his broad chest as you slowly came down from your peak, your body trembling slightly at the exertion you weren’t used to.

You both sat together in your bed, clothes having been discarded the moment you entered the room, with your limbs and bodies tangled together to feel as much of the other against yourselves as you could. Given the size of your belly, you sat beside Halsin, but faced him as best you could. Your legs were draped over his lap, legs intertwined with each other as he held you close to him. His arms were wrapped around you securely, both occupied with separate motions. One of his large arms focused solely on holding you close to him. His hand pressed lightly on your upper back while his fingers toyed with the hair along the nape of your neck, causing chills at the softest of touches.

  The other, which had previously been focused on your pleasure, had begun to run along the swell of your hip and down your leg until reaching the knee and returning again. He applied pressure as his fingers slowly traced along your skin, relieving some of the tension your muscles held from carrying the weight of your child. His lips remained at your neck, kissing ever so slowly along the column of your throat and down to your shoulder before returning. His touch was soft and intimate, a contrast to the fast and almost feral movements from earlier, but both were filled with nothing but love and admiration for the moment you could finally share after his long absence. 

You bit your lower lip softly to suppress a moan as his fingers found a particularly tight muscle on the underside of your thigh, your sounds causing his fingers to stay and work out the knot. Halsin pulled his lips away from the earlobe he’d been nibbling on and worked his way along your jaw until his lips met yours, kissing them tenderly before coaxing you to part your lips.

“Let me hear you, my heart,” Halsin whispered to you, “I’ve gone far too long without hearing the sound of your voice. I want to hear every melodious whimper and cry that comes from your lips.”

“You’ll hear it in due time, don’t worry about that.” You said as you relaxed more into his embrace, your head resting by his shoulder, “Gods, how I’ve missed you.” Your fingers lightly traced along the muscles of his abdomen, noting that they had become slightly leaner in his time away.

“You won’t have to worry about us parting for long again, my heart. That I can assure you.” His hand made its way to the lower half of your legs, repeating the same motions as before in the expanse that rested between your knee and ankle.

“Mmm good. Tell me everything,” you said as you lightly pecked at his chest with your lips, your fingers still ghosting across his abdomen, “the children aren’t the only ones who have missed your stories.” 

In the excitement of his return and the time taken to make up for lost kisses and sensual embraces, you hadn’t had the chance to ask what had taken the trip much longer than expected. And as much as you’d rather sit and continue becoming reacquainted with each other, the survivor in you wanted to ensure that everything was indeed safe. You knew Halsin wouldn’t have returned if a threat still remained, but you wanted to hear it from his lips; you wanted the confirmation. Curiosity was also getting the better of you when trying to determine how Halsin felt about the trip. As you knew, Halsin was partial to roaming instead of staying in one area for too long. Of course he’d stayed in the Grove for well over a century, but it was out of duty and he admitted himself that he left as often as he could to explore the expanse of nature.

Since the fall of the Absolute and the settlement of the realm you now called home, neither of you had been away for a single day; the one exception being the small reunion with your companions that had been organized by Withers not too long ago. So, now that Halsin had the chance to be on the road again and step away from the duties of your home, you were wondering if he maybe would like to indulge in more travels once your little one was born. You weren’t opposed to the idea of traveling again, but admittedly you had grown rather fond of your little settlement and traveling with a newborn was less than ideal.

“We found the camp of goblins the scouts had discovered before we left,” Halsin’s voice snapped you from your thoughts, “it was small, not well defended, easily taken care of. If that had been the only problem I could have turned to you in less than a week.” With your head still resting on his chest, you turned to catch his glance, the story piquing your interest.

“I take it you found more.” You said softly, your question being answered simply by the look of exhaustion hiding behind his eyes.

“Dozens of other encampments spanning far across the area,” he pulled his hand from your leg to wave it in the air as he spoke, “they varied in size, but none were too large. Never had any serious injuries, Oak Father be praised. Well, no serious injuries for us; I can’t say the same about any cultists we found.” He chuckled softly with his statement, his hand returning to caress your legs still seated in his lap.

“I wanted to return,” he continued, “more than anything, but it was too large a threat. Of course they didn’t pose the threat that the Absolute did, but they still held the viciousness that the infected once had. There was always the possibility that more would return to us, like the ones that made the foolhardy attempt and lost their lives because of it. Or these fanatics could threaten other people, other communities even. They may have been small in number, but left unchecked it could have easily grown.”

“You did the right thing, love.” You murmured before reaching up to place a soft kiss to his cheek. You could sense the guilt weighing on him, the look on his face giving it away. As much as you selfishly would have wanted him to stay home with you, you knew in your gut that by sacrificing a few months apart would be worth the cost if it meant protecting your home and those around it. 

“I know, and I don’t regret it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel some sense of guilt in leaving you.” You felt him you pull you closer as if you could slip away if he didn’t keep a firm grip to your frame.

“I’ll have you know that I defeated an entire Netherbrain not that long ago. I think I’m capable of taking care of myself.” You teased as you wrapped your arms around Halsin’s neck, your hands finding purchase in his hair.

“Oh I know you are, my heart, but you also weren’t close to delivering a child when you did so.” You felt his touch softly travel along your stomach, almost tickling with the faintness of his touch, “I kept track of the days as best I could. A few days got lost with travel, but I was able to keep track of them well. I grew more anxious the longer we stayed. I had practically convinced myself that by the time I returned you would have already given birth. I’ve never been more thankful to Silvanus than I was when I saw that you hadn’t.” 

“Admittedly, there were a few close calls.” Your voice was quiet, “I was sure that just last night would be the time.” Halsin caught your gaze, the idea of him missing the birth by a few hours had briefly shaken him, but quickly dissipated as he spoke again.

“Although the cultists aren’t the only reason you don’t have to fret about me departing.” Your brows came together when you realized what he meant, the idea novel to your perception of him.

“You didn’t enjoy your journey otherwise? I would have thought you would enjoy seeing nature outside of our little realm.” You said with a slight tilt to your head.

“Oh I did, and I always will, of course, but the journey was abysmal. I found myself longing for this place we call home the moment I stepped foot out of the realm. My heart ached to return here; to return to you. You were my first waking thought every morning and the last image my mind would settle on before resting for the evening. I may have been away from you, but in my dreams we were here together, with our little one, truly living.” Halsin’s forehead quickly came into contact with yours and you quickly felt him nuzzle into your touch. You both closed your eyes, simply enjoying the touch of the other. 

“I thought roaming was…in your nature?” You said with a wave of your hands, struggling to remember just how he had phrased it to you long ago.

“It is,” he said with a chuckle at your attempts to use his own words against him, “but lately I’ve craved it less and less. Roam our lands, yes, but to venture much farther out of it, not so much. It’s still there, buried deep, but I would much rather stay here. Stay with the life we’ve built, with the people we’ve bonded with and the children of course, but I want to be here by your side.”

“Why the change?” You were surprised by his answer. For as long as you’d known the druid, you knew he was always partial to roaming. Staying in one place for very long was out of the ordinary for him. You’d always considered him to be restless, but now you were beginning to think there was more to the behavior.

“Straying showed me just how deep my roots have settled. I’ve never really had them take hold like this, but it’s a welcomed thought. Emerald Grove was my place of dwelling for a long while, but it never truly felt like home. There was always the looming weight of responsibility and leadership. I’d never truly felt wanted or like I belonged. I don’t feel that here, however. Here, I feel like I am where I’m meant to be.” 

With a gentle tug, Halsin urged you to change your seating. You untangled your legs from his and let him move you to where he wanted you. You found yourself now fully seated in his lap, legs straddling the expanse of his hips as your belly pressed against the muscles of his abdomen. He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, allowing himself a clear view of your face. You knew him well enough by now to know when he was on the verge of something deeply sentimental and even vulnerable; always wanting to look you intimately in the eyes as he laid his heart bare for you. He gripped your chin lightly with his thumb and forefinger, bringing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before speaking.

“I was lost before you came bounding into my life.” Halsin said softly, “Lost, miserable, lonely. The burdens of the everything had gotten to me, started eating away at my spirit. I had resigned myself to my fate while in the goblin camp. I was certain I would die there, although it wouldn’t be without a fight. I knew no one was coming for me. No one from the grove would dare step foot in that encampment. But then here you come. Without a sliver of doubt in your voice you defended a lone, blood thirsty bear in a cage. You cut down the goblins and their leaders and granted me my freedom.”

“You defended the grove I called home, despite the politics festering in its heart having nothing to do with you. You didn’t have to protect the tieflings or show the corruption of Kagha, but you did. From the goodness of your heart you did what was right.” Halsin pressed a finger to the center of your chest, tapping your skin lightly as he continued.  

“Not only that, but by letting me journey with you from that moment on you saved me from a fruitless leadership what was eating away at my soul. I’ve said this before, but I was losing myself. Forgetting who I was or why I fought for the things I did. But you lifted the veil from my eyes and showed me compassion. Kindness. Understanding. You never questioned my beliefs or personal politics. And you never have. You’ve been nothing but accepting and open minded. Especially after the mishap with the beast.” The ghost of embarrassment quickly crossed his features and you soothed the feelings away with the touch of your hand.

You smiled at the thought, your mind instantly going back to the first night you shared together. In the heat of the moment, Halsin had lost control of the bear inside him, wild shaping at an inopportune time. You recalled the moment that immediately followed once he had shifted back, your mind focusing on the embarrassment and shame that had come over him for losing control. He had apologized profusely and had fully expected you to turn him away or even be angry with him. But you understood that he meant no harm in the act; it was purely accidental. If anything, you felt more flattered that he had gotten worked up enough simply by looking at your naked form that he temporarily lost control of himself. You had reassured him that everything was all right in that moment. Your mind then shifted to the look of happiness and relief that had come across him when you did so; a look very similar to the one he was giving you now.

“You were willing to sacrifice yourself countless times to save Thaniel and lift the curse that once plagued these lands. You went out of your way to help me do something I was unable to do in a century. You saved these lands, my heart. You brought the light back to this place we now come home. Then at the end of it all, you turned down a life of fame and glory and chose me. Of all the people who are in your life, you chose me. That is still baffling, but I bask in your choice every day. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t thank the Oak Father for sending you to me. You are a gift. You are a blessing.” Halsin kissed you again, still lovingly running his hands along your body. 

Gods, how you loved this man. And his love for you was ever present and seemed to grow with each passing day. You were rendered speechless, unsure how to respond at such a confession. Your lips continued to meet, slow and deep, as you whispered your feelings of love between each touch of the lips. Eventually, you came to a stop and Halsin spoke again.

“I was terrified that we wouldn’t return in time,” Halsin said after a period of silence, his voice soft and gentle, “That I wouldn’t return to you in time when you needed me most. After everything you have done for me since I’ve know you, I was so afraid that I would fail you when you needed me.”

“So was I,” you admitted as you took his hand in yours and placed it atop your belly, “but don’t dwell on it anymore, my love. You’re home and safe. And any day now we can welcome this darling little one into this world we’ve created. Together.”

“I’m sorry, my heart.” Halsin pressed his lips to the crown of your belly as if seeking forgiveness. 

“Don’t apologize,” you said as you pulled his head from your abdomen and softly stroked his cheek with the back of your hand, “You did what was necessary. You kept our home safe; I should be thanking you instead of you apologizing to me. But we can discuss niceties later. After all, we have plenty of other things we could be doing now that we’re together again.”

“Tell me.” He said simply. You felt his hand knead along the soft expanse of your hips, increasing in intensity the more you lingered with your response.

“For starters, we have a chance to steal a few more moments like this for ourselves,” you said softly while slowly dragging the tip of your finger along his ear, “we have a lot to catch up on.” You felt Halsin’s skin prickle along his neck at your ministrations, the sensitivity of his ears always being a weak spot, and you heard a low growl come from deep within his chest and caught the faintest glow of gold sparkle in his eyes.

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

“Easy now, love,” Halsin said in an attempt to calm your nerves, “you’ve got this. Focus on me, all right?” You tried to make sense of what he was telling you, but you could only focus on the pain tearing through your body. Your grip on his hands threatened to break his bones, but he held on firmly without wavering. He was knelt in front of you, his hands grasped firmly in yours as you reclined as best you could in your pile of pillows and blankets, gritting through your teeth as you endured another contraction. You had been laboring for hours, enduring steadily increasing contractions and labor pains with no actual progress being made. You were exhausted and weak; walking the fine line between enduring and giving up.

Sweat poured from your brow and ran down your temples and neck, settling on your heaving chest. It burned against the heat of your skin, adding yet another layer of discomfort to your current state of being. The night was unusually warm, the slight breeze occasionally blowing through the open window provided no relief; just another wave of warm air against your body. The faintest dribble of tears fell from your clenched eyes, mingling with the sweat covering your face.

When your current wave of pain subsided, you released your grip on Halsin’s hands and flopped back onto your mound of pillows, an exasperated sigh coming from your lips. Your limbs were shaking from exertion and pain and your mind was foggy. Taking the opportunity to tend to you during a brief period of reprieve, Halsin dipped a cloth in a bowl of cool water, wringing it out before wiping it across your brow gently. Your forehead, upper lip, neck, chest, or anything that was saturated with sweat and tears were cleaned gently, the coolness of cloth providing a few seconds of relief.

“Almost two days of this and nothing to show.” You said between pants, your eyes transfixed on the ceiling as you tried to regain some control of your breathing, “This is more difficult than that damned frog.”

“You’ll have to elaborate, my love.” Halsin said as his head raised to meet you, finding your thoughts to be a bit questionable, given the circumstances. Your mind had suddenly focused to the story you told the children only a few days ago; the one that detailed the perilous battle between yourself and the swamp frog. You focused on how you felt after the battle and how difficult it had been, being unsure if you would see it to the end. You had questioned if you would live to see another day after watching your companions fall one by one to something that seemed so simple.

Instead of being comforted by the knowledge of knowing you had survived a difficult battle, you couldn’t help but focus on the feeling of hopelessness and defeat that came with both the frog and the current status of your labor. Child birth had seemed so simple when you first discovered you were with child; too overwhelmed by the thoughts of being able to hold your little one in your arms and being impatient to do so. But now you felt the weight of your labor settle upon you and the doubts it caused in your mind. Much like your experience with the frog, you truly weren’t sure if you or your child would see things through to the end. After all, the frog ultimately died by your hand. You were tired. So, so tired. Hours had come and gone and nothing had changed. Instead, you were dancing precariously close to the edge of not having the strength to continue.

“I’ll tell you the story later.” You said after a period of silence. “I don’t know if I can…” Your voice tapered off, beginning to crack as tears threatened to fall from your eyes again.

“You can, my heart.” Halsin said firmly, “You’re stronger than you think. The savior of Baldur’s Gate didn’t fall to the might of a netherbrain and will not fall to this.” Despite the firmness in his voice, you could sense his own fears. As experienced as he was in healing, he knew that you were not faring well. Your child should have long been delivered by now and the complications you were facing were greater than either of you had anticipated. You could see the slight tremble to his usually sturdy hands whenever he brought the cool cloth to your head or to brush a sweat slicked lock of hair from your cheeks. There was genuine fear behind his eyes; a fear for you as well as your unborn little one that was refusing to come into the world.

“And if I can’t? What then?” You asked as your eyes left their spot on the ceiling and looked to the druid. His answer was cut short as another shooting pain coursed through you, causing a pained yell to escape your lips as your tears finally fell from your eyes. Halsin’s hands found yours once again as you writhed through your pain. He clung to you tightly, desperate to anchor you back to reality. The overwhelming urge to push surged through you once again and you complied, mustering all of your strength in an effort to finally make the child begin to crest. Your eyes clenched shut as a ragged cry spilled from your throat, your nails digging into Halsin’s hands hard enough to break skin.

“We can focus on that when the times comes, if it does, my heart. But for now, do not let your mind linger on the darkness. You can do this. I will be here with you for every second, love. Let that ease your mind.” Halsin said softly after you had relaxed again, hands still shaking within his own. As Halsin released your grip and returned to his previous seat in front of you, his hands lightly squeezing along your calves and up your thighs, coaxing your body to relax when it could.

“Relax yourself when things are calm,” he continued as he kept massaging your taught muscles, “it’ll help save your strength.” You nodded in response, inhaling deeply before slowly releasing the breath along with the grip you had on the lower half of your body.

“Stubborn little cub, aren’t they?” You huffed with a quick laugh, running your fingers through your sweat soaked hair. 

“Already taking after you, I see.” Halsin teased as he dipped a cloth in the cool water again and you knocked him playfully with your knee at the comment. He left his place between your parted legs and joined you by your side, lightly dabbing the cloth across your flushed skin again. You leaned into his touch, taking a moment to breathe deeply and exhale slowly again as you relished the moment of reprieve from the labor pains.

“You’ve assisted births before, haven’t you?” You asked after a moment, your breath still shaky and uneven.

“Plenty,” he said calmly as he continued to wipe your skin of sweat, “I witnessed the birth of nearly half the children of Emerald Grove. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious,” you said as you felt the beginning twinges of another wave of contractions begin to cluster on one side, “as to how I’m doing in comparison to those you’ve seen. 

“Don’t compare yourself to others, my heart. All birthing stories will be different and there’s no point in comparing. You’re doing well for now. There have been smoother births, I will admit, but I’ve also seen much worse. Focus on the now and don’t bother with the past.” Halsin pressed his lips to your temple, lingering momentarily until he felt you tense once again. 

The contractions were stronger and more frequent now, seemingly coming every minute. Each minute that passed and each pain-filled wave that coursed through your body made you weaker. You were exhausted. With Halsin still by your side, you desperately gripped his arm for something to brace with. Your fingers dug into his skin, surely to bruise by the following morning, but you would take time to apologize later. Right now, your head was pounding and your vision blurred from agony as your body writhed in its place. You felt the air almost sucked out of your lungs at a new sensation. Not necessarily pain, although it wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings, but an unmoving weight you now felt in your groin.

“Please tell me something happened,” you groaned as a new and intense pressure sat on the lowest part of your abdomen, “this feels different.” Your voice shook as did your hands, your breath coming in quick, short pants. Halsin left your side after prying your fingers from his arm, gently placing your own appendage beside you as he once again came to the foot of the bed. He settled between your legs, parting your trembling legs slightly so he could get a better look at the state of your birth. You watched him intensely, hoping to see any sign of change on his features. You were rewarded with a look of surprise as his eyes widened ever so slightly and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Focus, my heart,” he said quickly, “you’re almost there.” Halsin blindly fumbled his hand along the bed, his fingers desperate to grab a clean towel or blanket, his eyes never leaving your body in the process. The sudden lack of dexterity from him betrayed his feelings. His exterior was his usual calm self, soothing voice and all, but the frantic movements and the slight tremble to his hands indicated either excitement or fear for what was happening. Although you couldn’t be sure as to which.

“A good change, then?” You asked cautiously, almost afraid to hear his answer.

“Oh yes, very good indeed. For now, just focus on what your body tells you. A few more pushes and you’ll be done.” He offered you one hand to hold onto, the other needed for assistance below your waist. You gripped the offered hand as firmly as your weakened body would allow, holding on until you felt another wave of pain wash through you. With gritted teeth and clenched eyes, you felt your body contract and restrict, desperately trying to push your child from your body. You felt another shift in the new pressure, still present, but not as heavy. In your pain driven haze, you weren’t quite sure what you were feeling, but it felt like the progress you’d been hoping to see for nearly a day.

You loosened your hand around his as your body slumped back into the pillows behind you, your breath even more ragged and exhausted. Sweat poured down your face and body, mixing with a fresh set of tears as you skin flushed from exertion. You needed to rest. To gather your strength for the last leg of your labor, but your body wouldn’t allow it. Almost immediately you felt the rising waters of pain sweeping across your stomach, your head shaking as you begged and pleaded with Halsin for relief. Unfortunately, any sort of assisted magic or pain relief would have to wait until after the birth, the impacts of such treatments on a baby being detrimental, so you had been forced to endure two days of pain in waiting for the arrival of your child. 

“Look at me, love.” His grip on your hand tightening to grab your attention, “You need just one more. One big push and I can get you something to ease the pain. Can you do that for me?” Your tired eyes met his, your lids half closed and filled with tears. Reluctantly, you nodded. 

With a deep breath and adjusting your hand within Halsin’s, you pushed once again, giving every bit of remain strength into the movement. Your other hand reached up to claw into Halsin’s forearm, your body almost lifting from the bed at the force behind your movements. As your legs and body began to tremble, you felt another change. A welcomed relief from the hours of agony you’d faced recently. The pressure was gone, the cramping had subsided, and you were utterly spent. You released yourself from his arm as you once again fell back into your pillows, your legs going slack from their bent position.

“No more,” you sobbed, “I can’t do anymore.” Your chest heaved with your cries, tears now streaming freely from your eyes as you continued to beg your lover. You were met with silence, something that made your nerves tighten.

“Halsin.” His name softly fell from your lips as you searched for reassurance, “Halsin, I can’t-” Your statements was cut short, but not with the response you expected. Instead of the deep, booming voice of your lover, you were instead met with a tiny, unfamiliar cry. Your head craned upwards to find the source of the cry, only to fall back as Halsin’s frame suddenly came over you. You watched in disbelief as he quickly opened the laces to your tunic, pulling them back to expose your chest to the warm air. Before you could utter another word, the druid placed a small, crying baby against your chest. Your baby.

“Well done, my heart.” He beamed as he covered the still wet and connected child with a warm blanket, “You’ve done so well, but let me take over for now.” He took your hand in his and placed it along the back of your child, sensing the slight shock you were still in before quickly leaving you with your baby to attend to your wounds.

“By the gods.” You whispered as your senses finally returned to you. Parental nature quickly snapping into place as you bundled the child in the blanket even more, covering their exposed head and tucking their arms under the warmth. You soothed them softly as they continued to cry, happiness coursing through you as they continued to take deep lungfuls of air. With the edge of the blanket, you gently cleaned their face of afterbirth, gently shushing with each stroke. Tears streamed down your face, but the meaning behind them had changed. What were tears of agony and bargaining had turned to tears of unconfined happiness. 

Despite the pain and agony you’d endured for days, you felt almost none of it as you cradled your child in your arms. The feeling of holding this small, tiny newborn against you had made the labor worth it. You were overjoyed, if not still in shock, as you softly pressed your lips to the forehead of your still crying baby. A feeling of unimaginable love washed over you, soothing your aches and pains and replaced those feelings with bliss.

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

When the excitement from the birth had calmed and you had gotten settled in your bed, you finally felt the exhaustion from the previous days settle in your bones. Despite the immediate healing potions you’d consumed and spells that had been conjured offered you temporary relief and mending, your body would still need time to heal and adjust; magic could only do so much. Although that was admittedly a thought you’d pushed to the back of your mind for now as your mind was consumed by nothing but the small bundle nestled closely to your chest. 

You yawned deeply, trying your best to stay awake to take in every sweet moment you could with your newly delivered little one. They were pressed against you, taking their first feeding from you since the delivery, as you observed every little detail they offered. Admittedly, you were surprised with just how small they were, considering the sheer looming size Halsin presented and just how hard you had labored, you’d anticipated a rather large baby. Instead, your child was remarkably tiny, but perfectly healthy. The labor had been agonizing and painful, but you found that the reward that came from your efforts was far greater than any amount of discomfort or pain you had tolerated. In this moment, everything was perfect and you wanted nothing more than to spend eternity cradling your child.

“Hello there, little one.” You whispered as their eyes opened briefly, placing a soft kiss to the forehead. A beautiful mixture of green and gold swirled in their eyes, a coloring that was distinctly Halsin’s, and were framed by unusually long lashes. For a moment, you felt as if you were gazing into his own, a pleasant warmth spreading across your chest. You gently ran your finger along the short distance from their forehead to the tip of their nose, marveling at just how soft their skin was, before brushing a few strands of hair to the side. Tiny ears came to the most perfect of points and twitched slightly at the warm breeze lazily coming through the window. 

Once they had their fill, you gently wiped their mouth with the edge of the blanket before settling them back high on your chest and surrounding them in warmth. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes as you heard the tiny grunts and mewls coming from your newborn, already finding it to be your favorite sound in the world. You felt their small hand grasp at your skin and you quickly offered a finger to the baby, smiling when you saw the tiny fingers barely wrap around your slender digit. You adored the tiny fingers in your grasp, softly placing another kiss to them before returning them under the blanket. Euphoria and bliss were the only words you could use to describe how you felt, but they paled in comparison to the true feelings swirling in your chest.

Halsin’s fingers gently lifting your chin broke you from your trance-like staring, bringing you back to the present. You offered him a tired smile as you met his gaze, longing for him to join the two of you for a long rest. Moments after you had given birth and had a crying newborn pressed against your chest, Halsin made healing you a priority. The anguish that had firmly gripped his heart as he could do nothing but watch as you struggled with the birth set the healer in him ablaze. He couldn’t help you in the moment, but he would go to the ends of Faerún to help you now. 

Healing incantations and prayers spilled from his lips as soon as possible, desperately trying to alleviate your pain and close your wounds. His hands were steady once again as he hovered them over your spent body, swirling tendrils of blue and gold washing over you and filling you with a soothing warmth. He wasted no time in pressing the mouth of a healing potion bottle to your lips, slowly tipping the contents into your mouth as you started to shake the cloudiness from your mind. He praised you with every sentence that left his lips, not only telling you how well you had done and how strong you were, but also thanking you for everything you had done for him and your newly born baby. 

Once the color had returned to your face and the dark circles from around your eyes had finally subsided, you heard him breath a sigh of relief before continuing on. He quickly turned to cleaning both you and the baby as best as he could for the time being, delicately running a cloth of warm water across the child’s skin and hair until they were clean before wrapping them in a blanket that had been warmed by a fire. Before you could preotest to his doting, he did the same to you. Gently cleaning the sweat from your face and chest as well as any birthing mess from the rest of you, still praising your efforts with each swipe of the cloth. 

When he had expended as many spells as he could and was certain you were leagues away from danger and comfortable in your bed, he had offered you a slow kiss to your forehead as he left briefly to brew a tea for you; something to ease any aches as well as provide some nourishment to your tired body until he could put a soup over the fire. And now he had returned, a steaming cup of a sweet smelling tea in his grasp and a contented smile on his lips. 

“Join me,” you said softly as he placed the cup on the bedside table, “come say hello.” Without needing further encouragement, the druid climbed in on your opposite side, trying to be as gentle as possible to avoid waking the baby as well as avoid jostling your still sore body more than what was necessary. 

“You should rest, my heart.” Halsin murmured in your ear, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as his fingers lazily scratched at your scalp, offering the lightest of kisses to your temple, “And the tea should help. I hope it does.” You nodded in agreement, the idea of a long rest sounded heavenly.

“I do believe it’s your turn for a cuddle, my love,” you said after Halsin had finally settled, “a little bit of bonding while things are still calm.” You adjusted your position, sitting up slowly to avoid agitating your freshly made wounds. 

“I’m almost afraid to,” he confessed, “I wasn’t expecting such a tiny little cub.” You chuckled at the comment, taking note that Halsin’s hands were almost large enough to engulf the child, but knew that his hands were the safest place they could be. 

“Neither was I,” you admitted as you gently supported the baby’s head with your hand, “but you know I trust you.” You slowly pulled the child from your chest, leaning forward a bit to help with the process, so you could easily pass the baby to your lover.

With a delicate touch, Halsin took the sleeping child from your grasp as if he was holding the most fragile of flowers, and gently eased them towards him. He stopped briefly before placing the child on his chest, taking a moment to admire their features and softly kiss their plump cheek. Halsin had been the first one to touch the infant at delivery and had helped you with cleaning them, but this was the first moment where he could take his time and cradle the baby to his frame, bare skin to bare skin. Your child gave the tiniest of whimpers at the movement, but quickly quieted down again once Halsin pressed their chest to his. 

“You look content, my love.” You said as you took your tea from the table, sipping slowly to avoid burning your mouth before returning it to the table. You couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the look of absolute joy and bliss spread across Halsin’s face, your own heart melting at the sight. His eyes had grown soft and ever so slightly wet, the lightest traces of tears forming on his waterline. Once the child had adjusted to the new position, Halsin rested his back along the headboard and allowed his body to relax. With one hand still on the child, he wrapped his other arm around you again, pulling you close to this warm frame and coaxed your heavy head to rest on his chest. You gently touched the tip of your finger to the tiny nose in front of you before pulling a blanket snugly around your shoulders. 

“Words cannot describe how I feel,” he said softly, “but, nevertheless, I will try.” You felt his nose nuzzle against the crown of your head, delivering a series of soft kisses into your hair as he pulled you closer to him.

“In the grand scheme of things, I’ve only know you but for a flicker of time, but in that time you have gifted me so many new and wonderful things. You alone have turned my life so much towards the better I couldn’t have ever imagined being here not all that long ago.” His voice was soft as he spoke, his lips still resting along your head.

“On top of everything you’ve done to get us to this moment and the life we live now, you have given us both the gift of this beautiful child here with us now. You brought the first new life into these lands in over a century. And knowing that you chose to bring that life to this world with me by your side? That’s a feeling I can’t describe. Selflessly, you have given me everything and yet I feel as if I haven’t even begun to return the favor. I am eternally indebted to you, my heart.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Halsin. I did everything because I wanted to and out of love. You have given me the gift of happiness and a life worth living. You have no debt, my love.” You said softly as you looked to him, he gaze soft and full of emotion.

“Oh, but I do. You have given me the world and I can only hope I can do the same for you tenfold. You truly do not understand how much of a gift you are, my heart. I don’t know what I’ve done in my life to warrant Silvanus blessing me with you.” His lips were against yours in an instance, but instead of being fueled by lust and longing, they were driven purely by love, adorations, and genuine thankfulness. From his kiss alone, you could feel the love he had for you roaring deep in his chest and it was mirrored by your own.

“You praise me too much, my love.” You said when you parted from his lips, your heart fluttering and your cheeks burning at his words of praise.

“Far from it.” He whispered against your mouth before giving you another gentle kiss.

Halsin pressed his forehead to yours as he lightly tugged you closer, nuzzling against you with a contented sigh. Your eyes closed at his touch, finally allowing yourself a moment of rest while buried in the embrace of your lover. In that moment, you wanted for nothing. Halsin was not only home and safe, but any threat posed by rogue cultists had been eradicated and the place you called home truly was safe. Your prayers had been answered and Halsin had returned in one piece, but returned in time to witness and deliver the child you shared. And here you both sat, wrapped in each other embrace and cradling the small infant you both had so eagerly been waiting to meet. Your heart and mind were practically floating on clouds and nothing you’d ever experienced in life could surpass this moment as you rested your head against Halsin’s chest once again. With a final kiss to your temple and another mewl from the baby, you allowed yourself to drift off to a peaceful sleep, listening to the strong, steady heartbeat of your beloved druid. 

Tag List: @incrediblethirst @reignydeys @thoughts-of-bear @im-eating-rn @beardedladyqueen @simplysaying @emorylovescats @distelsterncat @cryingoverpixelsetc @knightofmight01 @seawingqueenconch

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #halsin #halsin x reader #reader x halsin #gender neutral reader #daddy halsin #halsin romance #halsin brainrot #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #halsin fluff #halsin fanfic #pregnancy

[campbyler]

hello!

this is a little bit random, but do the characters have any specific hairstyles you'd been envisioning for them? or any specific vibes/style when it comes to clothes?

i really like to doodle and this fic is my current brain-focus, so i was curious!

hello suni here! thea answered with some hair references for the entire party here but because i am extra as all hell, here are moodboards for mike and will’s styles (with more for the rest of the party to follow)!

acswy will is a big fan of sweaters and stripes (!!) and he looooves a good colorblock moment! i see him in a lot of earth tones (it’s easier for him to match and layer that way. he’s just like me fr) with the exception of a few choice colors (bright yellow, red, etc). to Us he’s also a shoes guy but in a very lowkey and Normal manner which is why the bowie reeboks have been in my pinterest board for camp au will for months now bc i think he sees them somewhere and then saves up for months to buy them and then immediately refuses to wear them anywhere out of fear of getting them dirty lol (also peep the byler shoes 👁️👁️) he’ll prioritize comfort over fashion a lot of the time — ergo the infamous hanes six pack of t-shirts from chapter 1 — but when it’s not one million degrees out and when he is not about to get covered in dirt, this is the look he’s going for!

to us acswy mike is also a big proponent of comfort and and practicality but he’s also a grade A dork LOL he has a thing about jackets the way will has a thing about shoes so thrift finds like his beloved leather and denim jackets are a staple for most of the year! (not summer though. obviously.) i think he would love a good crewneck + shorts moment in the spring especially (the “shorty short shorts” are literally the length of the shorts in the middle photo so idk what will was getting so worked up about 🙄) and he owns one million really stupid shirts that he wears all the time that will definitely does not find endearing. also to us mike loves collecting vintage pins so below the cut are some we think he would have been so so so excited to find:

(the whale one was admittedly a little self indulgent bc i want that pin but who cares i think he’d like it)

+ links: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

#thanks so much for asking #aka thanks so much for finally letting me put my pinterests boards to use #gngmfmmdkekdkdkfkf <- live footage of me foaming at the mouth TJINKING OF THEMEM…. #asks #acswy reference

[another-lost-mc]

is it bad that as much as i like your ocs (theyre amazing, i love them!), i really miss seeing you write for the canon characters

You know, that’s valid. The proportion of Canon and OC content here lately has been way off. It’s sort of the elephant in the room I ignore every time I think about Obey Me and my inspiration automatically focuses on the world building or OC potential instead.

There’s a few reasons why I’ve been less interested in writing canon lately.

1. Disappointment with Nightbringer. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure why this game exists (except to overhaul the franchise’s monetization structure). The premise and lore payoff hasn’t been that great for me personally - it feels more like an AU rather than a canon addition/continuation of the OG game. It feels like we still end up with more loose ends and questions that we don’t have (and may never get) answers for. I’m still waiting for Raphael and Mephisto to be dateable, by the way. As a result, my focus when writing OM content has been using the OG story/characterization using the odd piece from NB that makes sense, and that leads into…

2. My favourite parts of Obey Me are under-developed in canon. I enjoy most of the canon cast, I really do. But I want more Celestial Realm lore, I want more Michael (and not NB HM Lesson 20 Michael), I want more angels in general. They’ve mentioned Uriel a couple times now, give me that angel please and thank you! (No longer relevant, I wrote a version of him myself.)

The world feels so empty at times but there’s so much potential. Parts of the Devildom are more fleshed out with NB adding to it, but what about the other realms? What’s going on with the Sorcerer’s Society and the reapers? I never know if the interesting hints of lore we get are truly relevant or if it’s just something the game decided was convenient for a plot point and never gets mentioned again. NB has been great for Solomon fans since it’s practically a Solomon x MC fanfic written with a forced roommates trope, and that might be the best thing about it from a lore perspective.

My OCs were originally meant to explore gaps in the world and give the canon characters room to grow beyond the one or two defining traits the game keeps repeating over and over. I like writing Mammon when I can have him interact with Karasu, I like imagining the types of angels other exchange students might meet in the Celestial Realm, I like giving a name and personality to the mysterious owner of The Fall where so many events and Devilgram stories take place. Admittedly, it was refreshing to see that other people enjoyed reading about them or imagining them paired with their own MCs/OCs too. I call them the OC Fan Club with genuine affection.

3. It’s not something I talk about often but before I began writing fanfiction, I was mostly focused on concepts or outlines for original stories. Writing supernatural and horror themes always been my interest as a writer so anything with demons/angels/other monstrous races automatically catches my eye.

It’s a little mean to say, but half-baked worlds like the Devildom are a lot of fun to use as a foundation for expanding my own ideas. The OC story I’ve been working on is one way for me to write longer and more complex pieces which is the type I like most. Granted, it includes nearly the entire game cast and it explores the Devildom and Celestial Realm in ways that tie together some of my favourite personal headcanons and characterization. It focuses on angel characters and the history/culture of the Celestial Realm which are two of my main interests for this game. It’s a huge project - the outline is nearly 20k words on its own, it’s practically a novel divided into four sections with 30+ chapters and an epilogue. I can’t even express how excited I am when I get to work on this.

That being said, I do like writing canon content and I’ve been missing it more lately. I got burnt out when it felt like I was losing interest in NB and was pushing myself to keep writing anyway which isn’t great.

Today someone left a nice comment on something I wrote a while back, an angst piece for the demon brothers. I haven’t read it in a while and after going back and re-reading it, I was like, “Huh, I don’t remember liking this as much as I do.” And then I remembered something in my drafts that’s been rotting away, half-edited and ignored, and realized that I wanted to finish it. So, I’ve been slowly tinkering with things while I work on my angels’ story. Some of my plans are ambitious and real life distractions (mostly health related, like my recent bout of COVID) haven’t helped.

If I learned anything about my writing since starting this blog, it’s that:

writing what you’re passionate about is more fulfilling than writing what seems trendy or popular

giving and receiving feedback and fostering friendships/supporting each other keeps the community thriving

self care self care self care

Anyway. My goal has always been to write about the things I love about the game world and the things I create that are inspired by it. It’s a delicate balancing act that I’m still working on.

#jes.replies #hilariously bad takes abound #somewhat personal? #also I’ve been working on an oc side blog to try and organize things better #this may or may not get deleted if delayed embarrassment kicks in tomorrow