[LORD, this took forever; apologies. Episode 26 DIDN'T HELP.]
[Expanding on content notes: Nott's body image, scene of an anxiety attack, and consensual and negotiated use of Charm Person as a makeshift anxiety aid / aphrodisiac. meaning both that Nott consents to being charmed and that she consents to sex before being charmed. which may not be what OP quite intended but well I did my best.]
--
“One, two, three, four!”
Hupperdook was like this every night, it seemed. Snowflakes drifted through the firecrackers and the colored smoke, cold bit goosebumps onto exposed skin, and still the sounds of celebration rang through the streets and the Blushing Tankard echoed with the sounds of stamping feet.
Everyone took a turn dancing. Nott had had a round with Caleb, and another with Jester, and half a dance with Fjord to save him from Irlina; after that, feet aching, she had retreated to their little booth in the corner. They were hard to see, here – the booth was one of a few with high carved backs like little walls – but Nott had stolen a mirror recently, and she had it propped up on one of the tankards. She'd really just put it there to admire it – it had a lovely edge, worked in enameled purple flowers – but it let her see the rest of the room pretty well.
Caleb was dancing with Jester again, Jester coaxing him through the steps of a new dance that Nott very much suspected Jester didn't actually know how to do. Beau and Fjord whirled past Nott's line of sight, Beau with her lip between her teeth and her brows drawn down in furious concentration as her feet flew across the floor. Fjord was sloppier with it, but he looked more like he wanted to be dancing, though Nott knew Beau had insisted. Yasha had danced once with Beau, twice with Molly, and then vanished out the door. She might be even worse than Caleb. Irlina was hauling someone off a chandelier again, and someone on the far side of the bar had a very beautiful necklace Nott might need to take, at some point. For now she was all right –
“Hello there,” Molly said, dropping with a thump onto the bench next to her. “I was wondering where you'd got to.”
“Oh, hello,” Nott said a little tentatively, taking a sip from her flask. “Just... guarding our table, since Yasha's gone.”
“No one in this bar is going to take this table – no, you know, never mind, the Hour of Honor is coming up, someone might be drunk enough to take this table.” Molly laughed, sprawling out into the bench. It would have crowded any of the others, but Nott didn't even need to move her knee aside. (Yasha had claimed the table in her own... particular style. Her wings had been involved.)
“I didn't expect to see you over here,” Nott said. “I thought you'd be dancing all night, you know, a really hootenanny-olly of it.” Molly's lips twitched a little. So did Nott's. She liked her words.
“I'm getting a drink,” he said, gesturing with the tankard in his hand. Nott, remembering the chunks of flesh recently torn out of him, and his faint lingering limp as he made his way up through the city, raised her eyebrows. Molly ignored it. “And keeping you company. You should come enjoy the party. Do you want to dance with me again? That was fun.”
“I danced for a while,” Nott said. “I wanted to rest for a bit. Catch my breath.” She paused. “I did like dancing with you last time, though. It was nice.”
“I try,” Molly said, laughing. He was definitely not on his first drink. (Nott had had some too. It was one of the perks of the endless flask: she didn't need to save it against real need anymore). “You – you don't look nearly cheerful enough for how well things have been going lately.”
“I don't?” Nott glanced at the mirror, which didn't help at all, because she'd deliberately angled it not to reflect more than the corner of her face. “I think I look pretty normal.”
“You don't normally look very cheerful,” Molly said. Nott bristled a little, but before she could say anything he rolled onwards, leaning conspiratorially in: “So, what'll it be? Drink, dancing, drugs?”
“I'll pass on the drugs, thank you,” Nott said, a little primly, “and I already did the other two.”
“Fair enough,” Molly said, and paused, tilting his head. “Hey, take your mask off for a second, I wanna try something.”
“I – all right –” Nott blinked at him and reached up, finding the ties easily. The knots were tightly tied, but they were her knots; she got them loose in just a moment, and then the mask fell into her hands. “What did you – mmph!”
Molly was kissing her.
He had two fingers under her jaw, tilting her face up to his; her mouth fell half-open in surprise anyway, and he took the opportunity to ease his lip in between hers, adding an impertinent little flicker of his tongue. Her breath caught, a little bit; then he pulled back, dropping his hand from her face, and left her blinking up at him in absolute astonishment.
“Oh gods –” he said, very quietly, and burst out laughing.
“Oh, fuck you!” she sputtered, grabbing for her flask. Her cloak was in the corner, her mask in her hands – she'd have to climb over the table to get past him, but she could do that easily, and he wasn't making any move to stop her –
“That's what I was going for,” he said, stopping her in her tracks, “but oh, gods – the look on your face –”
“What, was I supposed to know you were going to do that – what do you mean, that's what you were going for?” she demanded. She let her mask fall back to the table, clinking against her flask.
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Molly demanded, somewhat nonsensically. “I'm propositioning you. Come on now.”
“I – what?” Nott blinked at him, blinked down at herself. Up at him again. “I'm not... really looking for a relationship right now –”
“Who said anything about a relationship?” he cut her off, scoffing. “No. One night, we have a good time, we go back to normal in the morning. What do you say?”
“Do you have some kind of weird fetish or something?” Nott asked, squinting at him.
“Several,” he said, “but I can negotiate. What about you? I'm sure you've got something good.”
“Not... not really,” she said, and glanced involuntarily down at her hands, stubbly and shrunken and three-fingered misshapen. “Why me? Why not Caleb or Yasha or somebody?”
“Yasha and I fucked once and we're never doing it again,” Molly said, shaking his head. Nott blinked, diverted.
“What, is she terrible?”
“No, nothing like that, just... some friendships can sustain a lot of sex and some can't.” Molly shrugged, taking another swig from his mug. “She usually goes for women anyway.”
“So why not Fjord or Jester? Or Caleb? Is he not good enough for you?” She eyeballed him, raising a finger accusatorily.
“Well, I wouldn't kick him out of bed,” Molly said, “calm down. Look, don't – don't overanalyze it, I just thought it could be fun, maybe relax you a bit, maybe be something new for both of us. You're not interested, that's fine. But come on – how often are you going to get the chance to be the older woman?”
“I don't –” really think that's how it works; those years don't just go away the second that you don't remember them; it doesn't ever stop being a part of you, not really, not as long as it was your hands that did those things, your feet that ran into the dark – “You know what, never mind,” she said, shaking her head.
“Hm?” Molly asked, leaning in a little. It made his shirt fall away from his chest a bit; a slight twitch of his shoulders gave away that it was probably on purpose. But he was all wiry muscle and scar-ridged skin – she knew that already; she'd seen him naked – and his lips had been hot and confident in moving over hers. She shifted in her seat, feeling every twinging bruise and lingering ache in her gangly, misshapen goblin body. Her fingers ached from cramps and her shoulders ached from bending over her work, her feet hurt from running, and there was a lingering pain in her gut where Jester had healed a deep-cut wound.
She didn't feel good in her skin very often. Molly was easy on the eyes and clever with his hands, and it would be good to be touched, to be held.
Nott knocked back another generous burning mouthful of whiskey and said, “Yes.”
“Does it – yes, it matters!” Nott frowned at him. “I'll ask Caleb if he'll share with Fjord for the night, you go ask Fjord.” Molly looked faintly amused by her manners, but he went.
She found Caleb making his way to the door, flushed and sweating. “Are you all right?” she asked, catching at his hand. He blinked, turning to her.
“Yes – yes, I'm fine, thank you, just hot.” She scrutinized his face; he looked easy, comfortable, even a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Jester is a very good dancer.”
“She is,” Nott said, smiling. She wasn't sure everyone would say so, exactly, but she was a joy to watch, all bounce and enthusiasm. “Listen, Caleb –” She lowered her voice. “Would it be all right if Fjord slept in our room tonight instead?”
“Of course, if you're all right with it. Does Mollymauk have company for the night again?”
“Well, um, I mean, sort of...” Nott was blushing, she knew it, brilliant green rising above the edges of her mask. Caleb squinted at her. “He does,” she said, “and it's me.”
Caleb blinked, and blinked again. Nott swallowed, hard, trying not to meet his eyes. If he were disgusted, or astonished, she didn't want to know.
“Well,” he said. “Good! That's good. Enjoy yourself.” He cleared his throat, licked his lips, said nothing else.
“It's just for tonight,” Nott promised, “then everything will be back to normal.”
Caleb smiled. “Good.” He squeezed her hand. “Have fun, be safe, and if he is not good to you then I will barbecue him, ja?”
“It'll be fine,” Nott promised, swallowing her own nerves. “Enjoy the dancing.”
No one noticed her as she slipped upstairs; it was easy not to be noticed. Molly was lounging in his doorway, his coat already abandoned somewhere in the room, shirt hanging low on his chest. The necklaces glinted in the shadow of his collarbone, and Nott allowed herself to want to trace her fingers over and under the chains, caressing the gold and the skin both. Maybe she would. She swallowed the fluttering fear in her throat and said, as calmly as she could, “Hello.”
“Hello,” Molly said, waving her into the room with a dramatic wave of his arm. The gesture was a little overdone, frankly, but Nott took it, and let him close the door behind him. Carefully, controlling the faint twitch in her fingers, she pulled off her mask, and set it on the end of the tidy bed she suspected had been briefly Fjord's. The other was already mussed – not like it had been fucked in, but like it had been sat on – and the coat was draped over the footboard, folded well. Nott never folded anything of hers, though if she stole something nice then maybe she would.
“So,” she said, turning, and yelped as Molly scooped her easily up, one hand on the small of her back and the other under her ass, pulling her close. She grabbed at his shoulders more for security than out of passion, but his grip was steady, and he was grinning ear to ear.
“This is going to be fun,” he promised her, and kissed her again. She was ready for it this time, and she let him urge her mouth open, his teeth teasing at her lips in a way she didn't dare try and imitate. She hooked her legs around his hips; her feet didn't come close to meeting around him, and she felt ridiculous for a moment, but he flicked his tongue against hers, and that was more interesting. He tasted like beer and whiskey and salt-sweat. Hesitantly, she licked into his mouth; his lips were so much softer than her own.
He lowered her onto the bed in a move that would probably have worked better with a bigger person; she dropped the last inch or so, bouncing slightly. The mattress creaked as he settled next to her, his hand still pressing into her back, urging her up. She took the hint and got her knees under her, kneeling up to reach his mouth. She hadn't kissed a lot of people, but he definitely seemed good at it. Her lips tingled under his.
His hands roamed over her back, over her shoulders, into the greasy tangles of her hair, catching on the edges of her bandages. Her skin prickled to warmth in the wake of his touch. Then he tugged at the ties of her shirt, and she flinched back.
“Slower?” he asked.
“No, it's fine,” she murmured against his mouth. His teeth scraped her lip again. “Mmm...” It really was nice. And then he was untying her shirt again, and she could feel herself go tense.
“Look, if you don't want to –” Molly started, drawing back.
“No, no, it's not – it's fine, just, keep going.” Nott tilted her head back, waiting; nothing came. Molly frowned down at her, and she sighed. “I'm just... having a little trouble relaxing, that's all. It's fine.”
He bit his lip, considering. His mouth was flushed a deeper purple than usual. “I might be able to help with that.”
“I could drink some more,” Nott suggested.
“Maybe, or I could try that other thing.” At her blank look, he elaborated: “I used it on you once before, remember? Back in Zadash. Obviously those were, you know, different circumstances, but if you wanted me to try it now...”
“I – oh.” Nott blinked, remembering. As little as she liked to look back on a bad night for everyone, it had felt good at the time. Peaceful and calm, all the muscles in her back unbinding in the warmth of his presence. “Don't... ask me about any personal stuff, or anything, all right? I mean, anything that isn't about sex.”
“No questions that aren't about sex, got it,” he said, nodding. “No prying. It's a promise.” He shifted his weight a little. “Just... try and let it happen, if you can.”
She nodded. “Go ahead.” He tilted his head, licked his lips. That was going to distract her every time he did it. Something glinted deep in the blank red of his eyes.
“Come on, now,” he purred, honeyed and Hell-hot. “You can trust me.” He ran his thumb over her cheek, and – forewarned – she could feel the magic sink over her, like a buzz in her ears. She took a deep, deep breath, and didn't fight.
"just finish the daydream," Nott/Mollymauk, E, 1/3, dysphoria + anxiety + consensual Charm Person
[Expanding on content notes: Nott's body image, scene of an anxiety attack, and consensual and negotiated use of Charm Person as a makeshift anxiety aid / aphrodisiac. meaning both that Nott consents to being charmed and that she consents to sex before being charmed. which may not be what OP quite intended but well I did my best.]
--
“One, two, three, four!”
Hupperdook was like this every night, it seemed. Snowflakes drifted through the firecrackers and the colored smoke, cold bit goosebumps onto exposed skin, and still the sounds of celebration rang through the streets and the Blushing Tankard echoed with the sounds of stamping feet.
Everyone took a turn dancing. Nott had had a round with Caleb, and another with Jester, and half a dance with Fjord to save him from Irlina; after that, feet aching, she had retreated to their little booth in the corner. They were hard to see, here – the booth was one of a few with high carved backs like little walls – but Nott had stolen a mirror recently, and she had it propped up on one of the tankards. She'd really just put it there to admire it – it had a lovely edge, worked in enameled purple flowers – but it let her see the rest of the room pretty well.
Caleb was dancing with Jester again, Jester coaxing him through the steps of a new dance that Nott very much suspected Jester didn't actually know how to do. Beau and Fjord whirled past Nott's line of sight, Beau with her lip between her teeth and her brows drawn down in furious concentration as her feet flew across the floor. Fjord was sloppier with it, but he looked more like he wanted to be dancing, though Nott knew Beau had insisted. Yasha had danced once with Beau, twice with Molly, and then vanished out the door. She might be even worse than Caleb. Irlina was hauling someone off a chandelier again, and someone on the far side of the bar had a very beautiful necklace Nott might need to take, at some point. For now she was all right –
“Hello there,” Molly said, dropping with a thump onto the bench next to her. “I was wondering where you'd got to.”
“Oh, hello,” Nott said a little tentatively, taking a sip from her flask. “Just... guarding our table, since Yasha's gone.”
“No one in this bar is going to take this table – no, you know, never mind, the Hour of Honor is coming up, someone might be drunk enough to take this table.” Molly laughed, sprawling out into the bench. It would have crowded any of the others, but Nott didn't even need to move her knee aside. (Yasha had claimed the table in her own... particular style. Her wings had been involved.)
“I didn't expect to see you over here,” Nott said. “I thought you'd be dancing all night, you know, a really hootenanny-olly of it.” Molly's lips twitched a little. So did Nott's. She liked her words.
“I'm getting a drink,” he said, gesturing with the tankard in his hand. Nott, remembering the chunks of flesh recently torn out of him, and his faint lingering limp as he made his way up through the city, raised her eyebrows. Molly ignored it. “And keeping you company. You should come enjoy the party. Do you want to dance with me again? That was fun.”
“I danced for a while,” Nott said. “I wanted to rest for a bit. Catch my breath.” She paused. “I did like dancing with you last time, though. It was nice.”
“I try,” Molly said, laughing. He was definitely not on his first drink. (Nott had had some too. It was one of the perks of the endless flask: she didn't need to save it against real need anymore). “You – you don't look nearly cheerful enough for how well things have been going lately.”
“I don't?” Nott glanced at the mirror, which didn't help at all, because she'd deliberately angled it not to reflect more than the corner of her face. “I think I look pretty normal.”
“You don't normally look very cheerful,” Molly said. Nott bristled a little, but before she could say anything he rolled onwards, leaning conspiratorially in: “So, what'll it be? Drink, dancing, drugs?”
“I'll pass on the drugs, thank you,” Nott said, a little primly, “and I already did the other two.”
“Fair enough,” Molly said, and paused, tilting his head. “Hey, take your mask off for a second, I wanna try something.”
“I – all right –” Nott blinked at him and reached up, finding the ties easily. The knots were tightly tied, but they were her knots; she got them loose in just a moment, and then the mask fell into her hands. “What did you – mmph!”
Molly was kissing her.
He had two fingers under her jaw, tilting her face up to his; her mouth fell half-open in surprise anyway, and he took the opportunity to ease his lip in between hers, adding an impertinent little flicker of his tongue. Her breath caught, a little bit; then he pulled back, dropping his hand from her face, and left her blinking up at him in absolute astonishment.
“Oh gods –” he said, very quietly, and burst out laughing.
“Oh, fuck you!” she sputtered, grabbing for her flask. Her cloak was in the corner, her mask in her hands – she'd have to climb over the table to get past him, but she could do that easily, and he wasn't making any move to stop her –
“That's what I was going for,” he said, stopping her in her tracks, “but oh, gods – the look on your face –”
“What, was I supposed to know you were going to do that – what do you mean, that's what you were going for?” she demanded. She let her mask fall back to the table, clinking against her flask.
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Molly demanded, somewhat nonsensically. “I'm propositioning you. Come on now.”
“I – what?” Nott blinked at him, blinked down at herself. Up at him again. “I'm not... really looking for a relationship right now –”
“Who said anything about a relationship?” he cut her off, scoffing. “No. One night, we have a good time, we go back to normal in the morning. What do you say?”
“Do you have some kind of weird fetish or something?” Nott asked, squinting at him.
“Several,” he said, “but I can negotiate. What about you? I'm sure you've got something good.”
“Not... not really,” she said, and glanced involuntarily down at her hands, stubbly and shrunken and three-fingered misshapen. “Why me? Why not Caleb or Yasha or somebody?”
“Yasha and I fucked once and we're never doing it again,” Molly said, shaking his head. Nott blinked, diverted.
“What, is she terrible?”
“No, nothing like that, just... some friendships can sustain a lot of sex and some can't.” Molly shrugged, taking another swig from his mug. “She usually goes for women anyway.”
“So why not Fjord or Jester? Or Caleb? Is he not good enough for you?” She eyeballed him, raising a finger accusatorily.
“Well, I wouldn't kick him out of bed,” Molly said, “calm down. Look, don't – don't overanalyze it, I just thought it could be fun, maybe relax you a bit, maybe be something new for both of us. You're not interested, that's fine. But come on – how often are you going to get the chance to be the older woman?”
“I don't –” really think that's how it works; those years don't just go away the second that you don't remember them; it doesn't ever stop being a part of you, not really, not as long as it was your hands that did those things, your feet that ran into the dark – “You know what, never mind,” she said, shaking her head.
“Hm?” Molly asked, leaning in a little. It made his shirt fall away from his chest a bit; a slight twitch of his shoulders gave away that it was probably on purpose. But he was all wiry muscle and scar-ridged skin – she knew that already; she'd seen him naked – and his lips had been hot and confident in moving over hers. She shifted in her seat, feeling every twinging bruise and lingering ache in her gangly, misshapen goblin body. Her fingers ached from cramps and her shoulders ached from bending over her work, her feet hurt from running, and there was a lingering pain in her gut where Jester had healed a deep-cut wound.
She didn't feel good in her skin very often. Molly was easy on the eyes and clever with his hands, and it would be good to be touched, to be held.
Nott knocked back another generous burning mouthful of whiskey and said, “Yes.”
“Yes?” Molly asked, eyes widening.
“Yes. Yes, let's – let's go. Fuck. Let's. Whose room?”
“Oh, I don't care. Does it matter?”
“Does it – yes, it matters!” Nott frowned at him. “I'll ask Caleb if he'll share with Fjord for the night, you go ask Fjord.” Molly looked faintly amused by her manners, but he went.
She found Caleb making his way to the door, flushed and sweating. “Are you all right?” she asked, catching at his hand. He blinked, turning to her.
“Yes – yes, I'm fine, thank you, just hot.” She scrutinized his face; he looked easy, comfortable, even a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Jester is a very good dancer.”
“She is,” Nott said, smiling. She wasn't sure everyone would say so, exactly, but she was a joy to watch, all bounce and enthusiasm. “Listen, Caleb –” She lowered her voice. “Would it be all right if Fjord slept in our room tonight instead?”
“Of course, if you're all right with it. Does Mollymauk have company for the night again?”
“Well, um, I mean, sort of...” Nott was blushing, she knew it, brilliant green rising above the edges of her mask. Caleb squinted at her. “He does,” she said, “and it's me.”
Caleb blinked, and blinked again. Nott swallowed, hard, trying not to meet his eyes. If he were disgusted, or astonished, she didn't want to know.
“Well,” he said. “Good! That's good. Enjoy yourself.” He cleared his throat, licked his lips, said nothing else.
“It's just for tonight,” Nott promised, “then everything will be back to normal.”
Caleb smiled. “Good.” He squeezed her hand. “Have fun, be safe, and if he is not good to you then I will barbecue him, ja?”
“It'll be fine,” Nott promised, swallowing her own nerves. “Enjoy the dancing.”
No one noticed her as she slipped upstairs; it was easy not to be noticed. Molly was lounging in his doorway, his coat already abandoned somewhere in the room, shirt hanging low on his chest. The necklaces glinted in the shadow of his collarbone, and Nott allowed herself to want to trace her fingers over and under the chains, caressing the gold and the skin both. Maybe she would. She swallowed the fluttering fear in her throat and said, as calmly as she could, “Hello.”
“Hello,” Molly said, waving her into the room with a dramatic wave of his arm. The gesture was a little overdone, frankly, but Nott took it, and let him close the door behind him. Carefully, controlling the faint twitch in her fingers, she pulled off her mask, and set it on the end of the tidy bed she suspected had been briefly Fjord's. The other was already mussed – not like it had been fucked in, but like it had been sat on – and the coat was draped over the footboard, folded well. Nott never folded anything of hers, though if she stole something nice then maybe she would.
“So,” she said, turning, and yelped as Molly scooped her easily up, one hand on the small of her back and the other under her ass, pulling her close. She grabbed at his shoulders more for security than out of passion, but his grip was steady, and he was grinning ear to ear.
“This is going to be fun,” he promised her, and kissed her again. She was ready for it this time, and she let him urge her mouth open, his teeth teasing at her lips in a way she didn't dare try and imitate. She hooked her legs around his hips; her feet didn't come close to meeting around him, and she felt ridiculous for a moment, but he flicked his tongue against hers, and that was more interesting. He tasted like beer and whiskey and salt-sweat. Hesitantly, she licked into his mouth; his lips were so much softer than her own.
He lowered her onto the bed in a move that would probably have worked better with a bigger person; she dropped the last inch or so, bouncing slightly. The mattress creaked as he settled next to her, his hand still pressing into her back, urging her up. She took the hint and got her knees under her, kneeling up to reach his mouth. She hadn't kissed a lot of people, but he definitely seemed good at it. Her lips tingled under his.
His hands roamed over her back, over her shoulders, into the greasy tangles of her hair, catching on the edges of her bandages. Her skin prickled to warmth in the wake of his touch. Then he tugged at the ties of her shirt, and she flinched back.
“Slower?” he asked.
“No, it's fine,” she murmured against his mouth. His teeth scraped her lip again. “Mmm...” It really was nice. And then he was untying her shirt again, and she could feel herself go tense.
“Look, if you don't want to –” Molly started, drawing back.
“No, no, it's not – it's fine, just, keep going.” Nott tilted her head back, waiting; nothing came. Molly frowned down at her, and she sighed. “I'm just... having a little trouble relaxing, that's all. It's fine.”
He bit his lip, considering. His mouth was flushed a deeper purple than usual. “I might be able to help with that.”
“I could drink some more,” Nott suggested.
“Maybe, or I could try that other thing.” At her blank look, he elaborated: “I used it on you once before, remember? Back in Zadash. Obviously those were, you know, different circumstances, but if you wanted me to try it now...”
“I – oh.” Nott blinked, remembering. As little as she liked to look back on a bad night for everyone, it had felt good at the time. Peaceful and calm, all the muscles in her back unbinding in the warmth of his presence. “Don't... ask me about any personal stuff, or anything, all right? I mean, anything that isn't about sex.”
“No questions that aren't about sex, got it,” he said, nodding. “No prying. It's a promise.” He shifted his weight a little. “Just... try and let it happen, if you can.”
She nodded. “Go ahead.” He tilted his head, licked his lips. That was going to distract her every time he did it. Something glinted deep in the blank red of his eyes.
“Come on, now,” he purred, honeyed and Hell-hot. “You can trust me.” He ran his thumb over her cheek, and – forewarned – she could feel the magic sink over her, like a buzz in her ears. She took a deep, deep breath, and didn't fight.