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thoughtsfromlayla · 2 months

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Love and Loss

Summary: Despite being married for centuries, the two lovers have yet to produce an heir. Desperate for a child, she makes a deal with Phanes, God of Life, unbeknownst to her that motherhood has its own complications much like love and marriage. Now she must find a way to save both her child and her love.

Notes: ~11k words, only lightly edited... so yeah. Also, this is my first time posting any of my writing so I'm nervous as fuuuuck. I keep switching between past and present tense but I think I caught them all but idk. Let me know if I miss any tags or warnings! (There's so many plot holes but shhhh)

Warnings: MDNI - 18+ content, one use of Y/N but written in 3rd person, Reader has a "name" that's only used twice, pregnancy, loss of pregnancy, metaphorical use of surrogation, usage of miscarriage themes, jealousy, P in V, oral (F! receiving), unprotected sex, jealous Dream but that's to be expected really, regency-esque, diverges from cannon

Masterlist

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Despite having been in the Dreaming for so long, its frigid air was something she could never get used to. The temperature always fixed itself somewhere between an unheated house on a winter’s day and a spring day in the shade. Despite her title in the realm, she always felt like a child walking to the kitchen late at night to grab a snack whenever she meanders into the great hall.

The castle of the Dreaming was her home, and she was the owner in every right as her husband. A small black cat accompanies her, its green collar and bell jingle with each step in its preppy trot. Her Lady wore simple garments, a dark green dress with slits to match her feline friend. Its light-weight fabric billows around her with a breeze that never seems to stop and some golden jewelry decorated her neck and arms, all gifts from his Lord. She opted to walk barefoot, skin to soil, so as not to hurt her feet necessarily before the upcoming dinner the Dreaming would host later today—the idea her own entirely that her husband agreed to for her sake.

Her legs move her toward the throne room, where she is certain her husband presides. Still, her feet are cold and thus she picks up the pace. Her steps are lighthearted as she prances on her tiptoes, heels dangling from her fingers.

Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of the Nightmare Realms, Prince of Stories. She was sure there were more, but if she were to start listing them all in her head, she’d be stuck there all day. Morpheus was as old as humanity itself, perhaps even older. But as she sees him spread out on his throne, the air of authority is never questioned. Age has only made him more intimidating.

Morpheus commands any space he enters. His shadow fills each nook and cranny it seemed fit, aura chilling and distant. Yet he himself was a beautiful creature indeed. His modern form molded himself into a lean body, distinct muscle lines, and a strong jaw. His dark hair always looked tousled as if he had rolled out of bed a mere minute ago, and despite how often she would run her hair through the silky strands, they never behaved as they should have.

“Wife, mine,” Morpheus greets as she nears the bottom of the stairs. “What ails you to seek me out?”

The Lady smiles and gives a small curtsy before she ascends the curved stairs. “Nothing ails me, my lord. Must one have a reason to see her husband?”

Morpheus lets out an entertained breath before opening his arms in invitation. Another graceful smile appears on her lips as she sits comfortably in his lap, his arms encircling her.

“No, I suppose not,” He replies. He watches as she makes herself as comfortable as she can, leaning her head on his shoulder in a way that wouldn’t mess up her hair. The handmaidens would not stop fussing over it if a single strand was out of place from their original design.

“I simply wish to spend some time with you before our feast. I fear that I will be whisked away as I entertain guests for the evening.” She closes her eyes and steadies herself on the patterned breathing of her husband.

“I will stay by your side if you so command it,” Morpheus says. He runs his thumb in circles on her bare shoulder.

“And have everyone afraid to approach me? With your dark and brooding act?” She jests, her eyes opening briefly to look into his.

He can’t help his eyes rolling at her slight tease. “As you wish, my love.”

The two lovers sit for a moment. The sounds of her cat purring and their breaths mingling fill the air. But serenity such as this never lasts long in a castle like theirs. Lucienne comes from a hallway, presumably, the library’s, dressed up as well. Her coat was tailored to fit her body, her shoes freshly shined, and her glasses cleaned.

She gives a curt bow to the two sovereigns. “My lord, my lady,” She addresses. “The guests will be arriving soon.”

“Thank you, Lucienne,” Her lady says. She reluctantly releases herself from the warmth of her husband and uses the throne as a brace to put on her shoes. Her husband’s hand rests on the small of her back to further assist her.

“I will see you very soon, my king,” She says leaning down to peck his cheek before descending the stairs. She looks back once with another smile and then follows Lucienne to greet the arriving guests.

Morpheus’s eyes watch her figure until she turns a corner. He was still underdressed, his day previously preoccupied with trying to find a certain nightmare. He was simply idling on his throne in a simple black attire with his long coat. After all, a king need not worry about how he looks if he commands respect without golden bribes. With a wave of his hand, sand befalls him and covers him like ivy to a broken wall. When they recede he is dawning a tight button-up undershirt and vest, its fabric weaved with intrinsic cloud-like designs. His coat is now replaced with another of a similar shape and design but resembles cotton instead of the original felt. He fastens the raven cufflinks and smooths down his pants before rising from his throne and going to the Dreaming’s castle garden.

When Morpheus enters the gardens he immediately spots his wife at the entrance, standing underneath a pergola of purple wisterias and climbing hydrangeas. The flowers slowly lean towards the goddess as her presence fuels them by simple proximity. Her cat is nowhere to be seen and probably ran off into the gardens after a rodent caught his eye.

Morpheus slides up beside his wife as she greets the last of the guests arriving. He turns his head towards the decorated table and can see a great spread of gods, goddesses, fairies, nymphs, and other mystical creatures that his wife had managed to befriend—the feeling of her arm wrapping around his redirects his attention.

“Shall we, lord husband?” She gives him another one of her smiles and he understands how the hanging flowers feel. How he had ever lived without her before was still a mystery to him. To be him without her, it is like the Earth without its Sun - and he wishes to always feel the gravitational pull of her love.

Morpheus leads them towards the aggregation of guests, all of whom devote their attention to them.

“Beloved guests,” His wife starts speaking in her nectar-like tone, “Despite what is currently happening in the waking world, we are pleased that you could make time and attend this wondrous dinner.”

The goddess pauses for a brief moment as her guests clap in agreement. When they stop, she continues. “The feast is served buffet style, please eat and enjoy yourself to the fullest content. The Dreaming is here for your convenience.”

With her open palm, a long table appears with dishes of all types. Wreaths and fresh flowers decorate any empty space, which is to say, not much. Lambs, beef, and several types of poultry and fish take centerpieces along the table. Fruits, vegetables, and freshly baked bread weave in between the large plates as palate cleansers and small plates appear on the very corners of the table. A satisfied smile appeared on Her Lady’s face as the guests began grabbing food.

As the dust settles and smaller niches of guests start grouping, Morpheus is displeased when his wife leaves his side to mingle amongst the other gods. He watches from the shadows, small fruit plate in hand, glooming as she smiles with her guests. A hand comes up to hide her mouth as she laughs at something Phanes, God of Life, said. Jealousy brews and grows bitter like spoiled milk.

Morpheus stands, ready to come to his wife’s side in hopes of deterring the god, but before he can a nymph comes forward and gives an exaggerated curtsy. He can’t help the slight roll of his eyes as she begins to talk him up. The nymph’s voice carries a small lithe to it and he becomes unfocused, only noticing the movement of his wife’s green dress and Phanes walking off into the hedge labyrinth.

A frown etches itself onto his face. The nymph choosing to ignore the frown finds the courage to lift a mossy hand to caress his coat’s lapel, to which the Endless notices. Morpheus looks down at the nymph, his hand tightly grabbing into her wrist and dropping it away from him.

“Do not presume you may touch me, insolent child.” His voice is deep and grave as his frown deepens.

The nymph’s face contorted into embarrassment as red poppies boom across her cheeks and ears. She briskly walks away, forgetting to curtsy, with her tail tucked between her legs. The forest nymph looks forward to the next time she meets the Dream King, but she does not know that this will be the last time the doors of the Dreaming will open to her.

Dream makes a beeline towards the hedge labyrinth, taking a right turn as he had witnessed his wife doing moments ago. But, as something as lucid as the Dreaming, the labyrinth path twists and turns in new ways each moment. Morpheus turns left and right based on where he could feel his wife’s presence, but seems that she does not want to be found.

As a deity in her own right, should she so command it, she would not be found. Something that the Endless found infuriating at the moment. What could she possibly be doing with Phanes? Did she invite him for a personal reason? Was the dinner event a ruse so she could speak with him without raising any questions? Well, Morpheus surely was starting to ask questions.

Jealously turned into guilt quickly like the crack of a lightning bolt. Has he not been a good husband? Was she getting bored of their marriage? It has been several centuries, after all. Guilt turned into sadness as the questions he asked started bringing down his spirit. Surely there is something he can do to make her happy again. Surely she is faithful, surely, surely, surely…

Morpheus stands still, the drive to find his wife lost. The hedge leaves shiver as the temperature grows colder from the king’s mood. The lovely sunset leaves the last of its warmth before disappearing, leaving the sky full of stars. He turns around and retraces his steps, if his wife does not want to be found, he will grant her this wish.

Morpheus would never admit to anyone that he mopes. But with his sluggish walk and downturned lips, he clearly was. He sees his wife had made it out of the labyrinth quite some time ago and is already waving her guests goodbye, Phanes nowhere in sight. When she sees him emerging from the hedges, she perks up and excuses herself from her conversation.

“Dear husband, where did you run off to? Too many people in your presence?” She jokes, latching herself onto his arm.

“I was merely looking for you,” Morpheous murmurs. He starts walking with her back to the castle.

He waits as his wife takes a pause, slowing down in step. “You followed me into the labyrinths?”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Yes…” He draws out, trying to tread lightly, hoping that she would open up without much prompting. “I saw you and Phanes entering together.”

An amused huff escapes her. “I see.”

The silence lingers like the plague: uncomfortable and heavy in the air.

“Will you not speak as to why?” He questions and he almost hates how desperate he sounds.

The lady takes a seat on his throne, only to lean down and take off her shoes with a satisfied sigh. She rubs the ankles of her foot when she speaks again. “I believe it to be a personal matter.”

The answer was vague, and Morpheous hated it. Angry, gray storm clouds formed overhead and the ice-cold rain started to hit the stained glass behind her.

“Am I not worth sharing with?” He asks again, but he doesn’t stop to let her answer. With her eyes wide in surprise, he continues. “Am I not good enough? Faithful enough? Am I not devoted enough to you, my love? Will you command me to beg on my knees, I shall if you so ask.”

He falls to his knees before her and runs his hands from her ankle to her knee, slowly, deliberately. His lips follow soon after, tracing the same path his fingers had. Her breath hitches and her hearts start beating faster.

“How can I show my devotion to you, my love?” He kisses.

“My wife?” He kisses again.

“My forever goddess?” And again.

“Morpheus,” She breathes out, and it’s all he ever wants to hear. She is all he ever wants to breathe and all he wants to taste.

“I pray to Daleena, Goddess of Husbandry, for forgiveness. I have left my wife unsatisfied and feel the crop of our love withered. I shall repent for my sins by your guidance.” Morpheus says in a hushed tone as he slowly inches higher on her leg.

The goddess feels power surge through her as the prayer leaves her husband's lips, and she craves the touch of them on her own. Heat pools between her legs as her husband’s breath fans across her lower regions. Her dress slits exposed her legs deliciously to Morpheous but there were still her undergarments, which he removed slowly, keeping contact with her silky skin as it slid down.

Her Lady looks down at him with uneven breaths and waits for him to give her what she wants. Morpheus, however, is patient. He traces his lips higher, he kisses all the spots she wants, but not where she needs it the most.

“Morpheus,” She pleads, and it is all he needs. One moment it is the cold air of the Dreaming and the next it is the warmth of his lips, tongue languishing the length of her slit.

She jerks in place, strong hands holding down her hips. Her own hands shoot out, desperate to grab onto anything. One, bear-clawed and desperate, on the arm of the throne and the other weaving itself into the silky strands of her husband. She gasps at the wet sensation and her head is thrown back in pleasure.

The Endless is unmovable, driven solely by the purpose of satisfying his wife. A low groan emits from deep in his throat at the unapologetic sounds she cries, babbling in a series of his name and other obscenities. He tilts his head higher until he finds her clit and relishes in the pain of her nails in his hair, lapping at her arousal with contentment until it drips down his chin. He is a starved man and she is his salvation.

Morpheus continues his demonstrations, alternating between her clit and her needy cunt. She clenches her thighs hard as she feels the impending rise of her orgasm. Her fingertips buzz with excitement as he continues to ravish her sensitive clit. His pace continues, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

She calls out his name again, and a high-pitched whine leaves her lips as he easily adds two digits into her weeping hole. He moves them slowly, slightly curved to touch that delicious spot inside her that has her arching her back taught like a bow. From below, Morpheus looks at her through his lashes, and he can’t help the smirk that tugs on his lips as his wife tries to thrash from the sensations. She tightens around him, cunt pulsing sporadically, and he is flooded with her orgasm where he drinks greedily from the taste - sweet like a plentiful summer wine.

He places a final gentle kiss on her clit before looking at her again, the skin of her extremities glowing ethereally as she tries to control her ragged breaths. She is still in the midst of her orgasm, trying to calm herself from the high and he finds it the perfect time to leave a bruising hickey on the inside of her plush thighs. Morpheus gets up, dick painfully hard as it brushes against his pants. He takes hold of her hands to help her stand on wobbly legs and leans back.

He leans until he falls, through the throne room floor and then onto the plushness of their shared bed. His command dematerializes both of their clothes and he basks in the sticky warmth of his wife on top of him. He runs light fingers down her spine, shivers following behind like a loyal companion, whispering sweet nothings into her ears.

“Come back to me,” He murmurs, kissing her sweat-filled brow.

“Hmm,” The goddess exhales after a few more seconds of silence, eyes opening languishingly, lashes tickling the skin of her husband.

She looks around the dimly lit room for a moment before realizing that she is in their bed. Using her husband’s chest, she props herself up, effectively straddling him beneath her. Morpheus remains unmoving, ignoring the way his tip brushes against her lower lips, only messaging the meat of her hips with his thumb.

When she meets his eyes again, he speaks. “Have I proven myself, dear wife?”

It takes a moment for the goddess to remember what he was talking about and her feelings crash down again. “You had never needed to prove yourself to me, Morpheus. What happened between me and Phanes will remain between me and Phanes.”

She lifts herself on sore thighs, but can’t get far as gentle hands turn rough. The next moment, she is lying down with her husband looming over her. There was not enough light to illuminate his face, leaving only the impression of his merciless, mercury eyes. Deep down, she knows no harm will ever befall her, but in this moment, something primal presents itself.

Perhaps it is how his eyes bore into her very soul, to the very moment she was born several millennia ago. Or perhaps, she was just crazy about how his touch was driving her mad. She was very aware of the appendage that settled between the two of them and the way that her slick was coating it. His hands cup her cheek and slide down her neck and her head tilts back at the ticklish and yet pleasurable sensation. She swallows thickly and a broken sigh escapes her as his hand ghosts over her nipple.

Shivers bloom once more as his mouth incloses over the perk nipple, suckling at it in a way that has her legs wrapping around his waist. Her arms come up and snake over his shoulders, fingers gliding over the smooth marble-like skin, then resting behind his neck. One of her hands finds itself back into his hair, clenching as he gives continuous pleasure to her body.

Her hips buck up, her pussy clenching down on nothing. Cold fingers glide down the center of her stomach, going lower and lower until they cup her heat. A thumb gently circles her clit, understanding the overstimulation it recently received. They trace over her outer lips, downwards, then upwards again, coating themselves with a mixture of spit and arousal.

Morpheus removes himself from her breasts and presses his lips at the junction between her neck and shoulder. He licks at the sweat that accumulates on her collarbone and continues up her neck. When he faces her again, he speaks.

“Beg for it.” He commands.

Her Lady remains silent, slowly chewing on the inside of her lip, weighing the options in her head. Morpheus, as always, is patient and he continues running his fingers between her folds, keeping his pace but occasionally rubbing his pointer finger in circles around her clit. When she realizes that he really would just keep rubbing her and nothing else, she opens her mouth.

“P-please,” She stutters, the mere idea of begging or pleading foreign on her tongue. As a goddess, one would never allow such lowly behavior. Nevertheless how her husband will give her whatever she asks for.

Morpheus hums in approval, removing his hand to hold his dick instead. He rubs it this time in lieu of his fingers around her cunt and the goddess almost begs again. Before she can, a moan releases from both of them as he inserts himself into her and she whimpers at the familiar dull ache of being stretched out. Morpheus dips his head between her neck and shoulder again and remains stiff, feeling the warmth that only his wife can provide.

He pulls out and she mews beneath him in pleasure, ushering him to fill her up once again. Her cunt sucks him back and he wraps one of his arms underneath her waist to ground him. The other slams against the headboard of the bed, and he grabs on for all he is worth. His thrusts grow harder as her cries grow louder and he feels the way she clenches down on him.

“How divine you are, my love,” He says with a shaky breath, kissing more bruising hickeys that he hopes will last for millennia. He blows cold air over them and goosebumps rise in place, her back arching again and he can feel each perk nipple rubbing against his chest.

She moans his name again, losing herself in each drag of his cock, screaming curses when the head brushes against her sensitive spot, and whimpering when it kisses her cervix. Morpheus rises, looking down on his wife with half-lidded eyes, running a hand down between the valley of her breasts, feeling each desperate breath of air. He goes lower and groans when he sees how the two of them are connected.

Each thrust creates an unholy, slick noise and he can see the inflamed clit begging for attention. He presses his fingers on her lower stomach and she cries out for him.

“Can you feel me, my Queen?” He growls down at her, feeling the way his dick moves within her.

“Yes!” She cries back, her brows furrow and her cunt pulses around him, gripping him like a vice.

“Do you love me, my Queen?” He asks again.

“Yes!” She cries again. She starts begging again. Please, please, please, please. “Don’t stop, please my King. Please, don’t stop!”

“Will you tell me why you spoke with Phanes?” His last question.

Her eyes snap open, all the build up from her orgasm lost in the question. With her legs still around his waist, she twists her hips and topples Morpheus over until he is beneath her again.

“No,” She whispers, rocking her hips back and forth to regain the momentum they had lost.

This time, it is him who pleads. “Please,” He whispers back. His hands cup at the roundness of her ass cheeks, loving how soft they were.

She increases the ferocity of her grinds, looking down at her husband like he had just done with her. His head tosses back and she loves watching his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat as he moans for her. His eyes are squeezed shut and his grip tightens but she doesn’t relent.

That familiar searing hot feeling appears again in her lower stomach and with one final grind she releases her orgasm all over him, falling onto his heaving chest. Morpheus cums right after, shooting his release into her in hot loads and she feels each jolt inside of her.

Her orgasm rocks through her body, feeling both too hot and too cold at the same time. It tingles in her fingers and toes and when she closes her eyes, she sees the stars of the Dreaming shinging back at her. When she comes back to her senses (again) she can feel her husband’s hand running through her bed hair, untangling it as much as he could with the one hand. The other hand holds her waist flush with his. The two lovers share a quiet moment after their throw of passion before she speaks again.

“Phanes and I…” She starts, and she can feel Morpheus stiffen under her. She groans as his cock is still deep in her, semi-hard and the only thing keeping them together.

She shifts a bit and some of their combined release pool down onto his abdomen. He would never admit to her how filthy he thought it was, nor the fact that he loved it all the same.

“Yes?” Morpheus urges, looking down at her on his chest with full attention.

“We made a deal.” She finishes her sentence.

Everything stops as Morpheus sits up. “What deal did you strike? I can do it instead, terminate the deal at once, my love.” He says with anxiety.

His wife grabs onto him as she is rocked back and a smile appears on her face. “Morpheus, my love, you have done your part.” Her smile turns sad and a forlorn look cloaks her face and she casts her gaze downwards. “We just needed some extra help.”

A confused look crosses Morpheus’s face. He brings a hand to lift her chin to look at him. With the raise of an eyebrow, he doesn’t have to say anything for his wife to know he wants a better explanation.

“I asked for a child, Morpheus.”

When her husband remains quiet, her lips start to tug downwards and his heart lurches at the sight. Her waterline soon floods with tears.

“We have not been able to produce an heir once.” She says, voice wavering. She dares not to blink for she is afraid if a single tear were to fall, all of them would.

“What in return?” He asks.

“I look after his pet snake for a weekend.” She replies simply. Morpheus has returned to his previous position.

The tears start to fall, each fat drop hitting his skin seemingly striking him directly in the heart. “You need not worry, wife. This time it will take, with Phanes’s help or not.” He whispers into the crown of her head.

She nods once, sniffling as her nose starts to run, too. The rhythmic breathing below her and the continued brushing of her hair rocks her to a dreamless sleep. Morpheus wraps his arms protectively around her frame and should he have known, he would’ve stayed longer. He would’ve held her tighter, kissed her longer, and promised her that he would be there when she woke. Alas, there was a missing nightmare, rampaging through the waking world, something that was his responsibility as king.

When she wakes up the next morning, with a satisfying ache throughout her body, the bed was cold and empty, and her husband was nowhere to be seen. To say that this was new behavior would be a lie, unfortunately. The number of times that a night of passionate love-making ended in a cold and lonely morning was more than she could count on her fingers and toes. That isn’t to say that Morpheus didn’t want to stay in bed with her, it’s simply a sovereign that understands his responsibilities, and she could never blame her husband for that.

Avoiding the difficult conversation the two lovers shared last night, her Lady avoids the locations her husband is most likely to reside in. Instead, she chooses to look towards her duties in the Dreaming. She finds herself amongst a simple dream from a small farmer who looks after sheep, who struggles with getting their weight to increase during the harsh winters. Carefully, she admits herself to him, dressed in a light yellow dress, sunflowers decorating the fabric and her hair. Her hands were covered in dirt, and she held a shepherd’s crook that had a bell attached to the end.

The farmer looks up from his rocking chair, prized sheep chewing lazily around him, and smoke from his pipe circles him. His face was rough - old and wrinkled from long days in the sun during his youth. But she smiles gently at him when his laugh lines appear around the edges of his eyes and mouth.

She stands next to him and they stare out on his flock together. He shares his life story. The story of a young boy whose father was also a farmer, and his father before him, and his father before him. He talks about his first puppy, named Barkly, his first love, whom he lost after he was drafted into the First World War, and how he now finds solitude with his late wife’s grave and his grandchildren.

He mentions that he needs to fatten his sheep up for the winter as he can’t lose any more stock so he may afford medicine for his sick grandson. He confesses that he has tried everything and nothing seems to have worked. He looks up at her now, tired, and slumped over, and realization dawns on his face as she smiles down at him.

She whispers at him a simple solution, one he can’t quite hear over the muddle of a dream. He stands abruptly as her figure distorts, the dawn is rising and a farmer’s body rises with it. He thanks her - he offers a sheep for her, which she nods at before he wakes from his dream.

The goddess visits a few more dreams, each giving her ethereal presence. Some were like the one she was just at, some needed comfort from the loss of animals, and some dreamed of a new pet to have. By the 5th dream, she realizes that several days had passed in the waking world, and her husband was nowhere to be found.

She admits to herself that she had been avoiding him longer than she intends, but perhaps it was time to face him again. She teleports to the castle, summoning herself before the drawbridge of the magnificent building. The ivory dragon perks up at her arrival, but otherwise pays no attention to her, going back to hoarding its gold coins, a few of them falling when she crosses the large doors.

As always, the castle is slightly colder than what she likes. A small sense of deja vu encapsulates her as she walks to the all-familiar throne room. This time, however, it was empty. No figure on the throne, nor the stairs as he sometimes preferrs it. Odd, she thinks, but not impossible. So she turns a corner to the library, she often finds him here as well, looking over the books of his dreamers. She searches high and low, through each aisle and reading spot, but still nothing. Anxiety and thoughts of doubt begin to fill her. Perhaps she did mess up, making that deal with Phanes.

Her last stop was Cain and Able’s homes. She finds the two brothers in front of their own homes, tending to their garden and playing with the gargoyle that Morpheus had given them. The two were of no help as they were unable to answer something worthy of even a hint of where her husband was.

She rolls her eyes as the walk away from their homes was accompanied by the sound of a scream and the resolute bang of a metal shovel hitting a skull.

As her last resort, she calls for Lucienne. Often, she hopes to never bother her, understanding that the work she puts into maintaining the Dreaming is never-ending. And, she knew that if she were to ask something of her, Lucienne would stop everything to help her.

“His Lord left several nights ago to fetch the Corinthian,” She spoke, pushing up her round glasses.

“And since then?” She questions, her hands wringing with themselves. She hopes for an answer she knows she won’t get.

Lucienne shakes her head no. “My Lady, Jessamy hasn’t returned either. Perhaps his Lord is simply taking longer than usual.”

“Let us hope,” She says defeated.

For the next few months, the goddess stays within the Dreaming. Each day that passes, more hope was lost for her husband's return. Doubt and anxiety cloud her mind at the uncertain future.

She looks down at her stomach, a distinguishable bump had made its appearance and she rubs it gently with her hand. The deal with Phanes went through, she is with child. She should be happy right? Except for the obvious fact that Morpheus still had not returned.

Her cat lounges at her feet where she sits and she pets its head. With a trill, it looks at her, similar mercury eyes of her husband stares back. She had no choice but to find him herself.

“Go,” She asks of it. “Go to the waking world, find Morpheus.”

The cat sits up and stretches, hind high in the air. Its claws grips into the plush carpet it rests on. With another stretch to its lower back, it trots off, the jingling sounds of its bell disappearing as it crosses over to the waking world.

All the goddess could do was wait and hope. She runs another anxious hand across her stomach and a tear escapes her.

Lucienne had mentioned it to her in passing a few days ago. The librarian stated that it probably was nothing to worry about, but the conversation had stuck with the goddess since.

The Dreaming is dying.

As much as the Dreaming is hers through marriage, it is suffering without its true ruler in the realm. She could see it in the dying leaves and small cracks of the castle. The ivory dragon that rests above the castle has gotten more restless in the past few weeks. And despite her best efforts to comfort the animal, the dragon did not listen to the Goddess of Husbandry.

This brings up a second concern of hers. The child she carries is as much a part of her as it is the Dreaming’s. It embodies a part of the Dream Lord and if the Dreaming is suffering, there stands to reason that her husband is suffering as well. If both of these entities are suffering, what is to happen to her child?

This child that she already loves until she is forgotten and nothing but stardust and she had been asking for centuries. This child that Morpheus is finally ready to love after the untimely death of his son. She must find Morpheus, and soon.

For the sake of the Dreaming and her child.

Several more weeks pass and her cat had yet to come back. She only hopes that it was due to the difficulty of finding an Endless and not because it got distracted with a family whose heart was big enough to take in a “stray” cat. Each day that passes, she grows significantly weaker. The prayers of her followers still ring in her ears, but she could not leave the Dreaming to help her devotees.

Another war broke out among the humans, the one they call World War II. Less and fewer people were crossing over into the dreaming and slowly, the once beautiful realm was losing its colors. The goddess couldn’t stop the residents of the realm from leaving its gates, the Dreaming was no longer a place they wished to stay. Furthermore, there weren’t enough dreamers for them to bother staying. She only remains thankful for those who decided to stay.

She sits on Morpheus’ throne, the castle colder than ever. Behind her, the once beautiful stained glass had shattered. The Corinthian had still not been captured, or else her husband would have been home and Fiddler’s Green had decided to leave. She runs a hand through her hair at the issues that seem to keep piling up. As she ignores her prayers, her powers start to wane. Fewer and fewer people were still believing in her.

And how could she blame them? She hasn’t made herself present in any of their prayers and with the war, people were less concerned about animals and more about themselves. She sighs.

A sharp pain yanks her out of her thoughts and a scream rips from her throat. She doubles over from the throne and kneels, hunching over on the floor. The pain spreads across her lower abdomen and a shaking hand holds her stomach. Immediately she knew something was wrong and it involved the safety of her child.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, too focused on staying conscious. The throne room was empty, her fall echoed around and bounced across the wide walls. When she thought the pain was over, she took in a large breath, inhaling shakily in gulps.

Salvation lasts a few seconds before another wave of pain overwhelms her. It wraps around her like a hot blanket on a sweltering day, sticking to her skin and making her overstimulated. Too much was happening at once and it was almost too hard to bear.

“Lucienne!” She screams between cramps. Tears fall in fat drops onto the floor and wets the hand propping her up.

Lucienne appears quickly, followed closely by Mervin. Hands grab at her weak body and hoist her back onto the throne. Where she had fallen, blood pooled and more fell from between her legs.

Her whole body shakes with shivers and a whimper leaves her.

“My Lady,” Lucienne says with concern. The librarian couldn’t stop from staring at the growing pool of blood below her.

“What do we do?” Mervin asks. Even though he was a glorified janitor, constructor, and destructor for the Dreaming, he didn’t know how to fix this.

“Call for Phanes,” Their Lady said weakly. Sweat begins to appear like morning dew across her forehead. For once, she was grateful for the cool temperature.

“Mervin, take her to his Lord’s chambers,” Lucienne instructs. She doesn’t stay to watch as she sprints to the library.

She flips through leather-bound books, old and new until she finds the correct summoning spell she was looking for. The loyal librarian could only hope that a god would listen to a dream like her.

She hauls the large book into the room her Lady lays in. Labored breathing came from both women, although for two vastly different reasons.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I require your assistance,” Lucienne said next to the goddess’ bed.

The goddess gives her a hand limply and Lucienne starts chanting the words on the page while holding her cold fingers. The wind whirls around them and Mervin holds onto his pumpkin head to not have it knocked off.

Lucienne finishes the spell and looks down. Her Lady was glowing with power but she could not have looked any more weak. Nothing happens for a few bated breaths, only the sound of howling wind around them. Then nothing, not even the sound of crickets could be heard.

Enters Phanes, golden and warm like the sun. He materializes in a cloud of golden dust. He slams his staff down, and his golden snake slithers up from under his robes.

“Who dares summon m-”

“Lord Phanes,” Lucienne interrupts, something she knows she would be punished for, if not for the more important matter at hand.

A glare is thrown her way and softens at the familiar face. Phanes’ eyes travel across the intertwined fingers and land on his friend.

Weak eyes open and meet his. The godly figure is almost too much to stare directly at.

As if understanding what was happening to his friend, he drops the golden light he had been shining. The Dreaming returns to its cold blue, and it was just two deities and two dreams in understanding.

“A new deal,” Phanes announces and the goddess wants to weep again. Judging by how her husband acted the last time she had done this, she was going to be doomed. But the decision was easily made.

“Anything,” she whispers. Her eyelids are starting to feel heavy. She had delivered countless calves, kittens, and cubs, but never another deity. Was she supposed to feel this weak?

Silky scales slide across her feverish skin and she is face to face with Phanes’ serpent.

“Give your child to him, he will keep them safe until they may come to fruition. Until then, you must look after the serpent as if it is of your blood.”

The goddess could barely pay attention but understood in a way without words. She nods in agreement and the relief begins almost immediately.

Pain seeps out of her body, slow, like molasses and her body starts to glow again. Lucienne shields her eyes and peeks through her fingers. The goddess’ stomach glows and deflates.

A small glowing ball releases itself from the warmth of her womb, its dim light is warm and lights the room like a lantern on a foggy night. A weak hand cups it and it sits in the palm of its mother.

“Hello, darling son,” She whispers. The ball stays still, a small high-pitched noise emitting from itself.

The goddess smiles. “Darling daughter, then?” This time, the ball bounces gently a few times in response but otherwise doesn’t do anything.

The golden serpent is slowly making its way up the arm that holds the glowing orb. A tongue flicks out and smells it. Then with a nod from the goddess, the serpent unhinges its mouth and swallows the child whole. The light shines through the crevices of its eyes and ears as it makes its way down the serpent's throat. Eventually, the light dissipates and the serpent looks all the same, save for the bulge in its stomach.

A sense of longing borrows itself into her chest where her heart lies. Quite literally, the light disappears right in front of her. Physically, her pain had been removed, only the dried blood between her legs reminded her of what had happened just moments prior. And yet, a dull pain resides. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she could feel it behind her eyes and how it lodges in her throat.

Her gaze is unfocused as she pets the golden snake, her golden snake now, her child. For the rest of the night, she rests and Phanes leaves without a word. Lucienne stays by her side the whole time, eyes only moving when the serpent shifts. Mervin went back to work after a few hours, the castle’s foundation still cracking under their feet. He left with a sorrowful look, well, as sorrowful as a pumpkin head could be.

As the sun rises the next day, the goddess wakes up to not only the snake by her side but the librarian and her long awaited cat. Lucienne wakes up at the first shift that her Lady makes and stands.

“Let me draw you a bath,” She said before any debate.

“Lucienne,” Her Lady calls after her anyway in rejection. All of her handmaidens had left. They were only there to help the goddess under the instruction of the Dream Lord who created them. Without him here, no one would punish them for leaving and not attending his wife.

Still, the librarian doesn’t listen and disappears into the joined bathroom. Meanwhile, the goddess looks down at her cat and raises an eyebrow. It has certainly gotten fatter. And a new name tag was attached to his collar next to his bell.

“Buttons,” She said out loud, reading the new name. At that, the cat perks up and stares back at her disappointed face. “You got distracted on your mission didn’t you?”

She pets his rounder stomach and scratches his head. “Well, they certainly loved you…” The hidden passive-aggressive message was evident.

The cat, now Buttons, doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, it lays back down, flicking its tail aggressively at her comment.

She rolls her eyes. “Did you locate his Lord?”

Buttons rolls onto his back and stretches, belly exposing to her, and opens his mouth in a yawn. “Burgess Manor,” He says and turns his body away from her.

Finally, an answer. She throws the blanket off her body and goes to stand. She looks at her closet, thinking of what to wear to the waking world to retrieve her husband.

“My Lady!” Lucienne exclaims as she walks out of the bathroom. The goddess looks over at her and notices her staring at her dress. She looks down as well and remembers all of the blood that she spilled last night. It had caked itself into the fabric and was still crusted on the inside of her legs.

The librarian’s shock was still on her face when she realizes that her Lady fully intends to go to the waking world looking like that, having overheard the conversation between her and the cat. Lucienne insists she take a bath first and that she would find something for her to wear.

Her Lady doesn’t disagree and disappears into the steaming bathtub that was made for her. She doesn’t regret it for a second the moment she steps in. The warmth was comforting like a mother huddling to keep its cub warm. The water washes away the filths of yesterday and within the embrace of the water, she finally cries.

It’s not a gentle cry, it is hiccups and gasping for breath. The pain of yesterday that she felt behind her eyes and in her throat spills out. Her bathwater which used to smell of apples and cinnamon now turns into a maroon as her blood washes out. It starts to smell of iron and salt and it reminds her of war.

Her hand runs over her stomach and a whimper leaves her again at the lack of the bump she had grown so accustomed to. Logically, she knows that her child, no her daughter, was safe. But, one would have to admit that having their daughter in the stomach of a serpent was a bit unnerving.

A golden head peaks at her over the side of the ceramic bathtub and flicks out its tongue.

She sniffs the last of her tears away and pets its head with her index finger. “I’m sorry for leaving you already, dear daughter.”

The serpent’s stomach had grown twice as large since last night and since this is new territory for her, she must make haste so she may be back in the dream to witness the birth of her daughter.

Before she left, though, she walks into the castle gardens and gets to work. From her fingertips she grows a birch tree, its white branches and muted green leaves fit right into the dying realm around them. She sprouts flowers and brushes for scenery and a bed made of straw under a tunnel that she dug out.

The golden serpent follows her and slithers up her body, wrapping around her curves. When its head was next to hers, it let out a rattling-like noise in agreement with the small open enclosure the goddess had made for it. It slides back down her body and makes it home in the tunnel.

“Mommy will be back,” She whispers to it when it settles in and gives it a quick peck on the top of its head. It flicks its tongue at her and moves further into its nest.

The goddess stands back up and dusts off any dirt that could have gotten on her dress. Lucienne helps her pick out an appropriate attire for the waking world. Something she wouldn’t personally wear, but it certainly helps to blend in with the mortals. She quickly had to locate her husband. After all, she has no idea how long it takes for a snake to incubate a child.

It was easy to find the Burgess Manor when she arrives in the waking world. Everyone who was anyone spoke about the grand magus who managed to capture the devil in his basement. That the devil had granted him eternal life and some other rumors. All she had to do was flaunt a smile and go where the fingers pointed.

The rumors, of course, were mere rumors. The devil? No. Without knowing it, Rodrick Burgess managed to capture something even more powerful. How he had managed to keep him captured was a different question entirely and the goddess had a sneaking suspicion that he had some help.

It was nightfall when she arrives at the gates of the manor. Thousands of people clamor in the front garden, talking amongst themselves. Suddenly, the clothing she had worn was not fit for the environment she was walking into. Using a little bit of her powers, she changes the outlook of her clothing into something else. It was a bit more formal, growing longer and softer to the touch. However, if someone were to squint and stare hard enough, they would be able to see the original dress she had worn.

She weaves her way to the front and listens carefully to the words around her.

“I had arrived this morning, my feet are killing me.”

“Ha, me as well. But anything to get into the manor. I want to see what the Great Magus is hiding.”

“Not to mention the party of your lifetime!” They joke together.

Someone taps her on her shoulder. Another young man was waiting to be let in.

“You are a new face,” He comments and takes her hand. He presses his lips to the back of it. She takes her hand back and wipes it away on the back of her dress while keeping a smile.

“Yes, I wish to see the Great Magus himself.” She half-lies through her teeth. The young gentleman offers an arm to her which she reluctantly takes. Perhaps he will be the key to getting into the manor.

The doors of the manor open and people slowly trickle in. She peers over shoulders into the manor but couldn’t immediately find anything of note that would be dangerous. The warmth of the building fans over her as she enters through the large doors and a breath of relief escapes her.

“Isn’t it everything you could ever dream of?” The gentleman asks. He looks down at her with a smile.

She looks around, the manor was certainly lively. Foods of all kinds sprawl out on tables, fresh flowers almost too sweet to smell, and candlelight flickers and dances from the sudden wind. There were some party tricks as well, the flames seem to sparkle a bit more, bubbles were floating around in the air without popping, and the statues follows her with their eyes. But, they were all small party tricks, nothing to indicate this holier-than-thou man.

Through the buzz of it all, she could feel it. The string of fate that connects her to her husband. It was faint, but it was there and she knew she was in the right place. She just had to find out where.

A man emerges on the top of the stairs to the second floor and opens his arms in a flourish. She frowns at him because there he was, Rodrick Burgess, the man who took her husband. By the end of tonight, she promises herself, there will be no Rodrick Burgess.

“Ow, dang you’ve got a grip on you,” She breaks eye contact with Rodrick when her escort for the evening exclaims out. She releases the iron grip she had wrapped around his lower arm and apologizes.

“I am terribly sorry,” She apologizes. “Actually, I am parched, can you be a gentleman and fetch me some lemonade?” She bats her eyelashes and gives a smile. His face lights up in a blush and runs off to fetch her the lemonade she wants.

As soon as he was out of eyesight, the goddess began moving. She moves between bodies like wind on the beachfront - gracefully, wistfully, but with purpose. She uses her senses to locate where her husband could be. It was like an invisible dance.

When the sense weakens she backtracks, when it strengthens she moves forward. She was so lost in her quest that she almost did not register when she ran into a wool-covered chest. Surprise overtook her face as she looks up, ready to apologize and continue on her way. But she stops when she realizes that the man she bumps into is the very host of the party.

“Rodrick Burgess,” She says almost breathlessly. Oh, how she wants to commit a grievous crime to this mortal.

The old man chuckles above her and grabs onto her shoulders. His fingers are cold when they come into contact with her bare skin and she wants to cringe away from his touch, but he holds on strong.

“You seem like a curious creature, my little dove,” He comments and starts to walk. Without much room to budge, she is reluctant to follow him.

“Yes,” She drawls out much like how Morpheus tends to do. She suddenly acts with interest when she realizes that the bond strength between her and her husband increases. She holds on tighter and presses her body against his arm.

“I heard that the great Magus kept the devil in the basement of his manor. Can we see it?” She fakes a supple voice and looks up at him with an innocent smile.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think a small thing such as yourself would want to see the devil.”

“No!” She belts out, a bit too quickly. But she recovers smoothly. “What I mean to say is, I am far too excited to see him. Please don’t deny me this one pleasure Great Magus.”

“How loathsome,” She thinks to herself.

“Very well, I can’t deny you anything if you keep looking at me like that.” He confirms.

Rodrick Burgess leads her away from the party, down a long and quiet hallway. It is decorated with antique and rare collectibles. The older man talks about each one, dragging on his time that leads to her husband, but she nods along anyway.

She had waited decades to be in the arms of her husband again, a few more minutes surely wouldn’t hurt. Soon, she is led to a dark and demanding set of double doors. Locks and bolts seal it from top to bottom. With a nod of Rodrick’s head, the guards stationed outside open the door slowly and a cold air seeps out and blows her hair back. The basement smells musty of old water and stale air. A cough emits from further down the stairs and she frowns.

“Scared yet, child?” Rodrick says to her mockingly.

She only shakes her head no as she continues down the steps.

The smell grows stronger as she gets closer and she can also make out a small portion of dirt and sand amidst it all. Despite it, the air was crisp and cold, suitable for a stone basement.

A light emits from the end of the long staircase downwards and she can’t stop her jaw unhinging as she finally sets her eyes on her husband. Tears well up in her eyes as they dart across the room.

Arches supported the basement throughout the floor and a moat still separates between her and her husband. A singular fluorescent light is cast on him in a glass prison as if he were some circus animal on display. Below the glass prison were some sort of gold runic markings and even from far away, she could feel the real magic emitting from them.

Rodrick releases her hold on him and turns to the two guards on duty that night. “You two may go,” He instructs, and the two leave without debate.

At the sound of his voice, Dream opens his eyes but remains in his laid position. His gaze pierces into his corrupt heart, if he even had one left, but quickly notices his wife by his side. With this, he sits up and gently places a hand on the glass barrier.

“Would you look at that!” Rodrick boasts. “He moves, he doesn’t do that much. Perhaps he has feelings for a pretty thing like you.”

The goddess doesn’t hear him and walks up to the glass cage in a trance. How does she free him? Tears fall restlessly down her face and her stature dejects. She snaps out of her trances on the small bridge above the stagnant water when a rough hand squeezes her upper arms.

“Stop, you must not get any closer. He is trying to seduce you into releasing him!” Rodrick hashes out between gritted teeth.

She opens her mouth to tell him something, anything, to release her husband but stops when she hears Dream’s voice again.

“Wife,” He calls simply and her body fills with all of the love and adoration she had been missing for decades.

Rodrick’s grip tightens at his voice, the first time he remembers hearing it. With a shocked face, he looks down at the woman in his grip. “Wife?!” He screams at her furiously.

She takes a deep breath and steels herself, ripping herself away from his bruising grip, and stands between him and her husband. The tears had dried and only anger left in its wake.

“The one before you is Daleena, Goddess of Husbandry, Mother of Agriculture and Protector of Animals, Saint of Farmers, Queen of the Dreaming, wife of Dream of the Endless. You face me now, mortal.”

Wind swirls, somehow, in the basement but it is the least of Rodrick’s worries. He plants himself firmly as the wind picks up and sand envelops the two of them in a vortex of anger.

“I have captured something more than a god! I have an Endless!” He points a finger at her, eyes scrutinizing. “What makes you think you can defeat me? The Great Magus Rodrick Burgess?”

Walking a few steps forward, her shepherd’s crook materializes in her hand, the bell jingling violently in the wind. Her extremities start to glow their familiar light as she musters power. She points the staff at Rodrick as billets of wheat start growing around his feet and crawl up his legs, the nice wool of his pants long forgotten against the harsh stalks of the plants. The plants bloom as it sucks the life away from the very thing they grew on.

Rodrick starts chanting in Greek.

“Prostasía,” He chokes out. “Prostasía.” He chants again and he breathes easier. “Prostasía.” He chants one more time and he’s back to standing at his full height. The plants that were wrapped around him wither away and fell into dust, sucked into the sand vortex around them.

The goddess frowns, she did not realize how much power she had lost until now when a simple protection chant could stave off her attacks. Rodrick lunges at her, hands open and clawed, ready to grab onto any piece of her clothing. In turn, she slams her crook into the ground and a fissure opens up, but not before he can shove her further and her body slams into the wall of the glass prison. The fissure separates the two opponents away from each other and Rodrick steps back before he falls into the Earth.

She braces herself on the glass wall at the impact and loses her breath for a moment. She could feel the warmth of her husband’s hand and she turns away from Rodrick to look at him. His hand was aligned with her own, so close, only inches apart.

“The runes, my love,” Morpheus tells her. She looks down at looks at the graphics that surround them, the sand had erased some of it through the abrasive nature of itself. The magic within the runes would still be strong if not for the defiant smudge she creates with her foot, just in time for the fissure to finish opening. With a final look at her husband, she walks closer to the fissure, pulling the sand vortex smaller so it was just her and Rodrick again.

From the fissure glows a golden light, soft and merciful but quickly overshadowed by the growing dust. The light expands as the golden serpent which holds her daughter emerges. It had grown in size since the last time she had seen it. Its length and mass have nearly tripled in size and the baby bulge it used to flaunt was now merely a small bump.

Rodrick’s stare grows higher and higher as the snake continues to emerge, it stares at the man, tongue flicking angrily at him for daring to harm the goddess. The snake lunges, all fangs and dripping venom, its large scales clattering against each other like gold coins. Rodrick moves to the side and the serpent misses. It hisses in retaliation and comes around again, this time wrapping its body around the legs of the Great Magus.

Panic sets in as the serpent starts to constrict around the man and he can feel his pulse pounding against his head and the blood circulation gets cut off. The bones in his knees pop as they press together.

“Father!” A young boy’s voice screams across the vortex and the goddess sees a glint of silver cross into the vortex arena.

The serpent is halfway up Rodrick’s body when the goddess notices the sharp dagger that Rodrick now possesses. He rises it high in the air and with a large gasp plunges it into the flesh of the serpent. The golden scales provide little to no protection against the artifact.

“No!” She screams and takes a step forward, only to be stopped by the protective tail of the serpent.

The metal hisses as it melts against the golden scales, melting the scales together until they become smooth around the wound. Rodrick slides again and again until the weapon becomes too slippery with blood and he loses grip. The snake is now a mosaic of gold and red as it tightens one last time.

“Curse… you…” Rodrick strains out, his face turning purple as the last bit of air leaves him. The serpent weakens and falls in a slump like an inanimate rope and the sand around them falls like rain.

The goddess leaps over the fissure and after making sure the man is dead runs to the head of the golden serpent. Its eyes were dim, mouth agape as its muscles weakens and she can no longer feel it breathing on her skin when she places a hand above its nostrils.

“No, no no,” She mumbles to herself. She grabs her dress up and away from her feet as she makes her way down the length of the serpent. When she reaches where she last saw the small baby bump, she runs her hand along its underside, soon becoming slick with cooling blood.

She finds a particular cut that was deeper than normal and when she sticks her hand in there, they grab around a small appendage. A cry of relief leaves her lips as she digs deeper. She pulls her baby from the dying body and cradles it to her body. Golden scale imprints are decorated across her arms and legs and a few more along the spine of her back.

Her breath hiccups as silence fills the air. She pats her daughter’s back and wipes her mouth clean and panic seeps into her bones when still she remains quiet.

Morpheus appears behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turns to him, tears streaking down her neck.

“Crying, why-why isn’t she crying?!” She wails and clutches her child harder against her chest.

Morpheus hugs her from behind and holds the two of them to his chest.

“Y/N,” He calls her name, her real name. Not her titles, or what the mortals call her, but the name given to her since her creation.

She weeps into his form, salty tears mixing with blood and the amniotic fluid that covers her child. Her tears fall into her daughter’s mouth and feed into the child her grief, regret, and guilt as well as the hope she still had in her.

A soothing hand pets her and the silence disappears. Loud wailing comes from below and her eyes shoot open. Her daughter was finally crying, her hands in fists as they move around in the air.

“Praises,” She sobs again, this time tears of joy. Her child's eyes peel open and smiles as she grabs at her mother’s hair.

Morpheus smiles, a rare one, all teeth showing as he touches his daughter’s head gently. The three, now a family, return home to the Dreaming. There will be more to do, especially for Morpheus but for now, a small victory lies within the hope that is their daughter.

Extra:

“Well I’ll be baffled, bamboozled, and befuddled,” Phanes says, hands on his hip and his staff leaning against one of the walls of the basement.

He stares at his serpent covered in dried blood and dearly departed, lying alone on the cold basement floor.

“Look at how they massacred my boy!” He screams to no one in particular, arms out in disbelief.

He lets out a huff and crosses his arms. “I’ll let you borrow my snake, blah, blah, blah, take care of it like it’s your own, meh, meh, meh,” He mocks.

Phanes runs a hand across the top of the snake’s head and watches as the dried blood rehydrates and moves thickly back into the cuts. The gnashes done by the weapon stitch itself back close and the gold scales return to their original form.

The snake shrinks smaller and smaller until it is back to its original size. At which, it perks up and flicks a tongue out in thanks to its god.

“All right, let’s go,” Phanes says with a sigh as if this was a mundane chore. He extends out a hand for the serpent to slither up to.

“I am never making a deal with those two ever again, that was crazy.” He says to his snake.

The snake flicks its tongue again and rattles the scales on its back.

“Ohh, that’s nice that she made you an enclosure.” He responds, then remains silent as the snake says something else. “What do you mean she forgot to put mice in the enclosure for you to eat?!”

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus x reader smut #the sandman #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless #dream #dream x reader #dream x reader smut #angst with a happy ending #light angst #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x wife!reader #morpheus x wife reader #dream of the endless smut #dream of the endless x reader

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 1 year

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The green-eyed, Green-Eyed Monster

(I was sent this beautiful pic which was found on Pinterest, and we can't find the owner, if anyone knows, please let me know so I can credit them.)

Summary: Y/N decides to get back at Jensen for walking away from her, by reminding him just what he's missing out on.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Lots of smut. Unprotected P in V sex, sex in a mostly public place, sex in a slightly skeevy room, oral (m and f receiving) throat fucking, rough sex, spanking (just a bit) slight overstimulation, possessive!jensen, jealous!jensen, poor decision-making skills that would result in a much different outcome in real life - but hey fics are NOT real life, so bring on the fantasy! 😜 Oh, and some fluff to finish.

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Y/N

Word Count: 2,813

A/N: So, the other day, I wrote this little tongue-in-cheek post, and got some absolutely fabulous reblogs and comments, which encouraged me to combine some teeth-rotting fluff with my reader being fucked into oblivion. I said I would try it.

Then earlier today, the beautiful @myloversgone sent me the INCREDIBLE pic above and this story pretty much materialized in my brain instantly. It turned out to be a bit more smut based than fluff based, but there's definitely fluff at the end. Hope you all enjoy it! 😊

A/N 2: As always, this is a different version of Jensen from within the Multiverse who is single. Absolute and complete fiction, of course.

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist || Tag Lists

(Dumblr is currently messing with my Masterlist at the moment, and some links aren't working, but I've contacted support, and we'll see if they can fix it? I'm also working to get all my library of fics transfered and posted on Ao3, so when that happens, I'll share a link to read them over there. ❤️)

You watch Jensen across the club floor, and feel a thrill of vindication when you see him throw back his third shot of tequila in barely ten minutes. He’s obviously pissed, but it’s no less than he deserves for walking away from you and breaking your heart.

His eyes find you again on the dance floor, and you grind your ass back against the stranger dancing up against you. You have no idea who the guy is, and you have no interest in learning. All you know is that he’s the guy making Jensen’s eyes shoot jealousy-filled daggers your way, so you turn to face him and throw your arms around his neck.

The guy seems happy to dance close and not ask questions, so you look to where Jensen is standing on the VIP dais, behind the velvet rope and, keeping direct eye contact with him, you nibble gently on the guy’s earlobe. Jensen’s eyes flash and narrow, and you’re reminded of just how much he used to love it when you did that to him.

He downs tequila number four, tossing the shot glass down before storming away from the group around him. He disappears towards the back of the club and without thinking about anything, not the cute guy you're dancing with, or the consequences for your heart if you follow him, you run off the dance floor to find him.

The thumping house music is slightly muted as you move through a black velvet curtain into a long, red, wallpapered hallway. The club is infamous for this back hallway and the rooms that lead off of it; the regular club patrons have dubbed it the path of sin because there are constantly devilish things happening back there. As you pass by the first door, you can hear the distinct cracking sound of leather against skin followed by cries of pain and pleasure mingling together. You watch the woman in the next room through the wide open door as she snorts a line of white powder up her nose.

There’s no shame on the path of sin.

As you near the end of the hallway you’re beginning to think that maybe Jensen just left the club altogether. But then he casually steps out of the last room on your left - looking like walking sex, clothed entirely in black, and wearing an expression that makes your stomach clench in anticipation, desire, and just a hint of fear. Jensen’s anger can be intimidating, even if you know he’d never actually hurt you.

But nevertheless, you’d been working very hard to piss him off, and it looks like you succeeded.

He steps close to you and you back away; he continues to walk you backwards till you hit the wall opposite the room he just exited. You raise your chin defiantly and Jensen wraps his big hand around your throat, holding you in place.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing out there?” He asks in a low growl. “Who is that fucking guy?”

You shrug your shoulders and attempt a dispassionate expression, but you know Jensen can read the pulsating desire in your body and you’re so wet and needy for him that he can probably smell your arousal.

Still, your voice is impressively cool as you raise an eyebrow at his audacity. “I don’t think it’s any of your business who I dance with anymore, jackass. Since, you know, you took your name off my dance card.”

Jensen’s bright green eyes are dark with anger and lust, both of which make you want to start squirming, but you’re trying to hold on to a thread of dignity. Then he steps closer to you, pushing his leg between yours and it’s everything you can do not to grind down against the meaty thigh he’s purposely rubbing against your drenched pussy.

His voice is low and wicked as his delectable mouth is hovering just above yours. “I didn’t like seeing you with him.”

“Then I guess you shouldn’t have thrown me away, huh?” You say accusingly as you try to push his hand away from your throat.

But Jensen just grabs your wrist to pin your hand above your head and tightens his grip on your throat slightly as he rocks his lower body against you, making you finally let out an involuntary groan as you feel the hard ridge of his cock through his custom-tailored, black cotton pants.

A flash of victory sparks in his juniper eyes and he bucks against you again; you bite down on your lip to stifle another heated moan. But Jensen’s voice is full of persuasion and delicious promise and you know you’re lost. “You don’t want that loser you were dancing with, do you, baby girl? You still want me. Don’t you?”

You try to shake your head no, but he’s not buying it. You both know what you wanted when you followed him down the hallway.

Sin. You’re only here for sin.

He pushes your free hand against his cock, closing your fingers around the rock hard bulge there. “I still want you too,Y/N. Fuck, I want you so badly.” He says in your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. “I want to remind you what it feels like to be fucked stupid, to be ridden so hard and so good that every other guy is just a pathetic memory.”

His hand leaves your throat so he can yank down your sequined tank top, groaning at the fact that you’re wearing nothing underneath. His mouth is on you in an instant, pulling your tit into his mouth and sucking hard, making it impossible for you to stifle the cry of pleasure that tumbles from your lips.

He moves to your other breast and flicks his tongue across your nipple, making it pucker into a tight bud that he then sinks his teeth into, giving it a sharp tug.

“Jensen!” You cry out, and against your will, the fingers of your free hand push into his long, soft, honey brown locks, holding him in place as he continues to flick his tongue back and forth against your extremely sensitive skin.

He stands up straight and pulls your other wrist up to be trapped against the wall above your head. He holds them easily in one hand, using his other hand to slowly trace his forefinger over your lips.

“I missed this sweet fucking mouth, and all the filthy things you can do with it.” He clamps his hand around your jaw, forcing your mouth open so he can lick up into it “I wanna fuck down your throat till your gagging, and too full of my cock to ever think of anyone else.”

Your eyes roll back in your head and saliva dribbles out of the corner of your open mouth at the memory of his thick, smooth, delicious cock sliding across your tongue and down your throat, and the memory makes you whimper. Taking that as an invitation, Jensen pushes you down to your knees with one hand while the other keeps your hands tightly bound above your head.

He unbuckles his belt one-handed, before popping open the button on his pants and pulling down his zipper with easy dexterity. There’s a fleeting moment where you remember that for all intents and purposes, you’re on full display, in public, and you think of suggesting that you retreat to one of the rooms. But then he pulls his dick out and taps it against your lips and it’s immediately all you can think about.

“Open up, baby.” Jensen coos at you and you don’t hesitate to obey, sticking your tongue out in anticipation. He eases into your mouth slowly, giving you ample time to prepare for him, but your throat still bulges and you still gag around his giant cock as it pushes down your esophagus. Jensen fucks into your mouth unhurriedly and deliberately, sometimes sliding down your throat, and sometimes just hitting the back of it, causing a satisfying gluck, gluck sound as you choke around him.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks, and you know your mascara must be running black over your skin. He reaches out his thumb to smear the make-up further across your cheekbone.

“So fucking pretty, stuffed full of my cock. This throat is mine, this mouth is mine. Isn’t it, baby?” He asks roughly as he presses himself as far down your throat as he can. You refuse to nod, or give him the satisfaction of giving in easily. You don’t want him to think he’s won yet.

He pulls out completely and leaves you coughing, and gasping, precum and spit dripping out of your mouth. He pulls you up by the vice grip he still has on your wrists and crushes you against the wall, his big hand squeezing your breast hard. You bite down on your lip again, stifling another cry of pleasure.

“Answer me, Y/N. This mouth is mine, these tits are mine, your throat, your cunt, every inch of this body belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

“You left, remember? I thought you weren’t interested in them anymore.” You rasp, the words coming up harshly from your abused throat.

Jensen stares into you, his forest green eyes intense and piercing. “Oh, I’m interested.” His voice is thick with need and possessiveness, but there’s a hint of regret there too. “I want all of you, every atom of you to be mine. I didn’t realize how desperately I fucked up until I saw you out there tonight pressed up against that piece of shit douchebag.”

He pushes his hand up your short skirt and rubs his thick fingers over your soaked panties. “I’m never gonna let you go again. No one else’s hands are gonna touch what’s mine.”

Panting harshly into your mouth, Jensen pushes your panties aside and slips two fingers through your slick. “Now answer me, Y/N. Tell me you’re mine.”

Your body clenches tightly around his invading fingers and you buck your hips forward as he presses easily against your g-spot again and again, tapping out a rhythm of delirious pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Is all you can manage, but Jensen seems to accept it as confirmation and he pulls his hand out of your body so he can yank you into the room across from you. He closes and locks the door and pushes you forward onto the single bed in the corner of the room.

“Hands and knees.” He orders and you comply immediately.

He steps up behind you and you expect to feel his cock push into you, but instead you feel him sink to his knees on the floor behind you and you’re suddenly speared on his hard, thick tongue. His tongue fucks you into your first orgasm, but it doesn’t end there. His mouth is heaven and hell against your throbbing cunt, his beautiful plump lips suck your clit into his mouth and he nibbles and licks at the overly sensitive nub, until you’re screaming out your second and third orgasm in quick succession.

His fingers push into you, and he scissors you open wide, so his long, velvety tongue can reach deep into your pussy, making you push back against his face and let out inhuman noises of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. Your fourth orgasm hits you like a tidal wave and you flop forward on the bed. No longer able to hold your torso up, you bury your face into your folded arms as Jensen stands up straight behind you.

He rubs his hands soothingly down your back. “That was for me to say I’m sorry for being a jackass and hurting you.” You nod disjointedly in acceptance of his apology.

Then you jolt upright as a stinging slap connects with your right ass cheek. You let out a screech of pain and indignation as he does the same to the left. He delivers two more sharp spanks to each cheek, reddening your ass, and warming it significantly.

You scowl at him over your shoulder and he points his finger at you. “Uh uh.” He reprimands you, eyebrow raised. “That is for your little jealousy stunt that you pulled tonight. I know you only did it to piss me off. Well, this is what happens when you piss me off and make me jealous.”

His hard palms deliver one more simultaneous smack to each cheek, making you bite your lip from the sting even as your core clenches and slick drips down your thighs. He rubs his calloused palms over your skin, easing the fiery tingle he caused, and sweeps his hands down the backs of your thighs, dragging his blunt fingernails back up them and over your ass, making your whole body quiver.

After a minute, he speaks softly, but in a dark voice raging with heat. “Do you want me to fuck you now, baby girl?”

Your words are lost, but you grunt and push your hips back towards him. He chuckles softly and takes the nonverbal cue. You feel him line up at your entrance, but he just teases your hole, pushing in ever so slightly.

“How do you want me, baby? Hard and fast, or slow and sweet?”

You nod, because you just need him, but he waits for an answer so you bark out your request.

“Hard. Fast. Now!”

Jensen growls and ratchets you forward on the bed as he slams into you. “Yes, Ma’am.” He says as he pulls out and slams back immediately.

He does indeed give it to you hard and fast; his pace is unforgiving and relentless, pounding into you so fast and so powerfully that your knees are burned from sliding forward on the cheap polyester blanket covering the bed. His fingers dig into your pelvic bone, bruising you as he slams you back against him.

The guttural sounds that are coming from deep in his chest as he’s fucking you are what push you over the edge for the fifth time, and as you clench tightly around his cock, you feel him spurting hot and thick deep inside you, painting you, marking you, claiming you.

He collapses on you, and you let him crush you into the mattress. Eventually he slides out of your body and sits on the floor, pulling you into his lap and holding you close. He spreads soft kisses across your closed eyes and the bridge of your nose as his fingers trail soothingly over your breasts, teasing them softly.

“Y/N,” he says softly against your cheek, “I am sorry, you know. I never should have walked away from you. But…”

When he doesn’t immediately finish you look up at him and egg him on with your expression. “But?”

He let out a deep sigh. “You scare the shit out of me, woman. I don’t know what to do with someone like you.”

You frown, trying to decide if you’re insulted or not. “Someone like me?”

He nods.”Yes, someone who can absolutely bring me to my knees with a look, someone who drives me crazy with want, feeling like I need my hands on you 24/7, someone who makes me laugh and makes me happier than I’ve ever been.” He throws his hands up. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

You’re still frowning. “Um…sorry?”

He scoffs. “I know it’s stupid, but I got suddenly terrified that it was all too perfect, you were too perfect, we were too perfect together, everything fit, and everything was easy, and easy things scare me. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and when it wouldn’t, I think I figured I’d help it along.”

He shakes his head and then kisses you slowly, sweetly, before dropping his forehead to yours. “Y/N, I’m a fucking idiot. Can you forgive me? If I promise to trust this, trust you, can we try again?”

You’d known from the first moment that the idiotic idea had come into your head to try and make him jealous, that this was what you were angling for; a way to show him what he was giving up, and maybe a way to try again.

So, you nod readily and throw your arms around his neck. “Yes, Jensen, we can try again. But promise me that the next time you start panicking, you’ll open your mouth and talk to me about it.”

He nods. “I will. And will you promise me something too?”

“Hmm?”

His hand cups your breast and squeezes making you gasp. “Only my hands are allowed to touch this perfection.” He tips your chin up with his forefinger to make you meet his intense green gaze. “Yes?”

“Fuck yes.” You sigh as he takes possession of your mouth once again.

Easiest promise you’ve ever made.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24

@deans-spinster-witch

@impalaslytherin

@maggiegirl17

@akshi8278

@candy-coated-misery0731

@nt-multi-fandom

@deanswaywardgirl

@slytherinlyn314

@globetrotter28

@jensensgirl

@perpetualabsurdity

@tristanrosspada-ackles

@djs8891

@muhahaha303

@kayyay1219

@emily-winchester

@recoveringpastaaddict

@maximumkillshot

@mimaria420

@sacriceria

@envyaurora95

@lacilou

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@sunshineandwings86

@kazsrm67

@sexyvixen7

@alexxavicry

@nancymcl

@spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@awkward-and-indecisive

@maliburenee

@supernatural4life2022

@spn730015

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@kickingitwithkirk

@waywardbaby

@foxyjwls007

@deanwanddamons

@deandreamernp

@deanwithscissors

@myloversgone

@snowlovespie

@leigh70

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@charred-angelwings

@hopefuldreamers-world

@mysherlock221b

@jensensgotyoudean

@stixnstripesworld

@thoughts-and-funnies

@magssteenkamp

@norman1967

@princessmisery666

@eevvvaa

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy

@b-i-t-c-h-i-e

@twirpbunwarrior

@mysweetlittledesire

@waynes-multiverse

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@bernasaurus

@jensenslady79

@courtn92

@avanatural

@ellie-andthemachine

@this-is-me19

@roseblue373

@katbratsupernaturalwhore

@fanfic-n-tabulous

#jensen x reader #jensen ackles smut #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #jensen ackles fluff #jealous!jensen #possessive!jensen #jensen ackles rpf

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nekoannie-chan · 6 months

Text

We can learn to love again

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 684 words.

Summary: After separating for a few years to flee the Accords, you and Steve see each other again.

Warnings: Angst, but happy ending.

A/N: This is my entry to @caplanbuckybarnes’ Cappy’s Decade Challenge with the song ‘10s:

“Just give me a reason – P!nk”

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

youtube

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighsss @marvelatthisonee @sapphire-rogerss @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot5555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989

You left the glass on the table when you heard the doorbell ring. No one used to visit you apart from the neighbor, who was an old lady. Your eyes widened very wide at the sight of who was outside.

"Steve?!" You exclaimed in surprise.

It's been a long time. I'm sorry. "I need to get in," he said, as he quickly passed inside.

"How do you find me?" You asked, you couldn't believe it. You hoped it wasn't a dream.

"It was simple. Do you know what happened? "

"No, I haven't been here all day." You replied by shaking your head at the same time.

Does anyone know? He didn't dare finish the question. If there was anyone else in your life, he would just leave. He wasn't going to stop you from being happy.

If you mean, if I'm in a relationship, I'm not. What do you mean by "what happened ?" You answered quickly. However, you were more interested in knowing what happened; you didn't even hear the news.

"Thanos eliminated half of the living things."

"What? Is that possible? By the way who is Thanos?" you asked. Since you separated, you had not done a single mission. You spent the first few weeks escaping until you found that place.

"The only good thing is that somehow you exempted us from... well, you know, what happened."

"Are we free? Do we no longer have to hide? "

"We are free. We can go home. "

"To our house?"

"Yes, well, if you want..."

"I have to pack my bags and you will carry them. And I will also let my neighbor know; she is very kind to me and I don't want her to worry. "

The entire journey back was deafeningly quiet. It had been two years since the last time you saw each other. You had to separate because of what happened in the Civil War. You knew it was very dangerous to be together, especially as fugitives. In addition to discovering that your neighbor had been one of the victims of the Snap, you chose to also take your pets. You would never allow anything to happen to them. You would take care of them as she had taken care of you.

However, what you did not know is that Steve was always taking care of you, even if it was from afar. He was not going to allow anything bad to happen to you, coupled with the fact that he was aware of the danger you were in if someone came to see them together, and he was not willing to take you to the raft because of him.

Your farewell had not been the most romantic; you had implicitly made a promise that you would be back together when you could when conditions were favourable.

You didn't know how to ask him if he had decided to go on and rebuild his life. You didn't even know what happened to the others.

When you arrived, you stood on the sidewalk. You didn't dare enter. You didn't know what you were going to find in there... maybe Steve... maybe there was someone else.

"Are you okay?" "Steve asked you with concern."

"I don't know. Should I come in? Is there anything else you should tell me? " You inquired cautiously. Steve watched you and then understood what you meant.

Let's go in. "There's nothing else, other than to tell you that I love you and I want us to make up for all the time we've lost, all that time we couldn't be together," he replied, holding your hand to guide you to the entrance of what had been his house.

Everything was the same as you had left it when you had to flee. I didn't even know how it had been preserved in that way during all that time. Several times, you wondered what your lives would be like if the Accords had never existed. You sighed. Maybe Steve was right, and you could get back everything you lost.

"Steve, I missed you."

#cappysdecadeschallenge #Steve rogers x reader #Youtube

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st4r-girls · 5 months

Text

love songs ✶ lh44

pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

summary: y/n drops a new song with some very interesting background vocals

notes: hi!!! first post, barely know how to work tumblr but here we go

~ instagram!

liked by kaliuchis, badgalriri and 56,000 more

yourusername so excited to release my new single, the 1!! i wrote these lyrics at the beginning of a new relationship and when i reread them to record, the feeling was surreal. i want to thank all the people who support me and my musical endeavors. and to the one: illuminas mi vida, te amo 💕

view all 6,400 comments

user1 SHES DONE IT AGAIN SETTING THE BAR FOR ALL OF US

user2 DRIVIN DOWN THE 1!!!

kaliuchis tan orgullosa de ti, preciosa como siempre🎀🎀🎀 (so proud of you, beautiful as always)

yourusername te amoooo💕💕te echo de menos!! (i miss you)

user3 ok but when’s the new album???

user4 her vocals oh myyyy🔥🔥🔥

user5 i need her actually

user6 seems like u might have competition

user7 ok but who was the other credit on the song?? those other background vocals were NOT her

user8 ugh i need to see this live asap

user9 ummm who is the one?!??

user10 calienteeee 🔥🔥🔥🔥

badgagriri looking amazing babe

yourusername ugh ily

user11 what an icon

~ twitter!

yourusername posted a new story! 5hrs ago

~ instagram!

liked by lewishamilton, kaliuchis and 178,000,090 others

yourusername i thought writing and releasing a song for you would be the ultimate anniversary present but i’ve been one upped. these have been the best 4 years and i can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you 💕 (ps. thanks for the background vocals 😘)

tagged: lewishamilton

view all comments

user1 WHAT🔥🔥🔥

user2 this was NOT on my 2023 bingo

user3 they look so cute together 🥹

feliciathegoat congrats dude now i don’t have to hear you talk about some mystery guy

yourusername shut up ty 💕

user4 well now we know who the 1 is

user5 I CANT BELIEVE THEYRE ENGAGED

user6 Y/N AND LEWIS WHAT

kaliuchis proud to say i was first to know 😘 felicidades, hermana 🩷🩷 (congrats, sister)

yourusername gracias kali ily ily 🥹 (thank you)

user7 an f1 driver??????

user8 JAW DROPPED IM GAGGED ABSOLUTELY

mercedesamgf1 congratulations on the engagement!! welcome to the family

yourusername aww thank you 🩷

user9 welcome to the family i’m SOBBING

user10 y/n on the grid when????

user11 HE WAS THE VOCALS ON THE 1

badgalriri congrats on the engagement babe 😘

yourusername ugh wife ily 🥹

lewishamilton wife?????

yourusername just kidding lewie, yk ily

user12 SHE CALLS HIM LEWIE🥲🥲

user13 WAIT they’ve been dating for 4 years??????

lewishamilton mi amor 🤍

yourusername I LOVE YOU

user14 so he’s soft launch guy???

liked by yourusername, roscoelovescoco, mercedesamgf1, and 850,093 others

lewishamilton from quiet nights in your nyc apartment to secret skydiving trips, i’ve cherished every moment with you. the song was beautiful, sorry i had to one up you with the engagement. i love you baby, to forever 🤍

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

yourusername oh please you’re not sorry

lewishamilton no i’m not 🙃

user1 i knew this was coming and i’m STILL shocked

user2 HE’S HAD A GF THIS ENTIRE TIME

user3 THATS MY 8 TIME WDC WINNING CHAMP

user4 i think u meant 7 time…

user3 no i meant 8.

sebastianvettel congratulations lewis, enjoy marriage

lewishamilton thank you brother

user5 he’s engaged to the singer????

user6 no way he just hard launched with an engagement post

user7 jaw dropped.

landonorris this old man has a gf???

georgerussell63 i know right? i’m still shocked

danielricciardo i thought it would never happen. so proud😪

pierregasly i can’t believe i didn’t know

yourusername fiancé actually

landonorris so sorry ms future hamilton ma’am

yourusername better 😌

user8 LANDO OMG😭😭

user9 i literally cannot right now

user10 MOTHER AND FATHER

user11 i’m actually obsessed like what

user12 omg i can’t wait for the wedding

user13 i need to see them on the grid

#formula 1 #lewis hamilton #charles leclerc #pierre gasly #daniel ricciardo #soft launch #social media #maria isabel #sebastian vettel #lando norris

45 notes · View notes

bellofthemeadow · 10 months

Text

Summer of '03 | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlists, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: You finally arrive in Texas, a world so different from your home in New York. You find that living next door is a man who confuses you. You can't figure out if he's just a stereotipically angry Redneck or the man of your dreams. Ah well, you've got the summer to figure the puzzle that is Joel Miller.

Notes: Hello everyone, welcome to my new story :D This one is going to be quite different from my last story as I am delving into the realm of enemies to lovers! I am so excited as I don't think that any other PedroBoys fits the bill las well as Joel Miller!!! LMK what you think of it, I always love to read what you think of my work and I would also be really stoke to speak with all of you.

I am also working on a taglist at present, so I should make a post probably tomorrow, so if you want to be added to the tagged post, let me know and I'll be happy to add you!

Hope you all enjoy :D

Welcome to Texas

Apparently, your entire life fits neatly into an 8x6 cardboard box, which is somewhat embarrassing. When you made the spontaneous decision to uproot your life and leave New York, little did you know that packing would only take 25 minutes and leave you with so little. However, every item inside that box was a testament to your independence. You had purchased each item with your hard-earned money, not relying on your parents or receiving them as gifts from an ex-boyfriend. Every single thing inside that box was truly yours.

As you set down the box in front of the small suburban house, you squint your eyes taking in your new home for the foreseeable future. You had to admit, it had a certain charm that you found refreshing. The tiny house was a stark contrast to the high-rise condo your family had in New York or the overly opulent summer home in the Hamptons where you’d spend your summer. This place felt nice and quaint, exuding a sense of simplicity that you were craving. The row of houses boasted a similar style, either one or two floors tall, constructed with reddish-coloured brick. The driveways were impressively large, accommodating even bigger trucks. It really does seem like 'everything is bigger in Texas'.

Everything about this neighbourhood screamed quiet suburbia. Since it was still early afternoon on a Sunday, you spied some kids zooming down the street on their bikes like a wild bunch of Tasmanian devils, while a cluster of older ladies powerwalked on the sidewalk and seemed deeply engrossed in their gossip. The sight made you chuckle, they kind of looked like a swarm of salmon with their pink velour tracksuit. You were kind of impressed. In this heat, the only thing you wanted to do was lie down on the cold floor for at least two hours or stick your head in the freezer for a minute—the jury was still out. But that was probably because of your New Yorker sensibilities. Most of the people you spotted going about their day seemed completely unfazed by what you would categorize as temperature from at least the 4th circle of hell.

You sighed and put your arms high above your head, interlacing your fingers and giving your back a much-needed stretch. As depressing as the sight of the lone cardboard box holding your entire life was, you were glad that you didn't have a lot of stuff to take with you from New York. The drive had been almost unbearable. As a New Yorker, you didn't have many opportunities to drive that often, and this trip had actually been the first time you had driven your brand-new Alfa Romeo GT. It was a Christmas gift from your grandma, chosen for both sentimental and practical reasons, and you decided to take it with you as you up hauled your life to literally the other end of the country.

No one in your family had understood why you wanted, no, needed to leave, except for Granny Mabel. While your parents scolded you as if you were still a pigtailed little girl, timidly requesting seconds at dinner, Granny Mabel simply glanced at you, winking beneath her oversized Givenchy glasses, as she took a generous sip of her red wine. In that fleeting moment, you knew that no matter what unfolded, you would have the approval of the lionesses of New York’s Upper East Side.

But after what felt like three days of almost non-stop driving, you were ready to declare that you didn't even want to look at your car for at least a week. You felt like you had your share of driving to last you a lifetime. Although you knew that wouldn’t really be possible. After all, Texas was not known for the same kind of public transportation as New York. Ah well, when in Rome—or in this case, Texas.

As a few neighbours started to cast curious glances your way, you became aware of the possibility that loitering around an empty porch on an early Sunday afternoon might raise suspicions. You opened your handbag and rummaged through it, moving aside packages of half-eaten candy bars, a couple of lipsticks, emergency wet wipes, and tampons before you finally found the paper your friend Robbie had given you before you left three days ago.

Scrawled in your friend's messy chicken scratch, were an address and a name: "Joel Miller." Beneath it, a hasty note explained, "Joel was Great Aunt Ruth's neighbour. He was helping her with the property ever since he and his daughter moved in next door. We asked him to hold onto the keys until someone could come to take care of the house after Aunt Ruth passed away. Joel knows you're coming. Take care, my dear, and I'll miss you. New York won't be the same without your judgy ass!"

A smile spread across your face as you read the words. Robbie had been the most important part of your life in New York. You both met during your first year of college. You were studying pre-med, while he pursued performing arts at NYU, dreaming of a future on Broadway. Instantly, you connected with each other. Despite your family's legacy of surgeons, you had always yearned to be on the stage. So, in your first year, you took a theatre elective and met Robbie. The two of you became inseparable. His apartment in Brooklyn provided a refuge from the suffocation you felt at home, and you ended up spending most nights there. By the fourth month of your friendship, you even started contributing to some of the utilities, although Robbie insisted you didn't have to. But you didn't mind. Your parents had money, and you used a lot of hot water, so it was the least you could do.

And now, here you were, on the other side of the country, ready to take a break and maybe have some fun! You silently prayed to any gods out there, hoping they would listen and guide you toward figuring out what you truly wanted in your life. Happiness seemed to be slipping away with each passing day, and you hoped this summer would bring some clarity. You looked back down at the piece of paper, making a mental note to call Robbie once you got inside the house to thank him and reassure him that you were alive after that long trip.

For now, you needed to escape the scorching heat before you melted away. Your hair was beyond recognizable because of the frizz humidity brought out, and sweat patches were forming under your armpits. You cringed at the situation but tried to reassure your growing anxiety: "Who cares what Joel Miller thinks? You thought. You've been through more embarrassing moments than being sweaty in front of a middle-aged dad." Memories of laugh-snorting vodka cranberry all over your crush Colin Robertson's shirt at a post-finals party two years ago came rushing back. You were convinced you had permanently stained his favourite white Lacoste polo with cranberry, judging by the disdainful looks he had given you ever since. So, dealing with a middle-aged redneck should be a breeze in comparison.

You hurriedly made your way to the neighbouring house, desperately hoping that Joel Miller would be there. The thought of being stuck outside indefinitely made you want to cry. You tugged at your jean shorts, which clung uncomfortably to your sweaty thighs, and adjusted your oversized "1991 - Walt Disney" t-shirt, a hand-me-down from your older brother. You tied it in a knot at the front, revealing a sliver of midriff. It dawned on you that you needed to buy more weather-appropriate clothes—an item added to your ever-growing to-do list.

As you stood in front of Joel Miller's house, you hesitated. What if Robbie had forgotten to inform him about your visit? Would Joel think you were some kind of psychopath? He’d definitely think you were a little crazy. Taking a deep breath, you firmly knocked on the wooden front door. When, after a solid minute, there was no response, a sinking feeling of disappointment washed over you, suggesting that Joel Miller might not be home after all. You decided to try ringing the doorbell—once, twice. As you debated whether to attempt a third ring or call Robbie, you heard noises from behind the door, followed by a loud exclamation, "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, give me a minute!"

You felt yourself turning pale, and you began fidgeting with your rings, mentally preparing yourself for whatever was about to happen next. The door was ripped open, and your temperature skyrocketed as you faced the man in front of you. Joel Miller was... not what you expected. He loomed before you, tall and imposing, with a mess of dishevelled brown hair crowning his head. What you first noticed was the broadness of his shoulders, it made your mouth go dry as you started to imagine what it would feel like to hold these shoulders in the throws of passion. You could almost picture yourself under him, naked and sweaty, holding unto him and leaving kitten scratches on his powerful back. Your eyes started to take the man in front of you, he was clad in low-hanging sweatpants, his powerful thighs and defined waistline were accentuated. Your gaze was transfixed on him, unable to look away. You were certain you spotted what had to be an impressive bulge in the front of his thin pants and you wanted nothing more than the check if he was as well endowed as he seemed to be. Joel Miller was a man unlike any you had encountered before, emanating a potent blend of masculine confidence and ruggedly handsome charm. You felt insignificant and childlike in your own outfit. What would he think of your sweat-soaked Disney shirt, your perspiring face, and your overall dishevelled appearance? You wished you could rewind time and change into one of your nice little baby-doll dresses, the one that deliciously played on innocence and sinful seduction, you always felt your most confident in them. At least, you wished you had freshened up before meeting this man. Your mother had always emphasized the importance of first impressions, and now, as you observed the fury in his warm brown eyes, it seemed like you had utterly shattered any chance of making a favourable first impression.

The deep baritone of his voice snapped you out of your reverie, as he demanded, "Who the hell are you?" You stammered, "Ehh, I am so sorry to bother you..."

"You better not tell me you some kinda salesman? 'Cause if ya woke me up from the only full sleep I’ve had in two weeks to sell me some bullshit air conditioning, Imma get real fuckin' mad!” You gulp and squirm under his angry stare. "I reckon the appropriate term is salespeople, to be inclusive, you know." Your voice squeaks in an embarrassing sound. What the hell was wrong with you? You weren't some kind of shrinking violet, but at this moment, under Joel Miller's hard stare, you felt like dying. Or at least digging a hole and hiding inside.

"I am really sorry to bother you, Mr. Miller," you try to muster a modicum of confidence, "I am a friend of Robbie Levitt." When Joel's face remained impassive, you felt like it was his permission to keep going. "He is… was Ruth Kaplan's nephew… ehh, the lady who lived…"

"I know who Mrs. Kaplan is," Joel Miller cuts you off and stares at you, squinting his eyes. "You that rich kid from New York?" You feel yourself groan inside, fucking Robbie babbling about your business to everyone. As much as you loved the guy, he was a complete gossip. You simply nod your head, feeling quite unable to say anything, completely tongue-tied.

"You’re late," Joel Miller's words are biting and sharp, and they are cutting into you, making you feel small and childish. "Late for... what? I'm not sure I follow," you say softly.

Joel Miller sighs loudly and shakes his head. "That Levitt kid told me you'd be here yesterday evening, waited late for you to come around, princess." You feel yourself grow even hotter, either from the embarrassment of seeming flaky or from the nickname; you aren't sure yet.

"Oh," you softly say. "I am sorry, I didn't realize. Robbie just said to be here over the weekend. I didn't realize you'd wait for me."

"So , what? You thought that because you some kind of rich important lady from the city you could waste my time? ‘Cause I’m just some redneck contractor from Texas, right? Who cares if you waste everyone’s time, imma right?” His stare is hard and you don’t know what to do or say without making him even more mad. “It’s not like that, I never thought… I am really sorry.” You settle for, thinking it’s your best bet so as to not antagonize him further.

A low growl, “It's fine," he responds curtly and abruptly. It doesn’t sound fine; you think as he looks like he is 5 seconds away from slamming the door in your face. But my god, everything about this man is hard, his words, his face… his body. You don't know if you should love it or hate it, but as your eyes fall to his hard pectorals you feel yourself falling into the former category. "Wait here." He disappears inside his house before returning with a set of keys he promptly drops into your hands. "Here you go."

"Thank you ever so much, Mr. Miller. And I am really sorry again about last night… And for waking you up and everything" You cringe as a dismissive twitch of the head serves as his feeble reply. As you pivot away, trudging along in a pitiful display of humiliation toward Ruth's house, the air fills with Joel Miller’s deep voice once again “Here's a life tip, sweetheart. When someone doesn't answer the door, maybe ya need to take a hint. Not all of us can afford endless days off or live in a rent-free house. Some of us have real jobs, princess, and those of us that do appreciate every bit of peace we can get.”

You feel like crying, tears gathering up in your eyes, but you won't let them fall. You won't give Joel Miller the satisfaction of knowing that he made you cry. So, you settle, "Sure... I apologize for everything. I didn't mean to be a bother." No answer, so you take it as your cue to leave, feeling dismissed like a child at school.

You turn around and try to muster your best fake smile, the same one you used for your mother and father and give a little wave. "Hope you can get back to sleep soon. I'll make sure to not be in your way again." And you scurry away as fast as your legs can.

Summer of fun and discovery is off to a great start, you think sarcastically, as you rip Aunty Ruth’s door open and let the tears fall. Goddamn it, why did you have to antagonize the most handsome man you'd ever seen in your entire life? Joel Miller, you think. You should despise him. He was unnecessarily mean and condescending. Sure, you had been in the way, but how were you to know he would be sleeping at 1 pm on a Sunday? You groan, at this point anyway, he probably loathed you. Yet, strangely enough, you had never encountered a man who could twist your insides as intensely as he did. In the 5 minutes conversion you had with him, you felt your inside growing hot and your belly erupting in a million of butterflies. You wonder what his eyes would be like if they weren’t hard and angry. They were brown and warm, so you imagined how they would feel raking over your skin with longing or desire. Yeah, that’s not going to happen, you think as your mind cringes back to the awful words he said.

Joel Miller. Even the mere sound of his name left a strong, lingering flavour in your mouth. You squirm, feeling conflicted, not knowing whether to yearn for his strong domineering presence or simply try your best to avoid him like the plague this summer. You shake your head, you'll sort out your feelings, or whatever hormones this man triggered, later. Right now, you just need to find the damn freezer and try to cool down. However, after meeting Joel Miller, you're well aware that the fire inside you will continue to burn hard for some time.

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ofsappho · 8 months

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treehouse chapter 29 (tumblr version)

🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞

Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT. 8.5k words of sin.

crossposted to AO3 (want to read the whole story? click here)

You run and Morpheus goes after you. Tags under read more. posted here for the folks who want the smut without wading through a ton of plot.

SMUT TAGS:

primal kink, hide and seek/running and hunting, CNC, consent check ins, aftercare, tentacles if you squint, one sided hate sex (she hates him, he loves her)

Reader POV:

You stop screaming about halfway down once you realize that you’re not falling - you’re floating. Like a fucking flower petal.

You land feet-first on the soft, green grass outside the castle and promptly ruin everything by stumbling to your knees, scraping your skin raw and red against the dirt. It’s not your fault. Flying wasn’t on the fucking agenda.

The storm above roils with flashes of sickly yellow lightning and sullen, moody clouds.

Anger bleeds from you like the slit throat of the man you murdered. The feeling clings to your skin, warming you against the tempest’s chill.

It’s been a very long time since you’ve punished someone other than yourself, and you lust half-starved for Morpheus’s misery, for the chance to try your freshly-blooded canines.

As you get to your feet, the fog surrounding you lifts just enough to show flashes of a thick, thorny wood up ahead. A forest fashioned from charcoal shadows and long, spindly branches with no leaves. Not trees, only their skeletons.

It will do. Does the dried blood on your shirt make you some kind of morbid Little Red Riding Hood? If that’s the case, the Big Bad Wolf always dies in the end. Perfect.

Without looking back, you sprint for it.

Lucienne POV

While Lucienne’s life has become more exciting since Lord Morpheus decided to make you his business, it certainly hasn’t gotten easier.

After all, what is his business is her business. Therefore, you and your relationship are her business.

She was doing a perfectly acceptable job managing everything, she thinks to herself somewhat crossly, until the two of you decided to make her life worse.

But while she doesn’t understand why you are trying to escape when you will never, ever make it out of this realm without the Lord’s permission, she accepts that it is not her place to question such… obscure, esoteric decisions and seeks to assist you as requested. To an extent.

Why, is Lord Morpheus’s coat on fire? Lucienne hasn’t seen him so worked up since Rose Walker. Not even then. “Where is she?” He demands, using the rolling thunder and howling wind as his voice.

Play dumb. “…Who is ‘she,’ my lord?” Lucienne winces. Perhaps not that dumb.

Though none of the books can catch fire, as they are not written upon flammable, single-use Waking-world paper, Lucienne resists the urge to beat the hem of his flaming robe away from the stacks of parchment and dream-paper. Call it a librarian’s force of habit.

“My- my intended.” The king’s glare would put the fear of the Endless in any lesser being.

But Lucienne is no lesser being. In fact, she’s rather put out at the complete absence of decorum Lord Morpheus has seen fit to show… this entire debacle.

Sneaking around like a common thief? Lying to you, keeping you completely unaware of the station that he has elevated you to? Casting disgrace and disrepute on the Dreaming and its people by terrifying you of it so?

Lord Morpheus practically dragged you here stark naked and screaming, for all intents and purposes.

And to add insult to injury, he dares to act as though she should be thrilled to debase herself before him.

“I don’t recall ever meeting your intended, my king. You must forgive me,” Lucienne snaps, peering at the figure on fire over the tops of her spectacles.

She is not so decrepit as to misremember when Lord Morpheus formally put forth his suit for the Lady Calliope.

Every realm and kingdom rang with it. Lord Morpheus brought the Lady Calliope in full honor through the Gates of Horn and Ivory, in a gleaming chariot of gold drawn by Helios’s horses covered in rose garlands.

In Lucienne’s unasked opinion, it is the height of disrespect on her Lord’s part to deprive you of such honors. She’s not surprised you’ve rejected him, and neither should he.

His flaming cloak flares blue, leaving holes in the carpet. Repairing them will significantly inconvenience Merv. They may need to replace the whole floor at the rate their king is going. What a pointless waste of a good carpet.

“You are my Vizier. You are my right hand. If you cannot tell me where that woman is, I will throw you out that window myself. And then I shall strip you of your position and seal, and set the hounds of Hell on what remains of you.”

Lucienne doesn’t think it’s nearly that serious. But then again, she has never been in love like Lord Morpheus loves, nor has she misstepped the way Lord Morpheus perennially steps on cracks in concrete.

In her mind, Lucienne apologizes to you. She hoped to grant you a little more time. “She went that way,” Lucienne says, gesturing to the Great Beyond on the outskirts of the kingdom. Hopefully, you’ve made it far enough to enact whatever chaotic scheme you’re brewing.

“Good luck, Lord Morpheus!” He’ll need it.

Lucienne watches the king disappear without a word of thanks. Once she’s sure that he’s gone, she goes to inspect the damage to the library.

Her earlier fears were warranted; the carpet is done for, along with a few floorboards. They’re singed to a crisp, filling the air with an acrid, burnt stink. With a long, suffering, frustrated sigh, Lucienne summons the pumpkin-headed caretaker.

Reader POV

Your shoes-

They’re getting in the way. The laces have come undone, and you trip over them, then over a series of tree roots rippling above the ground.

When you kick them off in an impulsive, frustrated fit, you expect the ground to be full of sharp things, thorns, jagged pebbles, and maybe even a few bones.

Your feet instead sink into pillowy-soft dirt. As soon as your toes go near a twig, the hard edges around it blunt until it metamorphoses into a blade of tender young grass. The pebbles turn into balls of fuzzy moss, and upon closer inspection, the bones are oddly shaped mushrooms.

So Lucienne was telling the truth when she said nothing in this place could hurt you.

The wind picks up, blowing your hair around your face in a halo and rustling through the leaves in a high, wailing sound, screeching like a pulled fire alarm left too long.

The hairs on your arms stand, and goosebumps trail down your spine.

As you start to run again, you wonder if you’re not only hearing the wind but also some wounded creature crooning and crying out for help.

It’s coming from behind you, from the castle.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

You feel a cramp open up in your side from running so hard, from panting and clawing for oxygen to keep you upright and moving.

The forest goes on and on, a never-ending series of towering, menacing dead trees with gaping shadows and a horizon that grows increasingly distant no matter how far you go.

Fragments of dried bark dig into your palm as you brave yourself on a withered tree trunk.

Run.

You lurch a few feet forward.

The shadows grow maws. They grow fangs. They nip at the backs of your heels.

Morpheus is coming for you.

Everything aches, but you keep going. Your stomach grows nauseous, but you keep going.

The sky above you turns a sickly shade of blue-gray, a horrible warning sign for the torrent of freezing rain about to accompany your desperate, hunted flight.

He will catch you, stick his claws in your back, and parade you through that grand palace in chains.

Or not.

Morpheus says he loves you. Look at what you’ve done with your love for him. No chains are needed for the dead.

But who knows?

You don’t. You do know better than to hope.

That thought carries you just a little further. No matter how weary or wounded you become, you’ll never stop fighting for yourself or your baby bird.

Your heart pounds in your chest like a war drum, and your blood sings in your veins.

You flee past two trees, then three, then four. Their long arms beckon you to turn down one of their dark, haunted paths, to put your back to the horizon and lose yourself in the underbrush like a rabbit running straight into a trap.

You cling to slivers of gold and orange sunbeams peeking through the branches with all the dying hope you can dredge up. The edge of the forest isn’t that far away. You’ll feel the sun on your face and outrun the storm in a moment.

A twig snaps.

Something takes a step. It breathes.

At the corner of your eyes, the shadows pulse and twist.

So he’s found you. You never truly thought you’d make it out of here, but disappointment weighs on your chest like a brick pulling you into the depths of a cold, unforgiving lake. The forest may have had no end, and you were only deluding yourself that it did.

The scent of salt and ice is so heavy in the air that you can taste frozen crystals forming on the roof of your mouth, briny with a tinge of iron.

A dark, endless void of shadows blocks your path, reaching the top of the stormy sky. “Boo.” Morpheus wears a disgusting smile filled with sharp white teeth. It makes you feel things. Abject terror. The impulse to drop to your knees and beg for mercy. And a sick, sadistic heat under your skin.

He came hunting.

You love it.

He wears a red flush on his stark white cheeks as if chasing you took effort. “Dream.” The show is appreciated, even though you both know his godly biology doesn’t work like that. A+ for effort.

It enhances the glowing blue of his irises, like twin stars shining bright in his face against the rich obsidian cloak with a smoking hem flaring around his shoulders. He is a stained glass painting of an archangel, and you are the creature of clay and Adam’s blood barred from Heaven.

You watch the razor edge of his teeth sink into his bottom lip with a feeling reminiscent of envy rotting in the pit of your stomach.

His voice has the sensuality of freshly carded silk brushing over bare skin. “How on earth did you find yourself out here, beloved? These woods are dangerous. They say there is a monster here that eats pretty girls.” Morpheus tilts his head slightly, and his smirk widens.

Your rust-colored nails flex and dig into the hem of your sweater. “Do you get many of those passing through?” You snark back. If I’m so special, prove it. Do what you wouldn’t do for a goddess, or a queen, or a star.

Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t land. He acts like you’re the only person he’d come for. “None as pretty as you. So what are you doing alone? My lady, I’d be delighted to lead you back to the castle. You’re shivering.” There is a grating, patronizing indulgence in his tone. He’s fucking humoring you. He knows you’re full of shit and that no matter how hard you deny it, his feelings are a truth you can’t sully.

That doesn’t mean you’ll give up. “I’m not going back.” How far can you go before Morpheus turns away? How terrible and cruel and horrible can you be before he decides you’re not worth the trouble?

You want- no, need to find out.

It’s only fair. You have suffered, and you never stopped loving him. Let Dream suffer and see if his love endures, if he’s even half the person you are.

In the blink of an eye, the shadows disappear as if they were never there. “Anything could happen to you. Some fiend could carry you off-“ Morpheus says evenly as his cloak shifts into the elegant coat you adore.

Now, he is but a beautiful stranger in the woods. Your clothes are a weak, flimsy barrier to his searching, heated gaze, trailing intimately over the full curves of your body and your rounded belly.

Has Morpheus read your mind and revealed your own brutal desire concealed in your skull like a minefield waiting to explode? “You’ve already done that.” Maybe he didn’t need to. You’ve given yourself away in your dilated pupils, and how you gave up on running as soon as you got what you wanted.

“Hurt you-“ Dream ignores your provocation as he spreads his long-fingered hands, showing he holds no weapon or trick.

For every step he takes towards you, you take one back. “You also already did that,” You frostily remind him.

Morpheus’s coat would irritate you less if it were cast off on the ground and crushed into the dirt along with the rest of his clothes. His hair would be prettier fucked up and tugged between your fingers. You might be able to stand the sight of his mouth better if it were bleeding and bruised from your teeth.

The corner of his mouth ticks up as his eyes gleam with mischief. “Or dishonor you, right here. Who would hear you scream?” He backs you against a tree, and the bark snags your sweater. “Nobody,” Morpheus leans in to whisper. His collarbones peek out of the neckline of his shirt, as delicately articulated as the hollow bones of a bird.

Heat stirs in your blood at the sight.

You felt good watching that man die for Morpheus. And then empty, dreadfully empty. “Don’t touch me,” You hiss, more of a challenge than a deterrent. You want to feel good again.

Morpheus could make you feel good again.

A black shade knocks on your skull at the edges of your vision and politely asks to be let in. Your eyes roll back as it walks through the door you’ve opened inside of yourself and sees what you define as ‘good.’

“…Is that what you really want, darling?” Dream asks, both mocking your resistance and subtlety, softly acknowledging what he found behind your eyes.

Bile builds in your mouth. No. No softness. He has no right. “Why would I ever let you near me again? You are a liar and a fucking dick,” You hiss venomously before gathering saliva and spitting straight into his face.

Morpheus blinks a few times, his eyes round and blameless. “I love you.” For a single breathless second, you don’t hate him, and he never hurt you. You’re two children playing tag in the grass or tackling each other into the dirt.

You snap out of it. “Fuck off.” You feel a thousand degrees hotter. Sticky sweat gathers under your clothes along the heavy curve of your breasts and clings to the small of your back.

He braces one muscled arm on the tree above you and leans in to take in the scent of your hair, so close that his lips almost skim the shell of your ear. “I adore you like this. Fighting me, fighting yourself. It’s charming.” You shiver, unable to stop yourself from reacting.

He’s not touching you. When he exhales, you feel his breath pass over your cheek. He takes a step closer, looming tall and majestic over you. Morpheus delicately pins his arm on your other side, effectively boxing you in.

But he’s still not touching you.

You swallow quickly.

“I’m not fucking doing it for your benefit. Can’t you take a hint? I said no. You have shown me amply this past month how little of a fuck you give. So why don’t you keep doing that and go the fuck away?”

Despite his best efforts at seeming harmless, you can’t shake the impression of his wild, almost-inhumanly blue eyes and too-gaunt cheekbones, like a wraith wearing an angel’s wings.

His eyes trail over your flushed cheeks and the pink of your tongue as you lick your lips.

He reaches out to cradle your face before pulling his hand back when he sees you lean in. “Ah, so this is a test. You want to see how far I’m willing to go. You want to see what I’ll do for you, how long I’ll wait, and how much patience I have,” Morpheus murmurs in a voice as soft as fog.

You should-

You should tell him that he’s got it all wrong. You should tell him that you’ll never forgive him and there’s nothing he can do. You’ve made up your mind and hardened your heart.

“And if it is?”

He kisses you.

The worst part is that you let him.

Morpheus’s hands clutch you against him, your belly brushes his coat, his lips are warm and inviting, and he kisses you like he’s waited his whole long immortal life to do it. His tongue brushes yours, drawing a quiet moan from you. He tastes like salt and musk, and your arms circle his neck, pulling him further into your kiss.

“Then I look forward to passing it,” Morpheus says breathlessly as he breaks away, pressing his forehead to your temple as if nothing is wrong.

With strength you didn’t know you had, you take him by the lapels of his coat and shove him back. Fuck him. Fuck this.

You turn and run before he realizes what’s happening. Panic isn’t egging you on anymore - it’s your fury, smothered slightly but not anywhere near finished. Oh no, you’re not fucking done with Morpheus. You want to see him draped in your agony, you want the light in his eyes extinguished.

You don’t make it two feet. Darkness wraps you up in a warm, gentle embrace, blocking out the whole world other than Dream, watching you struggle with his arms crossed over his chest.

Shadows thread around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. “Running away again? I’ll always catch you, and you’ll never escape.” Morpheus runs a finger along your jawline. His skin feels cool, and the touch is far too tender.

“You don’t know half of what I’m capable of.” Your glare would singe his stupidly immaculate hair off if it could.

His finger trails down your throat and hooks in the neckline of your bloody sweater, pulling it slightly away from your body. “I think I do. I think I know you better than anyone else, dead or alive.” For every ounce of your poison, Dream gives you back steady, unwavering adoration, tugging on the sweater without shying from the stains.

When the damned thing gives, you’re not even that upset. It falls to the ground in two pieces, leaving you in your tank top and pants.

“What the fuck?” You squirm in your makeshift binds, trying and failing to find a sharp edge you could use to convince him to release you.

“That divine mouth of yours may lie, but this,” Morpheus hisses as he rests his palm at the base of your throat to feel your blood rush crazed and wild at his touch. “This doesn’t.” The corner of his mouth turns up as you moan, reluctantly eager for him to tighten his grasp just a little more.

Morpheus tuts before releasing your throat.

Before your feelings smart from the loss, his shadows pluck at the straps of your tank top. “How fucking dare you? Get off of me.”

“But I don’t want to,” Morpheus parries in a high-pitched, playfully mocking tone.

Oh, he has a goddamn death wish. “Do you think I care?” When one of the shadowy tendrils tries to sweep lovingly across your cheek, you bite it. Hard. It tastes like fresh snow. You far prefer it to Desire’s sickly-sweet flesh.

With a single flick of his hand, he makes a deep crimson mark appear on his throat, a perfect image of the imprint of your teeth. Morpheus tilts his face as proudly as if he were wearing a crown.

“I’ve thought about having you like this, bare in our home, ever since I left you.” He rids you of your pants with surgical precision, casting the shreds of rust-speckled fabric somewhere, never to be found again. As Morpheus turns to your tank top, his shadows tighten their grip on your hands, pushing your chest forward.

You watch the intelligence and rational thought die in his eyes when he sees your breasts free of clothing, hanging round and heavy in the cool air.

“What? You’ve never seen my boobs before?” You snarl after growing tired of a full minute of speechlessness.

Your dark binds tug you back and back until you find yourself held upright by a tree trunk.

Dream delicately sweeps strands of your hair away from your throat so he can see without obstruction. “They’re… they’re bigger,” He whispers hoarsely. His fingers pause in their exploration of your sternum long enough to feel your pulse thudding under your skin.

Then he covers one of your breasts with his palm. You hear him groan under his breath when he realizes there’s far too much you for one of his hands. “I distinctly, intimately, precisely remember the shape and size of yours, and they’ve grown…” His fingers knead your soft breasts slowly, relieving a tenderness you didn’t even know you had.

There’s absolutely nothing sacred or respectful in his eyes glittering like sapphires. He only has a wolf’s hunger for a rabbit for you.

And then his face is pressed to the crook of your neck, his lips moving on the column of your throat as he runs a thumb over your nipple once, twice.

His touch feels different. Maybe he’s fucking with your head, or maybe being pregnant has done something to your nerves. Every little movement feels like too much pleasure and not enough of it at the same time.

Heat washes through you, blooming from his mouth and his hands to pour into your belly. “Fuck, you’re so fucking creepy, oh-“ You gasp, hating how much your body craves him.

Your underwear sticks to your thighs as you shift in search of a position that lessens the ache in your core.

Your head falls against the tree as you writhe in his hold. He runs his nails along the curve of your breast, greedily soaking in your every whimper and how you jolt, unconsciously arching closer.

You feel Morpheus lick a hot line along your throat. “Sensitive.” His other hand clutches your waist, your round hips, then palms your ass. A contented groan rumbles deep in his chest.

In revenge, you tug fervently at his coat, getting it about halfway down his strong shoulders before you start clawing at his shirt. The fabric disappears beneath your fingers, leaving him as bare-chested as you.

Instead of avoiding your nails, Morpheus encourages you to carve gilded furrows into his back. “I’m sorry, I cannot- I can’t help myself,” He says, far too pleased with himself to mean that stupid apology.

You look down to see what’s captured his attention now, only to find your tits littered with fingerprint bruises.

That sudden movement displeases him, and he pins you against the tree with a hand on your throat. “Beautiful. And when I…” When he leans down to take one of your nipples into his hot mouth and sucks, bolts of lightning dance and fizz under your skin, electrifying every nerve.

Your hips tremble and push towards him as your dripping cunt pulses and flexes around nothing. “Stop it,” You moan, trying to shove him away yet only managing to tangle your fingers in his hair. Then he switched to your other breast, kissing and lapping at the hypersensitive skin. “Oh God.” You give up fighting for a moment, too caught up in the sensations to care about your pride.

Morpheus barely has to apply the slightest pressure with his knee for your legs to part.

His fingers drag along your inner thighs to capture the arousal leaking through your panties. Before you get the chance to feel ashamed, Dream sucks his shiny fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste with an almost-blissful glaze across his eyes.

With his lips still coated in you, Morpheus looks like the very picture of sin.

After he’s cleaned his fingers, he runs them along the soaked cloth covering your cunt, pressing down just enough to tease. “You’re so needy, my love. I’m horribly cruel, aren’t I, letting you suffer in this state without my assistance.” You grind your hips against his hand, trying to get him to do something about your needy, swollen clit, desperate for relief.

He tastes like salt and sex when he kisses you. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.” Morpheus tears through your underwear like ripping paper. He works your clit with his thumb until you’ve soaked his palm and then slides a single finger into your pussy. Without waiting for you to adjust, he sinks in a second finger knuckle-deep.

You cry out, shaking like a leaf, as your core spasms and milks his digits. You thought that could satisfy the ache but it barely scratches the surface. You need more-

You take his chiseled face between your hands and drag him down for another kiss. “I literally despise you.” To spite him further, you mulishly keep your mouth shut as he starts fucking you with his long fingers.

It turns out that your stifled whines aren’t needed. Your wet cunt more than makes up for it. Loud, soaked squelches echo, and your legs shut to hide the sounds. That only forces Dream’s fingers deeper into your pussy and grinds your throbbing clit into his palm.

You can’t stay quiet a second longer, not as your stomach tightens and tears gather in your eyes from the rush. Those breathless, pathetic noises are all yours, and Morpheus answers them with a breathless laugh.

He keeps up a steady rhythm, carefully and precisely aiming for that sensitive spot deep inside that drives you fucking insane. “You want me to be the villain? Is that it?”

You sink your teeth into his shoulder as deep as they’ll go as your thighs shake, ecstasy rushing painfully through your muscles.

His eyes burn a brighter shade of sapphire when you bite him again. “You wish for me to be cruel? To torment you?” Morpheus wraps his other arm around your hips to help you fuck yourself on his digits. “No, beloved. I won’t,” He purrs in your ear and then kisses away the sweat from your brow.

“Go fuck yourself, Morpheus. I hate you. I hate you,” You chant in a trembling, weak voice. He doesn’t need to help you anymore, you’re shamelessly riding his hand and dripping slick to the ground.

“And I love you.”

You cry out at his words. They fucking- they do something that makes you feel hotter, more sensitive, drives you closer to the edge.

“I want- that’s it, my darling. You’re close. I can feel it.” Your pussy quivers repeatedly as the tension in your belly grows unbearable. He quirks his fingers, hitting that sensitive place as he rocks your puffy clit into his palm.

Your body is betraying you, and you’re just fucking letting him ruin you. “No. No. No, fuck- no, I’m not,” You try, blubbering denials through cries of pleasure.

Morpheus fucks into you faster, harder, matching the pace your hips set. “Tell me what you need. Use me for your pleasure, beloved.” Fuck. Fuck. You’re going to-

Your knee slides up a little, giving him more room to stretch your tight cunt further. “Come for me. I know you want to.” His tone is soft and affectionate, calling to you sweeter than a siren’s song. It tells you to give in and promises unimaginable bliss if you do.

You come with your eyes rolled back and your mouth open, shuddering, your hips jerking on his fingers, and waves of hot flame pouring down your spine.

Your orgasm fucking drenches his fingers and your muscles clamp down tighter, each vicious pulse so strong that you taste iron in the back of your mouth. All you can hear is your heartbeat, loud and insistent, and the low sound of Morpheus’s approval. You’re wracked with pleasure, wholly gone to anything else.

Just before the feeling dwindles, Dream slides his fingers out of your swollen folds, forcing you to finish coming on nothing. “That’s it. There you go. Good girl,” He says with a smile. Your frustrated wail fills the air, and you clutch at his wrist, wordlessly begging for more. “I’m not so loathsome now, hm?” Morpheus showers your face with delicate kisses, pausing only to clean a tear from your cheek with light kitten-licks.

The two of you rest there for a moment. You’re slumped between him and the tree, panting and spent and warm, while he gently rubs your back, waiting for you to catch your breath.

Once Morpheus deems you suitably recovered, he traces the marks he scattered on your chest. He smears the slick gathered on his hand across your nipples, then bends down to lick your juices from your skin. The feeling of him mouthing your tits, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping and biting, overwhelms you, and your knees buckle.

Morpheus catches you and lowers you to the ground. Dried leaves find their way into your hair and crunch under your back as you stretch out like a lazy cat.

“I have a feeling that I’d be able to make you come simply from playing with your breasts,” He murmurs as he kneels between your open legs before laying another series of kisses over the bite marks. “My lady, you are truly the most sublime creature I’ve ever touched.”

You roll your eyes and half-heartedly push his head away. “Yeah, well, you’ll be lucky if I let you near them again.” His hair feels soft and downy under your fingers like the underbelly of a bird. That’s another thing to resent him for. Why can’t he be ugly with bad hair?

Dream’s canines leave imprints in your hand when he bites, clearly communicating how he feels about being denied access to you. “We’re just getting started, darling. Your game isn’t over.”

You look up at his fair, radiant face, shining brighter than a full moon, and his mouthful of nightmarish, fanged teeth, and wonder for the first time if this was a mistake.

That’s how you find yourself riding his face while being forced toward your third orgasm of the night.

The second orgasm passed by in a shimmering haze of heat and lust.

Morpheus pulled you astride his shoulders without fanfare, clamped his hands around your plump thighs, and dragged your sensitive cunt onto his open, wet, and waiting mouth. You hit and kicked, you even tried forcing his head back with a fist in his dark hair, but he gave you the most glorious and beguiling grin at the sudden violence. You couldn’t give him any more satisfaction, so you had to let go and let him do… what he wanted.

Hands made of antimatter gripped your hips and held you upright by your hair. He thumbed your swollen folds, carefully tracing around your clit but never touching it. You weren’t able to look into his eyes from this position - your belly was just large enough to hide most of his face when you were on top. But you had a pretty good guess about how he felt about your wet cunt dangling before his lips, like fruit to be easily plucked, split open, and devoured. You heard him fucking whimper, a stupidly arousing, frustrated sound, and then his arms forced you down.

It took Dream no time to make you crumble like a deck of cards. He lapped his tongue through your folds, smearing your arousal over his lips, before working carefully on your reddened clit. Morpheus’s strong hands endured your desperate attempt to escape him by clutching you tighter.

He sucked on your bundle of nerves once, then twice. You tried to tell yourself mind over matter, that if you focused hard enough, you could ignore the pleasure rippling through you.

Of course, that meant you came so suddenly that your stomach tied itself into knots, and your spasming, throbbing cunt soaked his face. The waves snatched every scrap of air out of your lungs, so you couldn’t even plead for mercy or cry out. You gasped, hunched over with hair in your face, silently screaming and shivering, as your brain turned to slush and your eyes glazed over.

Now, Dream takes sadistic pleasure in teasing that third orgasm out and denying it to you every single fucking time.

There’s an obscene squelch when he thrusts two fingers into your cunt, finally filling the awful, hollow ache. “Fuck, fuck, oh my God, Morpheus… please…” You babble, mindlessly grinding down on his tongue.

He takes his mouth off you and slowly strokes his digits inside you, far too gentle to get you off. “Please what? Please what?” Morpheus mocks as you almost collapse into the shadows, letting them take your full weight.

You try to hide your mewls by biting on your lips and end up cutting yourself, fresh blood joining the fine layer of sweat covering your face and body. “Stop, I’m- it’s too much. You have to stop.” You have no fucking clue what you’re begging for anymore. You’re dumb to it all, helpless and panting and begging for the fever that rises every time he drags the tips of his fingers over your g-spot.

A shadowy tendril wipes the blood from your chin before crawling into your mouth, gagging you so you can’t bite yourself anymore.

More tendrils curl around your breasts and pluck at your hardened, swollen nipples. “You need more? Is that what I’m hearing? Does my lady want more?” Now he matches the rhythm of his fingers with kisses along your shuddering thighs, occasionally pausing to suck and lap at the juices covering your skin.

The tendril in your mouth dissipates into smoke so you can answer. “No, shit, aaah-“ Strands of your hair stick to your cheeks as you writhe and gasp for air.

Morpheus tries to withdraw his fingers to deny you again, tease you again, punish you again, but you’re having none of it. You blindly reach down, grab his slick hand, and urge it back towards your greedy pussy.

He laughs roughly, then kisses your hip with petal-soft lips as he obeys. “That’s it, darling. Does it feel good yet?” Fuck. Fuck. It does. You’re so full, your core flutters and milks his digits, but it’s not right or enough to satisfy the burning wildfire of desire that’s driving you mad.

You shake your head to try and get some control back, to clear your head. All you want is to just- just to give in, let him have you, let him replace every thought and word and will with himself. “No,” You stutter through slightly numb lips, your eyelashes trembling.

Your nails find his wrist and dig in as deep as they can go. Shimmering gold blood coats your thighs, and the mess gets worse and worse when Morpheus starts to bounce you on his face, eagerly drinking from your creamy folds.

“Go on. You can tell me. I know you fucking love this. Just like you love me.” As Dream is far too busy eating you out like he’s starving to lift his mouth, his voice is muffled by the slick, disgusting sounds of his tongue, his fingers, your cunt.

“I… I…” You scrabble for purchase in the dark, searching for something to hold onto, anything that can stabilize you. The hands that intertwine with yours aren’t the ones kneading your ass or fucking you into oblivion, but they’re just as reassuring as Morpheus’s real hands.

His mouth works your clit, getting rougher, messier, sucking harder. “Sweet girl, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your noises and, fuck, the taste of you. And this pretty, pretty cunt. So sensitive. Delicious.” Dream braces one hand on your lower belly, just above your core, applying faint pressure to heighten the sensations.

“But I need you to come. Please, my darling. Please,” He moans against your puffy folds, forcing in a third finger as you wail and thrash.

Just like that, you’re shoved off the cliff, screaming and sobbing. Tears cover your cheeks as your hips move on their own, wrenching out every last bit of pleasure you can. It hurts so fucking much yet feels so fucking good. Static electricity arcs through your limbs, and even the faintest breeze whispering across your bare back makes your overstimulated core flicker and squeeze his fingers harder.

His shadows lovingly lower you to the ground, helping you curl on your side around your rounded tummy. Exhaustion filters in slowly, wrapping you in a gossamer blanket of numbness and calming your frazzled nerve endings.

Dream is there. Dream is curling protectively around your shaking form, he slides an arm under your neck to support your head, and his other hand squeezes the back of your neck. You bury yourself in his embrace and let him rock you like a child.

Here, stitched as close to him as you can be, the horrible past forty-eight hours starts to be less horrible and more foggy, like looking at something in the rear-view mirror as you drive away.

You can let yourself love him in this moment. You can be weak for a little while longer.

When you lay your palm against his heart, you feel it thudding as furiously as your own.

Morpheus exhales slowly as the feeling of you in his arms leeches the tension from his muscles. Even if you wanted to push him away, which you don’t, you wouldn’t have the strength to do it. So, for now, you’ll let him keep you here.

He kisses you as many times as he can, everywhere he can reach. Your baby hairs, your smile lines, the corners of your eyes.

Before Morpheus wipes your cheeks clean of tears, he cleans his fingers off with his tongue. Then he’s stroking away the stinging salt water dotting your skin. A furrow grows on his smooth, unwrinkled brow out of concentration.

When you start crying again out of relief, hiccuping ungracefully and snot going everywhere, his large hand tucks you into the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry. I know, I know,” Morpheus soothes. “Do you want us to be done now? Are you finished?” He’s warmer than a furnace, and you instinctively wrap an arm around his waist and shove your feet between his calves, seeking that comfort with single-minded determination.

His small chuckle is as sweet and fragile as spun sugar.

You absentmindedly trace the veins crawling up the back of his hand as you think.

Then your anger begins to grow back, rotting through your lungs and making each breath taste like death, and you have your answer. “I want… don’t make me say it, Morpheus,” You mutter into his skin and follow it with a tiny, tiny bite, more of a nip than anything else.

This time, when Morpheus unfurls the petals of your mind, you anticipate it eagerly.

You want him, and you loathe it, and it’s choking you. “I should. I ought to make you beg on your knees,” He tells you.

You need him to cut the strife and self-loathing from your chest and smooth out your riled, tangled heartstrings, and then put you back together again. He has to pluck the violence out of your hand as if it were a knife and point it somewhere it can’t hurt you, ideally towards himself.

Dream goes quiet. He pets your hair and rests his cheek against your forehead. You’re beginning to think the softness isn’t just for your benefit; he’s drinking his fill to tide him over until the next time you let Dream touch you like this.

And there will be a next time, a gentle, honey-sweet next time. That promise runs true in your mind, buried deep beneath the layers of poison and resentment like a vein of untouched gold.

His star-filled eyes flutter shut. “Fine. Fine. I can’t deny you anything. Just a little further, and then you can rest.” When they open, his pupils twist and stretch into a monstrous, serpentine gash of black against his brilliant blue irises.

“N- no more?” You hear yourself ask for mercy, easily slipping into the role of the maiden to his beast.

Morpheus rises on his knees and hovers over your vulnerable form. “No more, my love. Can you be brave like I know you are? Can you take it for me?” He asks as the fingers stroking your cheek turn into obsidian claws for a moment.

You are not supposed to find this attractive. You’re meant to be terrified right now, unwilling, pushing him away with conviction of any kind.

“…Yes.” Yes. Take me. A warm, needy craving makes you draw up your knees to conceal your filthy, ruined cunt, glistening with fresh arousal.

The claws metamorphize into fingers before the sharp edges can slice your skin. Morpheus is no less intimidating without them, looking down at you like you’re a pretty toy in his palm. You’ll miss them, though, and you swallow your disappointment before he notices.

He lifts you from the ground before gently turning you until you face away, unable to see him while he can control all of you. “That’s it, beloved. On your knees, arch your back.” The stoic, hardened mask cracks slightly as he runs an open palm up and down your body, inevitably running into the baby in your belly. You’re surprised he lasted so long without asking about it.

Maybe Morpheus didn’t think he had the right to until now.

Your back presses into his broad, muscled chest. “May I?” He asks before slowly kissing your neck. His hair tickles your earlobe, and you feel a soft puff of air ghost over your skin when he exhales.

“Our baby.” You even surprise yourself by resting his hand over the swell of your soft, squishy tummy.

Dream strokes the rounded skin with hardly any force, suddenly treating you as delicately as he’d handle a fragile eggshell. His breathing hitches, and tension strings his tendons as tight as they can go.

If only you could capture this in a painting or trap it in a snow globe so you could relive the feeling of trusting him again over and over.

It’s too much. It’s far too much. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as you shove his hand away from your skin. He’s too close, too soft, and too kind.

You’re not sure if you deserve it, and you sure as shit don’t want it.

As fast as a viper striking a hapless mouse, Morpheus grabs the back of your neck and traps you in place. His long fingers wrap around your throat, and his nails prick your skin. “You’re insatiable,” He tells you, then forces you down until the side of your face meets the forest floor.

He leaves your arms where they cushion you on the ground, correctly judging that bringing them behind your back will hurt in an unpleasant way, and instead keeps his dominance with a fist in your tangled hair. Dried leaves crush under your cheek as you try to prop yourself up and rest his strength. Dream doesn’t give an inch, and eventually, your body grows pliant and submissive beneath him.

His fingers dance up and down your spine in a soothing pattern. “Good girl. That’s it, sweetheart.” You grit your teeth and buck again, trying to express your displeasure, but Morpheus merely laughs and kisses the base of your spine.

“No need for all of that. I’ll give you what you want.”

When his fingers dip between your parted thighs, you push back, fucking begging him to touch your swollen folds and ease the building ache.

Your moan is exhausted and sweet as he thumbs your clit before playing with the fresh slick on your skin. “Fuck, you’re still so wet. Is that for me, darling?” Dream groans, his breath hitching as you arch a little further, presenting your dripping pussy to him.

The desperation in how hard he tries to make you cry out tells you everything about how tightly wound he is, how close he is to snapping. “Come on. You can admit it.” You keep your mouth stubbornly closed even as the pressure on your clit increases. It’s bad enough that he knows you as well as he does and can play your body like a virtuoso on a violin.

His breaths come in short, almost feral pants. “Silence? We’ll see how long that lasts.” And then- and then- Morpheus pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, going slow enough for your muscles to adjust.

But he’s so fucking big, and it’s been so long since he last fucked you, and your eyes roll back, sweat drips down your neck, and your knees dig into the ground, trying to keep you upright. “Shhhhh. Gods, you’re so fucking tight. Fuck. It’s okay. You’re okay. Feels good, hm?” Inch by inch, he stretches your spasming cunt, and you whine, your hips tilt back, and his thick cock slips against that spot deep inside that makes you sob.

“That’s it, my love,” Morpheus reassures through gritted teeth. “Can you take me a little further?”

You feel your muscles constrict around him like a vice when he grinds himself deeper. “H-how much?” You moan as your juices run down your thighs and coat his cock to the base.

Dream releases your hair before sliding an arm under your breasts to hold you upright without hurting the baby. It takes you a second to trust him and give him the whole of your weight. He balances you between his hips and arms like you’re lighter than air.

He kisses your damp hair and nibbles on your ear. “That much,” He says, showing you another inch or so with his fingers.

Your hand covers his resting above your belly, and your fingers intertwine with his. “…Yeah,” You nod as tears prickle in your eyes. Morpheus is everywhere, inside you, holding you. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him so fucking much.

With a deep breath, you relax and let him carry you. The feeling of his heartbeat thudding through his chest and his hand cupping your breast is a sweet, easy soporific, soothing the sharp, anxiety-ridden knots in your head into something mindless and loving.

He rocks into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass. “Relax, my love. You’re okay. Gods- you feel- so good, you’re perfect, that’s it, good girl. Perfect girl,” He chants, over and over, as the stretch and the push and pull have you shaking and pleading for more.

“Oh- oh god. Morpheus. Ahhh- I can’t, I’m so full.” Your breathy cries echo over his deep, gravelly moans.

“You’re still so tight even when full of my cock. And my child in your belly? Gods, I love you. I adore you.” Every time he tells you that, your cunt grows wetter.

Morpheus lays into you, fucking you like a man possessed, pressing in as deep as your body will let him. All you can do is rest there in his arms and take it. “I- I’m not going to last. I need you- I need you to come for me. One last time.” You’re not listening when he speaks, too busy bouncing your hips in time with his thrusts and screaming your pleasure out as loud as you can. “Please, darling?” He begs. His free hand returns to your pussy, and his fingers stroke your clit softly.

Your knuckles go white from the force you use to grip his wrist. “Hngh- shit, shit, shit, yes.” The feeling of Dream kissing your cheek sends you over the edge.

Your eyes go wide as the moon, and you hiccup as the force of his cock bullying into your shivering, clenching cunt wipes your mind blank of coherent thoughts. Your spine straightens and your limbs tense. You’re delirious, babbling nonsense, and he keeps working your swollen, hypersensitive clit, now chasing his own release.

Morpheus sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he comes, painting your inner walls white. The warmth relieves some of your soreness from all the orgasms he forced from your tired body. You can feel your combined cum coat your thighs, sticky and viscous.

When you collapse, you don’t hit the forest floor like expected. Instead, you end up in a large, impossibly soft bed, bundled in plush blankets and your head cushioned on fluffy pillows.

Everything hits you at once - the running, the fear, the man dead in your living room.

As you weep into the soft linen under your cheek, Dream curls around you until you don’t know where you end, and he begins. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” His fingers shake as they wipe away your tears and tuck the blankets tighter around your shoulders.

The bedchamber is cool and dark with no shards of light that could irritate your eyes or worsen your building headache from crying so goddamn much.

You cling to him and smush your face into his chest. “Morpheus…’M sorry.” In this strange, fairytale land, the strange god embracing you feels like home.

Something damp trickles down your forehead. “Shhh. Did you think killing that man scared me off?” When you look up, you see tears glimmering on Morpheus’s face like sapphire beads.

“It should have.” You’ve always had darkness in your heart. You might have been born with it, a seed planted by your mother’s hatred and watered by your pain.

But if Desire was telling the truth, Morpheus is as flawed as he is beautiful. That’s oddly comforting.

His mouth tastes like you when he kisses you. “Listen to me, beloved. I have been captured like that once before. I languished in a prison for almost a century. I was forgotten. Abandoned. Starved. All of this around you that I built crumbled into dust. At long last, it was the pity of an old man and my rage that freed me. But you… No one has ever protected me like you did,” He whispers.

Your arms tighten around his waist. You love him, you hate him. Most of all, your heart breaks for the decades he spent alone.

He swallows thickly. “That’s all I ever wanted. For my whole existence. Someone to fight for me.” You wanted that, too.

“And if you had chosen to leave me there, to keep you and our child safe, I would’ve let you. I would have forgiven you. That is how much I love you.” His hand sketched slow, circular patterns across your stomach, never shying from the rolls.

Your lips ghost over his shoulder, sending a shiver through him. You don’t kiss him with forgiveness, not yet. Even though you can’t say it aloud, you want him to know you’re here. He’ll always catch you, no matter where you run, so he won’t ever be alone again.

“Maybe you’ll regret it. That it was me.” You can be just as cruel and monstrous as him; there are other kinder, prettier, gentler, sweeter people. He could be anywhere else right now other than tethered to a canvas of scars with her teeth bared.

He kisses your forehead with his hands, cradling your cheeks like a dragon cradling its hoard. “Do your worst.”

this is the smuttiest thing ive written for this fic yet. hope you guys like this!

#treehouse #the sandman #sandman #the sandman comics #sandman comics #the sandman dc #sandman dc #sandman netflix #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus #lord morpheus x you #lord morpheus #lord morpheus x reader

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sightoru · 1 year

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𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎... and happy new year!! I wanted to make a post showcasing some of my favorite things i've read this year, and thank you all for sticking with me as i transition from writing on tumblr to ao3!

I do want to do a separate shoutout for @mybigbangacademia and the wonderful people i met there! it was so great to be part of something that challenged me to write, and it was so great to work together as a community ! linky.

please let me know if you'd like to be removed or untagged as well! i really don't mind at all. I also wanna say this is for fics i've read THIS YEAR, regardless of when they were posted.

now without further ado...

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒...

𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐀.... by @dilu3 scaramouche x reader, tattoo au. this is so fucking good and i literally love everything about it.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒.... by @eremikan natsuo, dabi, shigaraki, keigo x reader. it's written in a gorgeous way, very unique and i love the entire story. mari has a stunning way with words and it shows through the entire piece. i cant wait to see where it goes!! MIND THE TAGS!

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐒... by @andypantsx3 andy is so incredible and i literally devour everything they write like a boa constrictor. the most canon shouto todoroki i've ever read, and im ngl im not a massive shouto simp??? but i am eating this fic up.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃... by @yeagerbombs CEO of canon zhongli. the pining and build up is incredible, i love readers personality in this as well!!! very elaborate and stunning and one of my favorite versions of zhongli i have ever read.

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄... by @katsukiskitkat literally some of the best world building i've ever read in my life, binge read everything in a day in my bed while i was clutching my phone and kicking my feet like a school girl. absolutely incredible.

𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐌𝐄...

𝐔𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐘... soggy by @mintmatcha. this gutted me and i will never be the same again.

𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐘... study buddy by @sems-diarie , sem always does my baby izuku right (OUR baby) and this is just another one she did beautifully.

𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋...dead young and fair by @j0succ turned me into a diluc simp??? its so stunning and beautifully written and everything about it made my heart ache.

𝐈𝐃𝐊 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓... what doesn't kill me makes me want you more by @dottores / @twdottore im not even INTO TR (not for any particular reason) and yes i did have to look up what these dudes look like but it did not stop me from devouring this like a man starved.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒...

@tteokdoroki 's the sinister six event, which combines my two favorite things: smut, and long fic. aali killed it last year, she killed it this year and if she decides too, she'll do amazing next year.

@anantaru's kinktober was a full course meal every single day of october. they're built different, idk how they did it but they did and i applaud them. raising my glass to them like that leonardo dicaprio meme.

@vampyrsm 's kinktober was nothing short of perfect. i've reread these like 4 times.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒...

@hanmas nsfw + sfw + multifandom.

@spacelabrathor nsfw + bnha + sprinkle of dc + longfic

@haruchiyos dc + nsfw + multifandom

@oh-katsuki dc + nsfw/sfw + multifandom + longfic

@petrichorium nsfw + multifandom

@willowser sfw + bnha

@willowser-but-nsfw nsfw + bnha

@vagabondings nsfw + multifandom

@hawnks nsfw + sfw + multifandom + long fic

@saneminx nsfw + multifandom

@alhaithms nsfw + sfw + multifandom

@tinie nsfw + sfw + multifandom

@dearbraus nsfw + sfw + multifandom

thank you all for a great year!

#[✩|recs]

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jasntodds · 1 year

Text

Caving In [12]

Pairing: Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader, Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 10,267

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, hurt/comfort, blood, lots of feelings of guilt amongst Jason, Reader, and Gar, I’m asking you all to have faith in me for a minute lmao, Jason Todd is sad™️, there’s an author’s note at the very end with who the endgame is if you’re curious lol

Summary: ❝Tell me Atlas: What is heavier, The world or its people’s hearts?❞ You never expected your life to end up this way, turned upside down by an infamous Gotham villain. It’s been a living hell, every single day, until Dick Grayson brings you to Titans tower where you meet Gar Logan and Jason Todd.

A/N: Look, I love this chapter. I’ve had it picking at my brain since I started writing this. I love a vulnerable Jason Todd idk lol I am easily motivated to post more often when I get feedback 😂 You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

You hear Jason scream and your entire world crumbles in that instant. Kory rushes over to you, and you almost don’t notice her. The breath is gone from your lungs and a lump forms instantly your throat. Your arms go weak and you swear the only reason you don’t slip is because your hands are impaled. Kory grabs you though, and pulls you into the window, Dick sliding over to help. You sit for a second, letting your hands bleed onto the ground under you as your legs are bent and pulled up to your chest.

You failed.

“Come on.” Dick is kneeling in front of you, a hand on your elbow to help you up. “We gotta go.”

“I-I-I-I-” You choke on a whine, tears brimming your eyes. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t save him.” You lock eyes with Dick and his heart is broken for you but Jason’s alive.

“Someone caught him.” Dick’s words are slow and you think he’s lying. Jason is human and couldn't survive a fifteen story fall.

“None of the Titans can fly.” Your voice is a broken whisper.

“Wasn’t a Titan.” Dick adds. “Come on.” He grabs one of your elbows while Kory grabs the other one to help you up. “We have to get out of here.” Dick pulls you with him, he’s worried maybe you won’t follow him if he’s not dragging you along.

The three of you, quickly, make your way through the building. You still think Dick is lying because you understand you need to leave because Dick and Kory didn’t take down Deathstroke. He escaped and he’s out there. There’s no way he’s just done. Not with Rose still at the tower. You think Dick is lying to get you all out of the building and everything is a mix of pain and numbness. It’s the worst cocktail ever poured down your throat.

The numbness clouds your bones. It’s somehow so painful and painless. That’s the thing about being numb. It doesn’t always mean pain-free. It lingers and covers you like a black cloud of doom, just looming over you but never doing anything. It taunts you, stalks you. You’ve felt like this before and it’s so hard. It’s so painful. It's paralyzing.

The three of you exit the building and Dick is first to start running, followed by Kory. You drag your feet as your breathing is ragged. Everything seems to be going in slow motion. You reach the front of the car that Dick and Kory ran behind and there’s Jason. Your heart stops in your chest and everything freezes for just a second. Jason gets to his feet and he’s okay. Given everything, he is, for the most part, physically okay and you have never felt more relieved about anything in your entire life.

You sprint to him and collide into him like a tidal wave at full force, wrapping your arms around his neck. Jason nearly collapses from the impact, the car being the only thing keeping him on his feet. Jason lets out a breath and takes just a second before wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can because he swears you’ll disappear if he doesn’t.

This hug is the most cathartic thing he has ever experienced and Jason is not a hugger. But, he can’t help it right now because you’re crying into him and you’re alive and you’re okay and he’s alive. And at least right now, you don’t hate him for him being the reason you were basically dropped from a skyscraper and he never wants to let go of you. He wants to live in his exact moment forever, his eyes closed and his arms wrapped so tight around you, Dick would have to pry him away from you with a crowbar.

Dick looks up from mending the strange man that saved Jason, someone you didn’t even notice, and looks at Jason and you. You arms are wrapped tightly around his neck while Jason’s arms are wrapped around your waist, his hands holding his own forearms. Jason buries his face into the crook of your neck and Dick remembers that night he caught you both in the bathroom together. And the night he caught you both training and he remembers how Jason told him about Jerry.

The first words that came out of his mouth when Dick picked up the phone were “it’s not her fault.”. Jason threw himself in front of the bus Dick was driving to try to protect you that night. He took the blame and he never told you about it. It’s why you were so mad when Dick pointed the finger at Jason. You took the blame that night in the sparring room and Dick is watching you both feeling like maybe there’s something to the two of you, you’re a little bit of chaos together, sure. But he’s never seen Jason look so content and after something like this, Dick expects Jason to lose it but he’s just hugging you with everything in him. But, he feels bad because he knows this night will change everything between the two of you. The relief of being alive will wear off and something will shift.

You pull away, just enough to get a look at his face, as if making sure he’s really here. His eyes are dark behind the mask as they move over your face. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot but he looks relieved. You’ve never felt panic like you did with him falling. Heights, foster care, the streets, none of it even competed with that feeling. You were so certain if he died, you’d be devasted, it would destroy you. You were so certain of it before but now, you know that without a doubt, that would be it. That would be the thing that finally shattered you into slivers of glass that can’t be glued together. Everything else that’s happened, adding the death of Jason onto that, would be it. Because you adore him with every bone in your body. So, for the first time, you commit to it.

You place your fingers on his jaw, trying to avoid touching him with your palms, and bring his lips to yours. Jason freezes. He doesn’t move, he tenses up completely because not in his wildest dreams did he ever think you’d ever commit to it. It was always jokes and banter, he swore you’d never do anything about it. Jason swore he was the second choice for you. That’s why you’d forfeit the game, save his feelings if he decided to keep it going. He never thought it’d get here and then a beat passes and he relaxes into you, squeezing you closer to him. His world stops and it all goes quiet.

The guilt riddled in his blood and bones and veins evaporates. The constant voice in his head, blaming him for everything horrible that’s ever happened has finally shut up. It’s gone to hide in the shadows and it’s quiet. The weight on his shoulders is gone and his heart doesn’t feel like it’s being crushed by an elephant. Despite it all, despite tonight, in spite of tonight, you kissed him. And for the first time in a long time, Jason Todd does not feel like damaged goods.

The world spins for you the second you feel Jason squeeze you. Everything spins and you can’t hear the other Titans coming up from behind you, questioning the strange man. You don’t hear the helicopter above you or the cars still passing by on the street. Everything goes silent around you while your stomach jumps into your throat. You kind of thought Jason didn’t want you to commit to it. He tossed you the ball and hoped you’d play, but he never asked. But, he’s pulling you closer and relaxing under you touch, unbothered by the blood that’s definitely getting on his face and it was never a game. You’re so sure of that, it was never a game to him and it wasn’t to you. Your heart beats for this boy against you like it’s never had a purpose before.

Jason pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he takes a breath. It’s like this is the first full breath he’s taken all night. And you can feel it. Jason Todd thinks he’s hard to love and hard to care about but right now, you swear it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. Despite everything and every bad decision you both make, caring about him the easiest thing you’ve ever done. Caring about him is like breathing, effortless and easy. I’s always there tugging at the bottom of your heart and echoing in the back of your head, silently like calming sound of a soft rain again the window.

“You're alive.” Your voice is fragile against him.

“So are you.” Jason's words are soft as he opens his eyes. “You held on.”

“You let go.” You whisper and you’re so thankful he let go.

“I had to.” Jason pulls away just enough to fully look at you. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know.” You nod your head quickly and you move your hands down to his shoulders, getting a look at the blood on his face. “Thank you for saving my life, Jay.”

Jason nods at you and he gets why Gar gets touchy-feely. There are a million things he wants to say to you but he can’t get his voice to work and he doesn’t know if he should say any of it. He doesn’t know how. So, he just pulls you into a tighter hug again because that’s the only way he can express how he’s feeling. He saved your life tonight by letting go of you but what you don’t know is that you saved his life tonight, too. You saved him because if it weren’t for you, he would have fought so fucking hard against Deathstroke and Dr. Light, they would have had no choice but to kill him. Jason doesn’t give up that easily but you’re a reason worth living for, you’re that person worth protecting to him. You don’t know it, but you saved his life, too.

“I’m sorry I got blood on you.” You whisper to him, grabbing your sleeve to try and wipe it off without smearing more blood on him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” Jason shakes his head at you and if you keep this up, he’s sure you’ll have his blood on you at some point. It’s bound to happen at this rate.

"Hey, guys." Kory calls, getting your attention and this time, neither of you step away from each other like you would have yesterday. "Come on, we have to get back to the tower." Kory jerks her head towards the black SUV while Dick and Hank are lifting the strange man's arms over their shoulders to help him up.

Jason and you nod at her, finally pulling away from each other. The two of you follow the Titans to the car, getting into the third row with Kory. The car is completely packed but none of you are willing to complain about that small detail right now. Instead, Dick starts driving while Kory has a look at your hands, using the dome light to have a look. She can't see much given the bad lighting and blood everywhere, unfortunately.

Meanwhile, you ask about the guy and Jason explains that he came out of nowhere, midair, and caught him, that’s it. But, you catch the lack of excitement in his voice that would normally be there. He’s flat and dry, distant. And you get it. To say tonight sucked, would be an understatement.

Everything is starting to settle in Jason's bones. The adrenaline is starting to crash and he feels the weight creep back over him, inch by inch. The darkness migrates from the shadows of his head to the very front, damaging every thought that pops into his head. The kiss with you, scared the darkness away but now he’s in silence, putting himself in his own bubble and thinking about every single thing that happened tonight. The weight almost feels too heavy.

The rest of the ride is quiet but the air is the car is stiff. It's as if tiy and Jason can feel all of them wanting to yell at you at the same time but they're managing to bite their tongues for the drive. But, you're both thankful for the silence anyway. It does, however, worry you for Jason to be so quiet and have nothing to say about anything. Not to harass Dick about failing tonight or about him dropping Jason. Jason is silent as he stares out of his window. And you’re worried.

Once you get back to the tower, you and Jason are the last to leave the elevator with your heads hung. The other Titans take the strange man off to the infirmary to try and help him. You look over at Jason as he's limping with every step.

“Meet me in the bathroom, okay?” You ask. “Your leg.”

Jason glances at you. “Yeah, alright.” He nods and decides to not to fight it.

Yes, he saved your life but the adrenaline of it all is wearing off and is being clouded by guilt. He saved you but you shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. At the end of the day, he still failed. This was his chance to prove himself and instead, he got kidnapped, tortured, and then dropped from a skyscraper. Every minute that passes, adds ten pounds to his shoulders and it’s crushing him. He’s supposed to be Robin but he couldn’t even take out a lightbulb.

Gar is the first to greet you and Jason, rushing over to you and hugging you both at the same time. You turn your hands, palm up to hug him back and Jason pats Gar’s back. The both of you feel a bit of relief to have Gar hug you. And then you both feel worse all over again because you just put Gar through hell. The helicopter was likely the news meaning it was probably live and Gar was probably watching it. At least you and Jason were together, knowing what was going on. Gar was stuck here with radio silence from you. And you both swear the guilt from it might eat you whole.

“I’m so glad you guys are okay.” Gar rushes his words as he pulls away, seeing blood on your clothes, Jason’s suit, neck, and jawline. “I mean…are you guys….okay?”

You look to your hands. “It’s fine. I’m fine, Gar. Thanks.” You nod at him and give him the weakest smile he’s ever seen.

“It’s mostly hers.” Jason states, his voice still flat. “I’m gonna change.”

You and Gar watch Jason limp off and Gar looks back to you with furrowed brows. Jason is hurt and Jason doesn’t get hurt. Of course, Gar expects you both to be traumatized and weird but not…quiet. Jason is never quiet and you look like you’re holding your breath.

“Deathstroke carved the tracker out of his leg.” Your voice is sad and hushed.

Gar's eyes widen and it feels like he’s being stabbed in the chest again. “Seriously?”

You nod. “Yeah…so, um…” You swallow thickly. “I’m gonna meet him in the bathroom and help him clean it. I just…I think we need to talk about tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, no I get it.” Gar nods his head, understanding why you and Jason would want to talk about everything. He has to be patient. “I’m really, really happy you’re okay.”

You see the worry lines and you think they might be permanent now, because of you and Jason. “Yeah, me, too. I’m really glad you weren’t there.” You say quietly. “I’ll catch up later.” You cut it short because if you keep talking to Gar you’ll lose it and you can’t lose it, not yet.

You go right into the bathroom and get out the medical supplies. You wash and wrap your hands haphazardly with gauze. You’re not all that concerned about yourself and really just wants to help Jason. This isn’t about you because it can’t be. This is going to take time to recover from mentally and you know that but that’s thing. You’ve been through it and while it is unfathomable to have gone through it twice, you’ll get better from it because you did before. And tonight was not for you, it was always for Jason who wants nothing more in the world to be the best Robin. He let himself down and you can’t let him do that to himself. You need to shelve how you’re feeling for him. You can break over it later.

“I can do this in my own, ya know that?” Jason asks as he stands in the doorway.

You look to him, now in a pair of shorts and a black t-shirt. You can see the gash on his leg that’s deep, blood stains go down his thigh. “I know.” You state as you look back to him. “But, you cleaned up my hands last time, so sit your ass down, Jay.” You try to give him some snark but you can feel that your tone failed.

“Whatever you say, bOsS.” Jason mocks how you’d normally respond if he were you.

“Ha-ha.” You roll your eyes but give him a smile.

Jason hops on the counter of the sink, putting his hands behind him. He doesn’t like to deal with this stuff. It makes him feel too exposed but after tonight, he can’t very well be more exposed to you. And it’s you, it’s different with you. It doesn’t feel all that scary and you want to help. Jason would do anything you told him right now.

You get a wash rag, soaking it before starting to clean his wound. Jason hisses as you touch it. “Sorry.” You mutter, trying to be more gentle.

“It’s fine.” Jason lets out a breath, seeing the gauze in your hands that looks like a complete mess. “How’re your hands?”

“Oh,” You pause for a second before continuing. “Fine, they don’t hurt really and they’re barely bleeding.” You lie, trying to brush it off for Jason's sake.

Jason nods. If it weren’t for everything else that happened that night, he wouldn’t be feeling too guilty about your hands. It would just have been an accident of trying to save you both, which it was. But given everything that happened, he blames himself because it’s about the injury you sustained tonight because of him. It was his idea for you to melt the glass and that’s what lead you to fall onto the shards. Deathstroke beat you up and now you have cuts on your hands and he’s blaming himself for it.

You glance up to him, the distant look in his eyes haunting you. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” His voice is stern this time.

“It’s okay if you’re not. You were just dropped fifteen stories.” You state as you clean the dried blood around his thigh.

“I’m fucking fine.” Jason huffs. “I can do this myself if you’re gonna fucking badger me, alright?”

He’s completely fine, except for the fact that he feels like he’s still falling, the pain in his leg, his hands shaking, his arms feeling like they’ll fall off at any moment, the whole thought that he’s a failure, and the guilt that’s eating him from the inside out. He’s completely fine, besides all of that.

“Fuck,” You let out a scoff. “I’m just saying that it’s okay if you’re not, alright?” You glance up to him and his eyes are trained on the wall in front of him, glossy and it breaks a part of you. You look back down at his leg. “It’s normal. It’s okay. You don’t have to be fine around, Jay.” Your voice goes quiet. “It’s you and me, okay?” You look up to him and Jason’s eyes just barely glance in your direction as if looking at you makes it real. “I’m not fine, for the record. Nightmares will definitely be coming back in full force but ya know, you told me to talk about shit. I did and it does help. You know that and I know that. So.” You suck in a breath and you want Jason to talk because he has to be okay.

“I’m sorry, alright?” Jason huffs. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, it’s just,” He pauses. “It’s my fault, alright? And it fucking sucks.”

“It’s not your fault.” You shake your head as you continue to clean the wound.

Jason scoffs, shaking his head as if to not believe you. “Right, just my dumbass idea, right?”

“No,” Your voice is soft as you ditch the rag in the sink and reach for a few butterfly stitches, wishing you knew how to do proper stitches because Jason probably needs them. “It’s not. I was mad.” You feel the guilt wash into your blood. “You called me useless.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Jason’s words are rushed and he finally looks down at you fully. The guilt coats his stomach like cement. “I’m really sorry.”

“No, I know.” You nod at him, but don’t keep your eyes on him, getting the sense he doesn’t want you looking at him very long. “We say these in high-stress situations that we don’t mean.” You state. “It sucks but it happens. I didn’t mean it and you didn’t mean. It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, it fucking is.” Jason groans, not wanting to talk about it anymore. “Can’t you pick any other topic?”

“It’s not and I will tell you that every single day until you believe me.” You ignore the question because you know he’s going to drown himself in his own guilt if you don’t get him to listen to you.

You’ll suck up your fear of heights and scream it from the rooftops if he needs you to. This isn’t his fault and you will do everything and anything to get him to believe you. You can’t let him drown himself. You can’t lose him.

“I got you kidnapped, beat up again, and dropped from a fucking skyscraper.” His eyes are narrowed at you but his voice is pleading. It’s as if he’s pleading and begging for you to put the blame on him. Let this be his fault. He deserves it. He’ll never forgive himself for it. Jason huffs. “If I would have just….fucking listened and stayed behind, none of this would have fucking happened.”

“We.” You correct him and he quirks a brow at you. “We, had we listened but there were three of us who didn’t. So, it’s not your fault.”

Jason thinks you’re just trying to make him feel better. How isn’t this his fault? Everything about tonight came down to the decisions he made. Maybe had he just escaped instead of helping you, he could have brought to the Titans to where Deathstroke was and saved you from the rest of the night. Had he been faster, maybe you both could have escaped. If he could have escaped the restraints on the building, he could have gotten you to melt the window faster and you would have been saved. This is his fault, every single way he looks at it. It is.

“Yes, it fucking is and you don’t have to fucking baby me trying to make me feel better.” Jason barks and you pause again, eying him. “This is on me, okay? I had one fucking job and I fucking failed at it.” Jason’s voice cracks.

“We all fuck up, Jason.” You keep your voice calm and kind.

“Not like this.” The tip of his nose starts to turn pink. “I could have gotten you, Dick, and Kory killed tonight. Being Robin is the best thing that’s fucking happened to me and I fucked that up, too.” Jason sucks in a ragged breath and he just can’t take it. The night is too much and it’s all overflowing like a dam after a hurricane. “It’s my fault, Y/n.”

You shake your head. “You are a great fucking Robin and you know I wouldn’t tell you that if I didn’t mean it. You have saved people. Tonight was just…a lot. Deathstroke was just better than all of us. We never stood a chance.”

“We should have though!” Jason argues. “I fuck everything up. I touch anything and it just gets messed up over and over again. It’s like I’m fucking cursed.” Tears brim in his eyes.

It breaks your heart to hear that’s how he views himself. He doesn’t deserve it and you want to hunt down every single person that has ever made him feel this way.

“It’s….it’s fucking heavy, alright?” Jason lets out a breath and he hates this. He hates feeling useless and weak and vulnerable. He hates it all and he wants to leave and run but he doesn’t. “It’s all my fault and I have to live with it.”

“Put it on me.” You state, similarly to what he did to you that night at Jerry’s and Jason’s brows raise. “You wanna blame someone? Blame me. That’s fine. I will carry it for you, Jay.” You start placing the butterfly stitches carefully. “You carry it for me and I carry it for you, okay?” Jason shakes his head and he opens his mouth to argue but you start first. “You do it for me, right?” Jason nods. “Okay, let me do it for you. You know I, uh, don’t read but I can read to you if it’ll help. I’ll do whatever you want me to to help you. I promise, I can carry it.”

It simmers in his stomach and in his chest. His chest burns, aching with the offer because maybe it’s the nicest thing someone’s ever said to him. But he can’t let her take that blame. It’s a heavy thing to carry and for him, no less.

“Not your responsibility.” He tries to make his voice sound stern but it comes out broken.

You can't tell if this is one of his self-sabotaging things, where he pushes and pushes and pushes the argument until the other person literally gives up. Or, he fights and fights, trying to get someone to agree with his haunted thoughts or say something worse about him because he thinks he deserves it. You don't know if it's self-sabotage or if he's genuinely having that hard of a time believing you. But, either way, you feel this anger bubble in your stomach because how could the world have the nerve to treat him so poorly that you're even having this conversation right now?

People give up on him. It’s what they do. Jason pushes those people away because he doesn’t deserve the help. He pushes them away because if he pushes and pushes and pushes, they eventually leave. They give up and no one is ever up to the task to really, ever, truly help him even through his shit. No one ever sees through his shit and then there’s you. You see through him like cellophane. He is transparent and it makes him want to explode. No one sees him for him but you do. It’s just him and you.

“I need you to listen to me.” You cup his cheeks and Jason gets a good look at the fat lip and black eye this time. “You are one of my favorite people on this planet and I am not giving up on you. You can push all the fuck you want, Jason Todd but I’m gonna be up your ass every fucking day until I die. I give a very big fuck about you, okay? You do not deserve to blame yourself. You do not deserve what happened tonight, okay? You are good enough, Jay.” Your eyes are locked on his and your voice is unwavering. It is stern and solid but lacking harshness. It’s breaking you seeing him like this and Jason can tell. But, he’s never seen anyone, ever like this with him. If anyone else had ever said any of that, he isn’t sure he’d believe them but he believes you. But, he has one last argument because that's what he does. Push until he can't push anymore.

“Not to Dick or Bruce.”

“Fuck them! You’re good enough to me, Jay.” Your voice breaks with the last sentence, your brows are knitted together and your breathing is slightly ragged. Your eyes are rimmed with tears and Jason can't argue anymore. That’s enough for him.

He nods against your hands. “Okay.”

Your eyes scan over his face, as if making sure he’s not just saying that to get you to stop. You nods. “When you can’t sleep, you’ll come to me, right?”

“Yeah,” Jason nods his head once more. “You do the same, then, right?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You normally go to Gar but this is too much. He’s had so many nights awake with you because of nightmares and Jason was there this time. If you can’t sleep, you’ll go to him this time because at least you’ll be together in your guilt.

“Thanks.” Jason states, “For everything.”

You give him a smile. “I’d do anything for you, Jason Todd.”

You moves your hands from his face and wrap your arms around his neck. You pull him in for a tight hug. His arms wrap around your waist and he buries his head into your neck because this is cathartic. You help him breathe again. When it feels like the air is being ripped from his lungs, you push it all back in. He’ll never be able to repay you for it.

And because of that, he knows he can’t say anything about how he feels about you. It’s silly to think about that right now but he does. He does because he adores you and that is the one thing he is certain about. But, tonight, he almost got you killed. You’re begging him to blame you because you worry too much about him. If he told you and you made that decision to follow him into the dark, he’d never forgive himself if he ruined you. You’re worried about ruining Gar and Jason is worried about ruining you. But, he can keep you in a safe distance, friends. Keep everything else silent between you because Gar is good. Gar is careful and safe and protective. Gar is everything Jason Todd is not. Jason swears his best friend is better for you and you’re better for him. So, he swallows the thunder in his chest and bites the sour taste of silence.

You pull away and nod at him. “Thank you again for saving my life.”

Jason smiles softly at you. “Yeah, you’re welcome.” Jason clears his throat, glancing to your hands and then back to you. “Switch with me.” Jason jerks his head up while you take a step back. “You did a shit job with your hands.” Jason scoffs as he hops off the counter. “I’ll do it.”

You give him a tender smile. “Was a little too worried about you to focus on it.” You shrug but do as he asks and get on the counter.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Jason assures you, taking one of your hands in his and unwraps the botched gauze job.

“Always gonna.” You quip.

Jason lets out a huff as he gets the gauze off, this time getting a good look at your hands. Your hands are practically shredded, still bleeding. He can see some of the muscle through one of the large cuts and it twists his stomach in a knot. He is not squeamish but it’s you and it’s your hands. He shakes his head and moves to the other hand.

"Doesn't really hurt." You clear your throat, seeing the look on Jason's face.

"Yeah, okay." Jason scoffs. "Who's bullshitting now?"

"Well," You let out a chuckle. "I'm not bullshitting, doesn't really hurt which, uh, probably isn't good, right?"

Jason looks up at you, still holding your hand and he pauses for just a second. "Might just be adrenaline. You should be fine." Jason reassures you.

"How's your hearing?"

"Sounds like I got a gallon of water lodged in my damn ear." Jason huffs but there's a smile tugging at his lips.

"Here." You say as Jason finishes unwrapping your hand and you grab a wash rag.

You rinse it under warm water and motion for Jason to come closer. He does as asked without hesitation, standing between in your legs. Jason dodges eye contact while you move his head so you can see his right ear. There's a heavy blood streak down the side of his neck. You aren't sure exactly how hard he was hit or if he was hit more than once after he was knocked out but by the blood, you assumed it's not good and he was hit a little too hard. But you don't badger him, you just take the warm rag and start to clean the blood down his neck.

Jason's jaw clenches with the movement and he's never had anyone take care of him, not like this. Bruce and Alfred showed him how to clean his cuts and wounds properly, but it was never this. They mostly told him what to do, which was also partially because Jason wouldn't let them actually help even when they did offer. This is so new to him and a part of him doesn't mind. It feels nice being taken care of and because of that, he feels a little uncomfortable. It makes his jaw clench and he straightens his stance just a little. When he does, you’re more gentle and slower.

That's the thing, you can read him. You knows Jason has never had the privilege of having someone do this for him, but he doesn't have to do it on his own anymore, so you’re slow. You don't want to scare him off. She's gentle and careful with him.

"I got it all." Your voice is quiet as you pull the rag away.

Jason finally looks at you and he struggles so much because he just cares so much about you. He doesn't deserve your tenderness or your care. He doesn't deserve you but he can't bring himself to pull away either. Instead, he rests his forehead against yours and takes just a few seconds to breathe.

Your heart stutters in your chest. You never thought Jason would be the one to move closer. Especially right now. There is no banter here, just care for the other. It's soft and gentle. Quiet. The room is quiet and your head is quiet. Your eyes close and you swear you feel so at home. You don't feel that weight on your bones like you usually do. You feel...happy. Right here, right now, with Jason. But, this is just a moment and you cannot live in this moment forever.

Jason squeezes his eyes before pulling away and going back to her hands. "I'm sorry." He clears his throat. "We gotta talk about that kiss." His eyes are tired and red. "I can't. I'm sorry." Jason glances to you and then to your hands again. "Please don't hate me." There's an innocence in his voice with the request.

"I could never hate you." You let out a sigh. "I get it, it's okay." You assure him.

You want to ask why, after all the jokes and banter and his reaction to you kissing him, you know it's more than a game. You want to know why he can't and not because you’re offended or mad, but because you’re worried this is another way for Jason to self-sabotage. The two of you are very similar. You have a lot in common and you think similarly. But, one of your main differences in how you react to good things and people. Jason pushes until they leave, sometimes it doesn't even take much. And you, you've been told your entire life you’re a flight risk even when you try not to be. But, right now, with Jason, you don't want to run from it. Not now. So, you find it in yourself to ask.

"Can I ask why though?" Your words are slow, etched with hesitance.

"I'm fucked up." There's a hopelessness in his voice.

"So am I." You shrug and you’re not convincing him, just stating something that should be obvious.

"Okay, we're both a fucking mess and that's not fair to either us." Jason shrugs his shoulders and maybe he is self-sabotaging a little. "You like Gar anyway, I'm kind of into Rose." His voice turns nonchalant as he tries his best to brush it off.

It's more than all of that. It's that you would die for him and he would never let you. He can't let you. It's that he's seen you through this terrible, horrible shit and he knows what happens when he gets involved. More terrible, horrible shit. Jason is aware that he is reckless and impulsive. He has no intention on stopping, it's how he is. It's rooted so deep in his blood, he can't imagine not being reckless or impulsive. He's also Robin, even if Bruce doesn't want him to be right now. He is. With all that, he might die one day because of it. Bruce hasn't and Dick hasn't, but he might. He doesn't get it, but that would be another terrible, horrible thing you would have to suffer through. At least, if you're friends, maybe it won't hurt so bad when it does happen.

Jason Todd believes he poisons everyone around him, he will not poison you. Not you.

"Yeah, that's true." You clear your throat and decide to drop the conversation. He's right and you know that. It's not worth discussing further. "I get it." You assure him. "We okay then?" You offer him the fakest smile you’ve ever given.

"Yeah, of course." Jason gives you a weak smile as he finishes wrapping your hands properly.

"Gonna get some rest?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, I'm gonna train a bit."

"You're insane." You let out a laugh and you laugh but you’re worried about him training.

"You did the same shit." Jason chuckles, the warm chuckle fills his chest but there’s a hollowness in it.

"Yeah, that was different.” You defend, eyes squinting slightly at him. “Can I stop you?"

Jason shakes his head. "Nope." Jason sucks in a breath. "I'm fine, alright? I won't train hard." Jason's voice is mocking as he forces a grin onto his face.

"I'll kick your ass if you do. I can do that now." You hold your head up high.

"In your fucking dreams, babe." Jason quips and for a second, it feels normal because it came out with ease.

"You wish I were dreaming about you, shithead." You mocks and it gets Jason to laugh again.

"You wish." Jason chortles and backs away so you can get off the counter. "Thanks for helping."

You smile softly at him and nods. "Yeah, of course."

"Meet up later?" Jason asks as he walks towards the door.

"Ya know where to find me." You let out a gentle laugh as you look to the ground and back to him.

"Alright." Jason nods at you before exiting the bathroom, his heart weighing heavily in his chest.

With Jason gone, the strength you had starts fleeting. The smile falls and your heart plummets. Your eyes burn and water as you clean up the supplies. You work as fast as you can so you can get back to your room and shut the door, shut the whole tower out for a few minutes.

When you get back to your room, you’re so quick that you accidentally slam the door but can't be bothered to even notice. You walk over to the table you have against the window, a sketchbook and liners scattered about the top. You place your hands on the surface and sucks in a ragged breath. Your chest feels like it's going to cave in and tears spill from your eyes. Her head hangs and you’re so tired of the pain. Being strong for Jason wasn't easy but it had to be done. You had to because he was going to fall apart. If you fall apart in front of him, because of him, he will lose it and you couldn't let that happen. But now you’re alone and you’re reminded and haunted about being kidnapped twice and beaten and almost fucking murdered. You were dropped from a skyscraper and you’re just supposed to live with that forever.

"Y/n?" Gar's voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You shake your head. "Go away, Gar." Your voice breaks as you sniffle.

Gar's brows furrow and his heart breaks. He can see you shaking and hear you crying. He's worried about you in the same way you’re worried about Jason. The last time you flew off the deep end, you went after Jerry. What if you go after Deathstroke? He kidnapped you and tried to kill you. It wouldn't be too far-fetched for you to do that and Gar can't lose you. He swears that he can't lose you and the guilt starts gnawing at the pit of his stomach, the voice in the back of his head is howling at him. This has to be on him, too because he never should have let it happen. He's supposed to protect the people he cares about.

"Are you okay?" Gar asks, taking a step forward.

"Go away!" You let out a sob, gritting your teeth with your eyes slammed shut. You can't do it right now.

"I'm not gonna do that." Gar's voice is quiet as he steps closer to you.

"Please, I can't..." You let out a cough. "I can't do this right now, okay?" You keep your back to him and your legs feel weak. The night has sucked all of the energy out of you like a black hole.

"I'm worried about you." Gar's voice cracks and that's it.

You let out a wail that sends a dagger through Gar's heart. He nearly shuts his eyes with the sound as if that will damper the noise. Your legs start to give out and Gar is quick to move behind you, wrapping his arms around you. The two of you go to the floor, you holding onto his arms tightly as you sob. Gar squeezes you in his lap, holding back his own tears as he rocks you back and forth slowly.

It's a tidal wave that finally pulls you under. There is only so much one person can take and you are at the end of your rope. This wasn't supposed to happen. You’re traumatized and scared and tired. You’re fucking exhausted and you want to let the water in, let it take the air from your lungs where you can finally feel relief because it's all just too much. The guilt glooms over you like the Reaper and you know you can't live with him staring back at you, a cruel reminder that you’re the reason you almost lost your best friend tonight.

If you were faster, if you were stronger, if you were more focused, if you didn't care so much about him, if you weren't so fucking scared, it all would have went differently. The Reaper will haunt you more than Deathstroke, more than Jerry because this one time, this is on you. This is your fault and when you tell Jason to put it on you it's because you believe, truly, that this is your fault. If anyone deserves to be haunted for it, if anyone deserves to drown, it's you. So, you sob and break as Gar holds you as close to him as possible and tell you over and over and over again that it's okay.

Gar left your door open and now Dick is standing in the doorframe watching. All he can see is Gar's back to him, rocking back and forth with you sobbing in his arms. Dick was just on his way back from the straining room where Jason has his leg bandaged and is still kicking and punching his way around the training room. He isn't pulling his punches, he's just training and training and training. He was on his way here to check on you and now he's witnessing something absolutely crushing.

He expected you to be not good, to say the least, but outright completely breaking wasn't what he expected. Jason is going to train himself into the ground and you’re having a mental breakdown and Gar is right in the middle of the two of you. This night did more than break the three of you because Dick is watching all of this happen to the three of you that he took in. The three of you he's been training. And part of this is on him. He's worried he'll end up losing all three of you in one sweep. He's supposed to be better than this and the only thing he can do is walk away because he can't say or do anything to make this easier for any of you.

"He dropped us." You whimper against Gar, ragged breaths leaving your lips.

"I know." Gar whispers to you. "I saw it." His voice breaks and he hates himself for it. He's supposed to be strong for you but he can't.

You shoot forward and look at him with horror. "What? What the fuck do you mean you saw it?" Your words are jumbled together, your face soaked in her own tears. You figured he did because of course they would have the news on, but it’s shocking and devasting to have the confirmation anyway.

Gar nods, his eyes haunted. "It was on the news."

You swing your arms around his shoulders and more tears leak from your eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's not your fault." Gar pulls away so he can look at your face. "It's not."

"You shouldn't have had to see that and--"

"Stop." Gar cuts you off. "It's okay. I'm okay." Gar lies and he's not okay. The sight of watching two of his favorite people get dropped fifteen stories will haunt him for the rest of his life.

"It's not okay." You whine. "It's not because you saw it. Because I should have done something. I could have and I didn't. We got kidnapped and beat up and Jason got fucking tortured and it's all my fucking fault, Gar." You let out another sob. "And Dick picked Jason."

There's a lot to unpack but you have the rest of the night so Gar picks one thing at a time. "What do you mean Dick picked Jason?"

"We were hanging there and Dick picked Jason to save." The cry that leaves your lips this time is so fragile, Gar thinks if he breathes too heavily it'll tear.

You know that picking Jason was possibly a smarter option. You actually get it because if it were Dick and Jason, you would have picked Jason, too. You know you can't possibly hold that against him because Jason was further down than you were. You could have pulled yourself up, you’re strong enough. Saving Jason was a priority and you know that but right now, with the weight of the world on your shoulders, it hurts.

It hurts because Dick didn't pick you. Dick didn't save you. He could have and he didn't. And he should have. In some way, Dick should have been able to save both of you because he was supposed to be Robin but he didn't. It doesn’t matter that Kory was there because you and Jason are Dick’s responsibility. And it hurts so bad you want your heart to stop beating because if it stops, maybe the pain will stop, too.

How is Gar supposed to respond to that? Call Dick an asshole? Maybe that's what you want to hear, he just can't tell. You’re logical, you understand why people do the things they do, usually. So, he knows, that somewhere inside that broken heart of yours, he knows you get it. So, he won't blame Dick.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n." Gar says quietly because apologizing might work better than putting blame on people.

"I get it, ya know?" You let out a cough and a ragged breath. "I get it because I would have saved Jason, too but it hurts anyway because I could have died again and it's just not fucking fair and Gar it fucking hurts." You sob once more, putting your hands over your face. "Make it stop, please." The word please shatters every piece of Gar. No amount of superglue is going to put him back together after that.

"Come here." Gar moves your hands from your face because he needs to do something, you don’t deserve to feel like this. "You're gonna be okay." Gar nods at you, cupping your face in his hands just as you did for Jason. "It's gonna hurt and I wish I could make it stop but I can't." Gar states, watching the tears fall from your eyes as your chin quivers. "But, it's not your fault, okay? You did everything you could. Deathstroke was just ahead of you guys the whole time. He was ahead of the other Titans, too."

"I should have been able to save us." You whimper.

Gar shakes his head. "You did everything you could and that's good enough. You melted the window, right?" Gar asks and you nod. "So, you did save yourself. Deathstroke was just faster."

"But, if I were faster then I could have melted the window and gotten us both in while Kory and Dick fought him."

"He would have seen though, right?" Gar tries to talk you into believing him. He wasn't there so he doesn't know but he can only guess everyone could see through the windows. You nod. "So, if you tried to get into the window, even while he was fighting Dick and Kory, he would have seen and set the bomb off anyway, right?"

You nod, realizing that's probably true. "But, I was focused on Jason and I wasn't fast enough. You know I can sense when people are gonna attack and I dropped the fucking ball." You whimper but it's calmer this time.

"But, none of us knew Deathstroke was working with Dr. Light. Why would you be on high alert?" Gar asks and he's just trying to give you some reasoning. He wants you to stop blaming yourself. He's worried about you. "You've never seen Jason fight before and you said you liked to watch Robin videos on YouTube, it was cool, right?" Gar asks and you nod. "Okay, so it makes sense, ya know?"

You sniffle and nod your head. "I should have known though."

"Hey, no. That's not how it works, okay?" Gar moves his hands to your shoulders. "Rachel and me got kidnapped and I got tortured." Gar states with furrowed brows. "We also got Dick and Kory tortured." Gar lets out a sigh. "We should have known. We should have expected something but we didn't but that wasn't our fault. It was a hospital, we shouldn't have needed to expect something like that to happen to any of us. It wasn't our fault then. And this, this isn't your fault either. This is Deathstroke's fault and Dr. Light. Dick didn’t blame us and he’s not going to blame you for this so you shouldn’t either."

You rub your eyes and nod your head. You have a hard time believing him but Gar is making you feel a little bit better. "I'm just..." You swallow the lump in your throat. "You and Jason just mean so much to me and I don't know what I would do if I lost either of you and I've done everything I can to survive. I don't wanna die either. It's...so fucking much." You let out a breath. "And I know that I should put myself first sometimes that like my mental health is important, blah blah blah, but I'm also so worried about Jason because you didn't see him in the bathroom tonight. And how am I supposed to deal with tonight," A few more tears come from your eyes as you work yourself up again. "And Jason because I won't abandon him and he needs me, he needs us. It's just so much and so fucking loud."

Gar cups your face again and he offers you the softest of smiles. "We take one day at a time, okay?" He asks. "I care about you and you don't have to do this alone. You or Jason." Gar states. "You're not alone in this, I promise."

You backs down. Your thoughts swirl in the forefront of your mind like that waterslide at the big waterparks. Just swirling, waiting to be sucked into the open but you push them down because Gar is trying to help and it's working. You hate feeling alone but Gar promises that he won't leave you alone with this, it means everything to you. You can't be alone in it, not right now. And you’re so grateful for him.

"Okay." You nod, putting your hands over his.

"Wanna keep talking about it?" Gar asks.

You shake your head. "No, no, not anymore. I want...to forget it." You nod quickly.

"Okay." Gar nods and he wishes you'd talk more about it. He doesn't want it to simmer too long but he won't push. "Movie?"

"Please."

"Okay." Gar offers you a smile, brushing your hair from your face. "Let's get up."

You nods softly, carefully getting up, feeling the weight of everything making your limbs heavy. But, you get to your feet, Gar following as you do. He's standing close to you, as if afraid if he steps one step away, you'll shatter again.

"C-can I see if Jason wants to watch?" You suck in a breath, your breathing uneven. "He's training and um...ya know?" You dodge his eyes and even after all that, you revert back to worry about Jason. Worrying about him is significantly better than trapping yourself in your thoughts about yourself.

"Why the hell is he training right now?" Gar's voice goes up an octave. He's really starting to wonder if anyone in this tower has any healthy coping mechanisms. He's guessing not.

You shrug. "It's Jason." The sigh that escapes you is defeated.

"We should probably tell Dick, then. Lock the training room or something." Gar suggests and Jason is his best friend. Gar doesn't want Jason running himself into the ground or causing himself more physical or mental pain. He's had enough for one lifetime.

You shakes your head quickly. "Hell no, Jason'll be pissed. If Dick doesn't fucking figure it out, that's on Dick." You snap, getting a quick glance from Gar. "Sorry, it's just," You grit your teeth. "Had he just let Jason fucking help, none of this would have happened." You scoff. "We can't tell Dick."

Gar nods, not liking the response but you’re right. "Yeah, we should probably invite him then." The corner of Gar's mouth twitches up slightly into something sad and hopeless.

"Thanks, Gar." You smile shyly at him.

"Yeah, of course." Gar's smile is sad.

You tell Gar you’re going to change and then grab Jason. While you change, Gar goes off to his room to grab one of his blankets. For you, it feels good to get out of your blood-stained clothes. There's a comfort that fills your blood when you put on your pajamas, feeling far more comfortable in them. It's as if changing, puts a close on the night. It's over and that, for right now, is what's important. You’re safe in this tower.

You walk into the training room where Jason is punching one of the punching bags, favoring his left leg. It pains you to even watch. He shouldn't be training at all.

"Hey, Jay?" You call and your voice brings a sense of comfort over Jason.

He stops looking over to you as you take a few steps toward him. "What's up?" He asks.

"Uh...Gar and me are gonna watch a movie." You state and you feel nervous for the first time around him. "Do you wanna come?"

Jason lets out a breath, looking to the ground and back to you. "Nah, I'm good," his words are short as he turns back to the bag and you won't take no for an answer.

You close the distance between you, walking just to the side of him as he takes a swing. "Why not?"

"Don't want to." His words are snippy now and you aren't having it. He's watching the movie even if you have to drag him out of here by his ear.

"Jay." You urge and Jason ignores you. "Jason." Your voice goes louder, a hoarseness to it but Jason keeps ignoring you. You grow frustrated but choose not to show it. Instead, you walk up to him, putting a hand on his bicep and Jason stops punching. He glances at you as you move in front of him. Your puffy and red eyes don't get unnoticed by him. "You're not doing this to yourself, okay? It's fucking late anyway."

Jason scans your face and he can't let you down again, not tonight. "You're both fucking worried about me and I don't wanna fucking talk about it, alright?"

"I don't want to either, that's why we're watching a movie. We don't have to talk, just the three of us." You scrunch your face as if Jason should have known you’re also done with the talking.

Jason lets out a sigh. He is tired. He's somehow consumed with his own thoughts and none at all from the exhaustion that has his head turning foggy. Jason doesn't like to listen to many people who have his best interests at heart, but he decides to listen to you this time.

"What movie?"

"Didn't discuss one, but I always really liked Now You See Me." You give him a cheeky smile, knowing you’ve won this one.

"Which is what?"

"Magicians—"

Jason lets out a genuine laugh and every bit of you feel better with the sound, it's better than your favorite song. "Magicians?! I might be thespian but at least I'm not a fucking magician."

"Yeah and are you robbing banks with your theater songs?" You quip and Jason's eyes narrow but the corner of his mouth twitches into a grin.

"Robbing banks?"

"Mhm, master magicians get together, rob a few banks. It's such a good movie, I swear. I think you'll like it."

"Guess you've convinced me." Jason pulls the boxing globes from his hands.

"I am very convincing." You wiggle your brows at him, Jason looking to the ground as a response.

He nods. "Yeah, you've got your moments."

"Come on, then." You stick your hand out for him and he glances at it before looking back to you with a disapproving look. He can see the red against the white gauze .

"Yeah, I'm not grabbing your fucking hand." Jason scoffs.

You look down and nod. "Yeah, that's fair. Ya know, if had like fire powers or something--"

"No." Jason lets out a laugh. "No!" His nose scrunches.

"What?" You laugh.

"Gonna cauterize your own fucking hands?"

"YEAH!" You yell through a booming laugh. "As if you wouldn't do the same! That's how you knew I was gonna say that!"

Jason's laugh is loud and brings warmth to your chest and for a second, you think he might be okay. "Maybe!" His eyes are wide, not distant or filled of pain for just that second.

"Exactly!" You chortle. You let out a sigh. "Come on, Gar is waiting." You nod your head towards the door, interlocking your arm with his.

Back in the room, Gar has the movie ready with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and three Gatorades for all of you. He knew Jason wouldn't say no to you. Gar isn't blind or stupid. He knew Jason would listen so he prepared stuff for all three of you. And Jason is his best friend, he wants to make sure Jason is okay just as much as you. He can't imagine losing either one of you.

You sit between the two boys as you hold the bowl of popcorn on your lap so everyone can reach. You all share one of Gar’s fleece blankets as Gar presses play on the movie. You and Jason don't have much of an appetite but Gar went through the trouble of making sure you had popcorn and if neither of you eat it, Gar will worry more. So, the two of you take a few pieces every so often to not look too suspicious.

As the movie plays on, Jason feels sleep yanking on his bones. The whole night was a wreck and the sun has officially come up. He's been up well over twenty-four hours and the stress of everything has him more exhausted than he's felt in his entire life. The adrenaline crash was one thing, but this is different. He's so comfortable sitting here watching a magic movie with his best friends that sleep pulls and tugs because it's the safest he's felt. It's the most comfortable he's felt and he doesn't feel so vulnerable around the two of you. He fights it as much as he can because he wants to finish the movie and he doesn't want to be the first one to fall asleep so he tries to just rest his eyes. Resting his eyes quickly turned into sleep taking over and his head flops onto your shoulder.

You look down and gain a soft smile with him asleep. You’ve been wanting to pass out since you sat down. Between the crying and the panic and beatings and the pain, you’re fucking exhausted. Your bones hurt, you’re nauseous from lack of sleep, and your eyes burn with every blink. Your vision has even gone a little blurry but you’ve been fighting it because you couldn't sleep without knowing Jason was okay. But, now he's asleep on your shoulder and you feel at peace. So, you place your head on Gar's shoulder and closes your eyes.

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Tag list: @fairyofshampoo // @italiana-20 // @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @thatfangirl42 // @ghostkingblake // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @lilylovelyxo // @cryinghotmess // @yesimwriting // @vivian-555

A/n: So, the endgame is definitely Jason and I have a plan for putting him with reader lol I promise

#gar logan #jason todd #gar logan x reader #garfield logan x reader #jason todd x reader #gar logan fanfic #gar logan fanfiction #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #titans #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #caving in

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b-ritney · 11 months

Text

Star-Shaped Night Light

Dumb-ass single dad mechanic Eddie x fem! reader ANGST

Warnings: Trials of single parenthood, talks of Eddie's past with his parents nothing violent, Eddie being dumb, cussing...

Pre-reading: This idea came to me after reading a few other single dad stories, I will try to find them and add them to a tag list here but I was definitely inspired by other writers... that being said all my ideas are original and I made sure I didn't come to close to anyone else's work bc that's stealing duh but yes this story was inspired through other very talented writers.

Story Summary: Eddie's childhood friend stuck by his side through thick and thin. How does he choose to repay her? He pushes her away.

2.4k words

I tried to proofread there are prob still typos

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The thud of his heavy boots clunked at a sleepy cadence as he trudged up the steps for the evening. Just as he does every day, he spent his entire car ride home contemplating what he did to deserve the girl sitting at home with his child that isn't hers.

The gentle, caring girl who put her life on hold to help his sorry ass raise a child...that's not hers...yet she loves that baby as if she grew it in her own belly.

He opened the door quietly and shut the door even quieter predicting correctly his daughter was asleep. As he stood there with his back to the door, turning his wrist until the deadbolt latched he caught a whiff of her perfume from her jacket hanging on the wall next to him... she's worn the same one since high school, it took him back to the day he met her...it made his chest ache with fondness. It also made him sick... because his love for her was criminally selfish... his biggest regret is that the baby you were rocking in the nursery wasn't yours... which sounds insane...but if he could go back and do it differently he would have listened to you and been careful. He would have waited until he could have seen you through your dreams and achievements and then put a ring on your finger. He would have done it different... he would have done it right... he knows what you would say if you could hear his thoughts...

You'd say something incredible like, "Eddie, there is no right way to do this. Sure there are more sustainable... or historically accepted ways of doing life but you are doing just fine and I'll always be here." Fuck. It made him want to cry. He untied his boots and slipped out of them, and shrugged off his old jacket... he stepped lightly into the kitchen and pushed the straps of his overalls off his shoulders to reveal his mostly clean white t-shirt. He twisted the knob on the sink and let the water run over his fingers until it was warm... a post-it note on the window caught his eye and broke his heart,

*Ed, there's a plate for you in the microwave, I'm in the back rocking Mel. Hope you had a good day. :)*

The water scalded his hand snapping him out of his teary-eyed stare at the little luminescent pink piece of paper stuck to the window, and the fucking ridiculously undeserved thoughtful actions attached to the message that made his stomach twist into knots.

He diligently washed his hands and padded them off with the dish towel. Then quietly made his way to check on you... he passed the open door of the hall bathroom that was illuminated by the little star night light you brought from your house the second time you spent the night at his trailer... that's when he found out that out of all things you were afraid of the dark...and even though you sprinted like a track racer through his home you still let him sleep through the night and comforted his baby when she cried into the early hours of the morning...

He was already just holding on by a thread when he reached the nursery door, but when he heard you singing to the baby that wasn't yours he trembled. He leaned back on the opposite wall and looked down at the space between the floor and the bedroom door, where the most beautiful sound floated into the dimly lit hall, he crossed his arms over his chest as if to block his heart from hearing the sound... to keep himself from loving you more than he already did... and held the knuckles of his left hand to his chapped lips as if to think for the first time in his life before he did something as fucking stupid as he was about to do. He mouthed the words with you... it's the same song you gifted him the day he found out Melody's mother was pregnant... you apparently had been looking for him all afternoon after he went MIA... he was working a graveyard shift and you showed up in your pj's and brought him food just to sit in the garage and keep him company while he took advantage of your kindness and talked your ear off about his problems until 3 o'clock in the morning. You stayed with him until you convinced his stubborn ass to go home and sleep on it; so he could make good decisions about his next steps. Before you walked away you handed him a small rectangular package wrapped in shimmery paper left over from Christmas two months prior. "...Ed..." you sighed trying to think of what to say, "I won't lie to you and say I understand what this is like... but... I'll do what I can to help." you scratched your head and smiled sympathetically, "call me tomorrow so I know you're alright." With that, you handed him the gift and got in your car leaving him rigid in the chill of that early February morning... he slid into the driver seat of the van and tore open the package... a mix tape.. scribbled with blue pen across the label:

Take It Easy :) love, y/n

He swiped a tear from under his tired eyes as you hummed the higher-pitched notes so as to continue soothing his child...

"Well, I'm running down the road trying to loosen my load Got a world of trouble on my mind Lookin' for a lover who won't blow my cover She's so hard to find"

He let out a shuddered breath as he pushed off the wall slowly turning the nob. You were curled up in the corner in Wayne's old rocking chair, cradling Melody in a perfectly wrapped swaddle you had practiced for a week just to help him figure it out. You smiled up at him when he walked in, effectively making him pre-regret everything before it even happened. You whispered for him to help you out of the rocking chair so you could lay the baby in her cradle. He scampered over and tilted the chair forward supporting your back with his free arm as you swayed your hips to keep his kid in a constant state of comfort. "Night Mel, Love you baby girl," you whispered kissing his baby on the head lightly. Eddie followed suit before following you out into the kitchen. You were already warming up his dinner when he caught up to you...

"How was she?" he asked trying like hell to keep down the bile in the back of his throat.

"Perfect as always," you said leaning against the kitchen counter, "How was work?"

He could feel sweat dripping down his neck, "Good, good..." he took a steadying breath and bit the bullet like the reckless idiot he always was... "Listen can we talk?"

"Uh oh," you laughed quietly, he was about to blindside you, and it made him feel shittier than anything he's ever done. He motioned for you to follow him out front with his shoulder he grabbed your jacket and keys from the tray. He slid the jacket up your arms.. the same arms that have been protecting his baby since the moment she was dumped into his care six months ago. Once the door was shut he tried to hide his watery eyes and trembling hands behind a cigarette.

"Eddie? What's going on?" your big emerald eyes bore into his soul.

"I don't want you to take this... the wrong way... because I appreciate everything you've done for me.. more than I'll ever be able to express..." He took a long pause leaving you in more agony than he could fathom.

"Eddie...?" so many questions lingered in the one word... what did I do wrong?, how can I fix it? The answer is a gut-punching nothing absolutely fucking nothing... he's just a coward.

"There's no... non-dick-headed way for me to say this but... I don't think you and Melody need to be around each other anymore." "Eddie...?" What the fuck are you talking about? Please don't take her from me. What did I do? What changed? After everything I've done for you...

"You aren't her mother y/n."

A fat tear rolled down her cheek. Jesus Christ... It dawns on him in this terrible moment that this is the first time he's ever seen her cry... and it's his fault.

"I've loved that child more than her real mom ever did. What is this about?" She clutched at the frayed ends of her old jacket for some sense of comfort. The once pleasant May breeze suddenly felt frigid against her damp cheeks.

"She's gonna think- she's gonna think she's yours... and that we are together... I'm just trying to get ahead of the inevitable, I just don't want to put her through that... this isn't what I want her to remember when she gets older."

He knew he royally fucked up when he manned up enough to look up from the floor. Your face was turning purple from holding back whatever emotions were running through your tired mind.

"You don't want her to remember that despite the way everything looks she has people around her that love her more than anything...?" Your sneakers dug into the gravel at your feet as if to beg the earth for some stability.

"I just- don't want her getting attached."

"Children have nannies Ed.... and fuck you. I've given up over a year of my life to get you through this..." From inside the belly of the trailer, Melody whimpered and whined until she began to wail. You stood frozen in the driveway, Eddie looked right back... he watched the way your muscles fired to go toward the sound, the way your blunt nails dug into your palms with nerves... what really fucked him up is the way you clutched your chest... the same way you were rocking Mel only fifteen minutes before the rug was snatched from beneath your feet.

You patted the empty spot on your chest where his baby has slept many nights, what was once a warm comforting spot now felt hollow. "Fucking look at me you prick... it hurts this bad because you know it's wrong... and I don't think it's Melody you're actually worried about "getting attached"." You sucked in a hurried breath... "I love that little girl Eddie." Your voice tapered off into a whispered high-pitched whine as you tried to hold back your own river of tears. "I've stood by you through everything...and you are telling me you don't want your child to remember someone who loves YOU and HER unconditionally...? Eddie, I've backed you up through a lot of fucked up shit but this has got to be the worst."

"You can't tell me you don't understand where I'm coming from..."

"Oh I do... trust me I do... your mom ran off because of your dad, your dad was a deadbeat...but your uncle took you in because damn him if anything happened to that little curly-headed mess of a boy.... he isn't your dad Eddie and I've never seen a person love as deeply as Wayne... Funny how you forget so quickly that I've known you for so long..."

He was silent... what could he say.. he knew before he opened his mouth this was wrong. Nothing he could piece together in his mind sounded right so he just accepted it, "Let me give you some cash for your trouble."

She huffed dumbfounded, "I don't want your fucking money. I want to be a part of her life I want to be a part of your life... but you're pushing me away because you are scared of me... you're scared of this," she pointed her finger upward and made an irritated circular motion, "you always run when the going gets tough Eddie... but despite how you feel... you're responsible for more than yourself now." She tilted her head toward the sound of his screeching child.

"Pocket the fucking cash and go get Melody."

You got in your car without another word the headlights casting him in an accusatory light for all of the stars above to see... he felt like the heavens were glaring down at him for shutting out the answer to his prayers. He couldn't see you over the shine of the low beams but he could hear a choked sob rip through the steel doors and windows. The last thing you said to him rattled between his ears as he turned and went inside. He dusted off his pants with his calloused hands in a futile attempt to rid himself of the dirty feeling that settled over him like dust. He leaned over the sink and watched as a tear slid down the tip of his nose and rippled in the dishwater of a baby bottle you had used to feed Mel earlier in the evening. As he turned on the water and waited for it to get warm he made the mistake of looking up.

Staring back at him the little pink Post-it sagged in the window, the steam from below causing it to detach and drift dismally down into the water where your sweet message morphed into a convoluted mess of black ink until it faded into nothingness and the paper split apart in the sink... Melody cried the microwave beeped to remind him that a homemade meal was getting cold...

*..it hurts this bad because you know it's wrong*

He carried himself down the hall past the night light in the bathroom and gathered Melody in his arms tucking her into his chest just like you did. He tried to re-tuck her swaddle but it wasn't as uniform as yours... he rocked her and bounced her he tried everything he knew but she still cried... he walked with her out into the hall, where he was once again crushed by a memory that took him out like a rouge wave. As the soft glow from your night light seeped onto the scratchy carpet of the hall he was reminded of the night he came home to you and Mel sleeping up against the door frame... You had tried everything to soothe her just as he had now... yet she still cried... you were exhausted but you sat with her on the floor under the light until she slept... you told him you were waiting for him to get home to move because you didn't want to walk into the dark alone... Another tear stung his raw skin, as he slid down the door frame under the nightlight...cradling his daughter in his undeserving hands. As the reality dawned on him that not only did he make you cry tonight... but he pushed you into the dark alone.

#stranger things #eddie x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #angst #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson au #corroded coffin #stranger things au #stranger things 4 #eddie munson st4

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thatmistersguy · 6 months

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woah! what's this place??

HELLO and welcome to the dev blog for Limited Edition!, an SCP Foundation visual novel revolving around Wondertainment and the Little Misters!

This is a project that has been in motion for a few years and this whole thing is my attempt to document and answer questions about it (and post Misters and gamedev stuff in general). We have a dedicated tag for the game as well: #scp limited edition !

My main blog is @cameatslemons if you'd like to come hang out! More information about the project (FAQ and other such things) can be found below the cut, and my inbox is always open. Hope you enjoy your stay!

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS (and stuff that's important to know):

What's this whole thing even about? Follow Mr. Mad on his adventure with the other Little Misters to the Wonderworks as they try to regroup, find Mr. Collector, and try to survive the looming threat that hangs above them all.

Is there anyone else working on this, or just you? It's a one-man show here! The only other person involved is my pal Ant, whose job is to just be subject to all my rambling. I'm currently looking for a musician to help with the soundtrack, though! I may also be on the look-out for programmers familiar with Ren'Py in the future if my own attempts don't work out.

When will it be done/come out? I don't actually know; as much as this project is my baby, I can't prioritize it over my real life. I'm a college student training for a career in archaeology, and that takes a LOT of time and effort!

Will we get regular updates? Not exactly. Even though I've tried to do that in the past, these days I can't really afford to dedicate enough time to Limited Edition to produce tangible, presentable results every single week. I post when I can, but a concrete update schedule is just too stressful.

How long will Limited Edition be? Preferably 3-4 hours at the minimum.

Will the new Little Misters like Barista be in Limited Edition? Nope! We're focusing entirely on the original 20. Limited Edition will at the very least serve as a through-line story for all of them.

Will you make other games? Hopefully. Again, I'm a real person with a real life, and this game is already taking a lot out of me, so I can't promise much. However, I'd love to make more games after this one.

What's your favorite SCP? SCP-049, on account for being responsible for transing my gender.

CURRENT PAGE COUNT: 213

#scp limited edition #intro post #faq post #figured i might as well make a single post for everything i want to be known ^_^

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papermatisse · 7 months

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Solace || B.JY

† genre: horror, fluff?

† word count: 5.4k

† warnings: extreme stalker behavior, paranoia, betrayal

† synopsis: when the world seems to be entirely against you, sometimes all you need is a comforting set of arms and whispered reassurances to get you by.

† (a/n): fourth installment of spooktober anthology! stalkers freak me TF out :)! this is also the longest one thus far 👌. enjoy!

† taglist: @scuzmunkie @hipsdofangirl @hydroyaksha

anthology | masterlist

The life of a star is never purely the glitz and glamor they portray it as being, and the same goes for social media influencers. Not that she'd compare herself to a star, because she was anything but. Just an average nobody who managed to post pretty, aesthetically pleasing pictures that appealed to the masses. Though aside from the few hundred thousand people who awaited for her next update, she lived her life just as normally as anyone else. Wake up, go to work, go home. If she was feeling especially daring, perhaps she'd take a different route home just to experience something new. Her free time was spent traveling with her friends and gaining new experiences in life, all the while taking pictures to document her memories forever.

Perhaps things started changing around the time she grew more comfortable with her platform. She'd perfected the art of showing, not telling. Her brief stories were enough to sate the curiosity of her followers, though still maintain her overall privacy. She'd even grown comfortable slapping on the locations of her travels—albeit, she'd post them after she left.

At first, it was mundane. A simple acknowledgement of profile names she recognized as being veteran followers. She'd look out for their sweet comments or if they tagged her in any content. Sometimes she'd even invite them to her live sessions for simple one-on-one chats. There really was no indication of any ulterior motives.

The first time she sensed something off was after having had dinner with her friends, as she scrolled through the comments of her latest post featuring said meal. A single comment amidst the sea of a thousand others, seemingly unassuming at first glance, though enough to stir a feeling of unrest within her.

"The picture doesn't capture how absolutely tender your steak really was."

It left a lingering thought in her mind as she went to sleep that night. It's a common statement, and one she's heard quite a few times, though in the context of meeting someone in person. They usually like to comment something nice like "your pictures do you no justice," or something along those lines. Hearing this comment online, and not even about herself, just felt… off. Though she tried not to dwell on it. There will always be a shroud of ambiguity when conducting communication online. It's a facet of this life that she must consider at all times.

Though as time progressed, the strange occurrences seemed to only intensify from that point on—all deriving from the same username.

DanteanNomad.

She recalled the name towards the start of her account, though he never actually spoke. That comment of her dinner was his first interaction with her. The first of many, so it seemed.

He had begun leaving comments on every new post she made, each comment just barely skimming the gossamer thread of suitability.

"You have such a captivating presence, even in the virtual world."

"I find myself coming back to your profile long after you've posted, just because you're always on my mind."

"I'm always eager to see what you'll share next. It's like a little window into your world."

He even comments in her lives, yet somehow only she seems to be wary of his approaches. No one else seems to notice. Her friends have merely suggested blocking or reporting him, yet something deep in (y/n) knows that won't do her any good. Especially after a certain post she made garnered yet another comment from this person.

"The blue sweater was a good choice."

It was his most unsettling comment. It was mundane like everything else he says, though the underlying connotations were beginning to surface in her mind. Because how else would he have known that she spent nearly an entire hour debating on wearing it before finally opting to do so? And through the gut wrenching anxiety which twisted her insides and tormented her heart, she successfully blocked him.

At least that's what she thought happened. However, he continued to appear on her account, as if her countermeasure did absolutely nothing to deter him. Neither blocking, nor reporting, nor even calling customer support for assistance. Nothing seemed to rid her of this plague upon her life.

His words were beginning to get to her, and she felt herself sinking into a dark chasm of paranoia. As if nowhere was safe for her anymore. As if her own walls seemed to be only a mode of voyeur for his own sick delight. It left her seeking an answer to her anxieties, worriedly searching her home with a wooden bat at the ready, yet coming up empty. Not even a secret camera nestled in any dark and unassuming nooks of her room. Yet these precautions did not sate those paranoid thoughts consuming her.

"How about we host a party?" Belle suggested, hope in her voice as the group of friends sat together at a cafe. "A little house party at my place! Just us. We'll invite some trusted friends and colleagues. Just let loose, without the worries of being in a public place?"

The group slowly turned to (y/n), nestled in the corner of the booth, sipping away at her beverage whilst nervously considering the proposition. Her friends had been nothing but supportive, albeit with a touch of skepticism in their mannerisms. They didn't see the cause for concern in it all, but they saw (y/n) and how the occurrences ate away at her. To them, she was perhaps going through a minor mental breakdown and needed all the support she can get.

So while the prospect of a party made her incredibly uncomfortable, especially during such a strenuous time as this one, she could see where her friends were coming from. She could see their attempts at a compromise. They wanted to bring her relief in the only way they knew possible, which was having fun and forgetting your worries. The thought was touching, even if the idea of a party brought a subtle edge to her disposition. She didn't want to be a damper on their fun. She didn't want to be the driving force to expel her friends from her life.

And so she found herself, rather unwillingly, nodding along to their idea.

With the party in full swing, (y/n) attempted to blend in with the other participants. Some faces she recognized, others she didn't. Names had begun to blur into one, and she found it more and more difficult to keep track of the attendees with every new introduction she received.

Sooner rather than later, she found herself slipping out the sliding glass door onto the balcony. The cool night air was a comforting presence on her overheated body, sharply contrasting with the sheen of sweat residing over every square inch of revealed skin. With the full moon hanging overhead,she allowed herself to drop her defenses, body weary from being on edge the entire night. The thought of leaving revolved around in her head, and she toyed with the idea, amusing herself with silly schemes of escaping under the surveillance of her friends.

The sound of the sliding glass door jostled her from her thoughts, defenses building up once more as she turned around and prepared herself for the battle of socializing.

"Hey," the man greeted, gently nodding her way. He was another familiar face of many. A friend of a friend's, no doubt. While she wanted to dismiss him, she knew he meant well.

"Hello," (y/n) responded meekly, nervously tapping a finger against the red cup in her hands. The man gave her space, which she was rather grateful for, as he approached the railing of the balcony and leant against it.

"Taking a break?" He continued, staring out into the city. Whilst his eyes lingered elsewhere, he carried that air that his undivided attention was upon her.

"Yeah." He never turned to her, and so she followed his lead, staring out at the city below. Though unlike him, her resilience was much weaker, and she continuously kept glancing his way. "You, too?"

"Just a little break. Never hurts to lay low for a few minutes. Get off the freeway and do a little drive."

Such a simple analogy, one that seemingly pertained to solely the party, though she couldn't help but gape slightly at his words. They seemed to transcend the immediate situation and coincide with her exact predicament. And the subtle dose of validation had her defenses weakening by the minute.

"Yeah, I get that. I get that a lot actually." Her voice wavered as her emotions seemed to take over, doing everything in her power to hold the onslaught of tears threatening to be released. The last thing she wanted was to startle away this kind stranger with a sudden bout of crying. Though he was just full of surprises she wasn't prepared for.

"Hey. Hey, it's alright. You're okay." His voice was soft, retreating from the railing in favor of comforting her any way he could. He hesitated in touching her, hands hovering over her body, though his presence alone seemed enough for her defenses to all but crumble as the first sob broke through. And then the next. And soon she was full blown weeping into this man's chest, burying her face into his dark sweater and releasing all of her pent up frustrations.

His arms around her were a comforting constant, rubbing up and down her back and holding her tightly against him. She felt… safe. For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel eyes upon her or the paranoia that someone was attempting to infiltrate her space. It was just her and him. And she couldn't have been more grateful.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, hands grasping at his top in desperation, not wanting this reprieve to ever end. He seemed to understand as he just shushed her and drew her closer.

"It's okay. You're okay."

She didn't know for how long they stood there for, rocking back and forth in this calming trance-like state. As if slow dancing to the acoustics of the cityscape below them. And it was all she could have asked for.

"Thank you. For everything." A final sniffle on her part, and she hesitantly shifted to look up at him. "I don't know your name." He let out an amused huff, arms still wrapped around her body, though retracting just enough to meet her curious gaze with his own delighted one.

"Jinyoung."

The coming days were a mix of ups and downs which rattled the very fabric of her life. Any semblance she may have attained had been washed away with the torrential events succeeding that of the party.

On the one hand, following that very night on the balcony, (y/n) found herself more than grateful to have met Jinyoung. Sweet, attentive, dedicated Jinyoung.

He filled her days with kind messages, reminders she was not alone in this and that he was always there for her whenever she needed him. It was a comforting sentiment, waking up to texts from him and then going to sleep on call with him. He'd send lovely pictures to her, like a dog he passed by on a walk, or the setting sun from the view of his apartment. As if saying he thinks of her in everything he sees.

Jinyoung through his ceaseless attention upon her proved how truly little her friends seemed to acknowledge her and her situation. The way he provided his undivided attention whenever (y/n) deemed to speak on the subject was further proof that her friends had merely granted her a percentage of the help she needed. She realized she was venturing into dangerous ground, though she couldn't deny the feeling that Jinyoung was perhaps the only person she really needed in this lifetime.

And he continued to prove that with every thoughtful action of his.

Though even with this brief reprieve, the plight seemed to only spiral more out of hand than ever initially conceived.

Again, it started out covert. Live streaming with her fans when she accidentally broke a vase of hers. It was entirely circumstantial, and she laughed it off for the viewers, even if she was disappointed in the cute decor she had picked out herself when first moving in.

Within a matter of days, however, the once demolished vase she presumed she'd never see again was found at her doorstep, neatly tucked away into a box. Pristine and brand new.

Her friends all praised the mystery fan who sent it, commenting on how sweet it was of them to do so, but (y/n) grew even more uncomfortable, as all she had ever shown of that vase was a single shard when it broke. There was no possible way for someone to know the exact item she once had.

Her suspicions were soon being proven with the first sighting of a photograph in her mail. Photos of her house. Photos of the cafe she frequents. Photos from her friend's house where the party was just a few weeks ago. All information she's never revealed online before.

The next set of images was that of her in her day to day. Walking with her friends at the park, reading at the cafe, even shopping at the grocery store. Images taken from afar, though unsettlingly close enough that she could have very well seen them had she looked around.

At this point, her friends were now growing wary of the situation, understanding the severity of it all as it had gotten this out of hand. Jinyoung was the one to suggest the cycling method. One person stays with (y/n) at all times. Whether it be staying over at her house or spending the day with them elsewhere, she would always be monitored by one of them.

Surprisingly, they all agreed, and the rotations soon began. Just as Jinyoung had planned, one person would take night shift, and when the next would show up for their shift, they'd leave. Things seemed to work swimmingly, and (y/n) felt more comfortable than she had in ages. She began reducing her time online, as well, keeping her online presence even more professional and disconnected than ever before. If there was anything she was doing to feed this person's delusions, she wanted to put an end to it as soon as possible.

"Where did you go?" Jinyoung asked from where he sat on her couch, eyes remaining on the screen where their movie was still playing.

"I went to get the mail before it got dark," (y/n) responded, pressing her back against the door to close it as she made her way back to the living room with Jinyoung. She shuffled through some junk mail and a few letters from fans before landing on a small mailer package. There was nothing attached to it. No return address or indication of any shipping company, nor did she recall ordering anything recently.

Absentmindedly, thoughts still wandering on the subject of what she could've purchased, she peeled back the sticky opening, reaching in to retrieve the item. Though as her fingers grazed a suspiciously familiar material, she retracted, eyes widened as fear began to settle in once more.

The fabric was unmistakable. Something that had been lingering in her mind for quite some time now, and she both wanted to confirm her fears though also run away from them.

Tentatively, she tilted the package her way, peeking into the mailer for a mere second before a gasp ripped forth from her throat, tossing the offending object across the room.

"(y/n)?" Jinyoung was immediately by her side, movie abandoned as he focused on the panicked girl hyperventilating and staring at the thrown package. His hands wandered about, brushing back her hair, stroking away her tears, squeezing her shoulder, anything to get her back to reality. "(y/n), talk to me. What's going on?"

She was silent. Her throat had constricted upon itself. The room seemed to sway in this infinitesimal spiral, as if her body wanted to shut down, though her brain refused to go unconscious. This painstaking tug of war that left her absolutely deteriorated.

There was a momentary lapse in her demeanor as Jinyoung's presence anchored her to reality. His soft and warm touch grounding her when she could have drifted off long ago. His sweet whispers murmured into her ear, drawing her away from the accursed object lying at the other end of the room. And she was once more glad to have Jinyoung by her side, lulling her to a rare yet ever so peaceful slumber.

When she wakes up, she'll explain it to him. She'll explain how weeks ago, as she did her laundry, she realized her favorite undergarment had all but disappeared. She'll explain how she searched high and low yet couldn't find it anywhere. She'll explain how she briefly forgot about it from how long it's been.

She'll explain how she finally found them—in an anonymous package delivered to her.

"Is this the last of it?" Jinyoung's voice sounded from behind (y/n) as she stood amongst a sea of boxes. A quick scan of the room, listless and barely even acknowledging anything, she turned to Jinyoung with a nod.

"Yeah… That's all of them."

"Are you sure?" He asked again, stepping into the room to stand beside her. She looked around again, though now she felt even less concentrated on the matter as his gentle touch once more rested on her, warmth penetrating through her sweater and stirring a sense of comfort in her conflicted mind.

Another nod, along with a brief and assured smile, and Jinyoung finally seemed sated. He glanced around alongside her, eyes scanning the many boxes scattered about his guest room.

"We'll get to packing after we eat, yeah? What would you like?"

"You can order whatever."

"I want to eat what you want to eat."

Her cheeks warmed under his attentive gaze, muttering something about giving her time to think as she wandered out into the main living area of his apartment—of course, with Jinyoung in tow.

As if he hadn't done enough for her as is, the moment that horrid package arrived at her home, Jinyoung had all but insisted she live with him. At least for the time being. Until she can find her bearings. Find a solution to this ordeal.

It had taken some insisting on his part, as she didn't want to burden Jinyoung anymore than she already had. He urged her into accepting, anguishing over the possibility of her being harmed while he's not there for her. How tormented he'd feel if she were to ever get hurt. And no matter how much she wanted to reject his proposal, insist that she could return home to her parents whilst she figure out the ordeal, she felt compelled to accept his offer. His soothing warmth encompassing her as she wept into his chest, the low timbre of his hushed voice quelling her frightened soul. Jinyoung felt like safety.

His apartment reflected his personage well. As if a perfectly crafted haven for her. Decorating which fit her tastes to a tee, kitchen stocked with all of the foods she loved to eat, even her favorite candle scent filling the air whenever she walked around. Her room as well carried this sense of home with it. Even with the swarm of boxes stacked within it, it felt like she belonged there.

All of this was only a mere factor of her new happy living situation, as the primary source of that security came with Jinyoung's presence. Those texts she had always loved receiving now transitioned into little sticky notes everywhere. Reminders to eat and take care of herself, to text him when she wakes up, silly jokes to brighten up her day. And when he'd arrive home to see her seated at his couch, the mirthful smile that would spread on his face all but melted her heart. The grins he'd give her as they cooked dinner together, watched movies together, existed as one together.

Perhaps that's why she wasn't too shocked when Jinyoung one day asked her to be his.

A sweet and simple declaration of love. With full stomachs and wine muddled minds, he professed how he felt whilst they sat in the living room, movie long forgotten as their conversation hit uncharted waters. His thumb smoothed over her knuckles, eyes ardently staring into her own as he spoke. It was undeniable now how smitten she was with him, something she hadn't truly processed with all that had been conspiring in her life. Though now with the light of the moon seeping into their home, intermingling with the warm orange glow of the lamps, movie droning on as mere white noise in the background, and Jinyoung's adoration practically radiating off of him in waves, she felt it near impossible to reject him. A shy smile and a whispered acceptance, their fates were sealed with a deep and passionate kiss.

A whirlwind romance that seemed too good to be true. Sticky notes exchanged for morning whispers and good night kisses. Cuddles on the couch, Jinyoung's soft and tender touch lulling her into a state of tranquility. As if nothing could ever harm her again. And for a moment, she had forgotten what had led to such happiness. What trials she had gone through to get where she was now.

It was almost scary how quickly she had forgotten what lay outside the safety of Jinyoung's apartment. Even the brief outings with her friends seemed to never spark that subconscious paranoia that had lay resilient up to this point. Her social media had returned to its state of normalcy. Live sessions were back to how they once were. Comment sections were filled with their usual dynamics of love and hate. And through a bit of hesitancy on her part, after checking the account that had been tormenting her—DanteanNomad—she was pleased to learn he had gone radio silent.

It seemed things were back to normal. And there was only one thing left to take care of.

"What?" Jinyoung asked, voice low as he looked up from his dinner plate.

"I think I should move back home." He remained silent, staring at her through his lashes with furrowed eyebrows. She took that as a sign to continue on either way. "I mean, your solution worked! I've been safe and protected this whole time. To be honest, perhaps a little coddled at this point." She laughed, though Jinyoung again stayed quiet. "There's no activity anymore. I think it's safe to go back home."

"I don't understand." Jinyoung put down his fork with a clatter, hands wringing together and resting against his mouth. "What about this place isn't home to you? Is it the guest room? You can just sleep with me in my room. Is the food not satisfactory? Are you not happy with the couch or the TV?"

"Jinyoung," (y/n) cut him off, a chuckle of disbelief expelling from her lips. "It has nothing to do with you at all! I don't know how you could have come to that conclusion. You've been nothing but supportive of me." His eyes seemed to endlessly pierce into her, still waiting for a valid explanation. "I just think… We should have space."

The silence was near deafening. The kind of silence where your ears ring to fill the void. A thick tension filled the atmosphere, this heaviness lingering in the room that felt almost suffocating in a sense. And Jinyoung's eyes remained trained on her. Gone were the warm and loving eyes of her lover. The eyes that would crinkle every time he laughed. The protective eyes she'd wake up to, already watching and waiting for her to wake, too. There was no comfort in his gaze now, replaced only by a dark, cold, unforgiving emptiness that twisted her gut into knots.

"Space?" He asked, eyebrow quirking up at the word he all but spat out.

"Jinyoung…" Her voice was wary, barely even spoken above her breath. "I don't want to rush through things. You have to understand. I want things to be as natural as possible. I don't want to jump into certain stages of our relationship that we're not ready for." Her hand shook as she reached across the table for him. His eyes lazily drifted to her hand and back to her, and after a few seconds, he reluctantly held her hand in his. Though the comfort she sought in his hold was hard to find, his touch feeling cold, uncaring almost. "If you think about it, you'll feel even more excited to see me when we meet. Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

The remainder of the night was perhaps the strangest she's ever seen Jinyoung be. He walked about the apartment like a robot. Eyes distant and calculating. Posture tense and brooding. He cleared the table, cleaned the dishes, prepared dessert, all in utter silence. Even on the couch, his demeanor remained as is. It was as if it didn't matter how close she got to him. The little kisses she pressed to his jaw to try and awaken him from this state. The swirled patterns she'd trace along his chest. Jinyoung stayed in this perpetual state of solitude. And if she wasn't mistaken, it looked almost as if he was thinking. So deep in thought that he barely even processed when the movie ended and she got up to go to bed. A final kiss goodnight, and she went to her room.

The next day was like a complete switch from the night before, with the return of her loving and affectionate Jinyoung. He helped her pack any necessary items, insisting she keep everything else here for whenever she sleeps over. He helped return her home, checked the premises to make sure she was safe, and even helped her unpack afterwards. To top it all off, he decided to stay over, and she couldn't have been more delighted to have this Jinyoung back, cherishing the cozy embrace of his arms around her again.

Like that, she entered another state of normalcy. A combination of her days before the online occurrences and her days after meeting Jinyoung. They'd spend their free time together, go out on dates with one another, alternate houses for movie night. She had to relearn how to live on her own, but the joy of living life without any fear made up for any discomforts she may have felt.

Life was perfect.

(y/n) closed the door behind her with a huff, tossing the sponsored packages she received onto the floor. With a heavy sigh, she trudged through the darkness of her house and into the kitchen, fishing out a water bottle from the fridge before turning to find the light switch. Though as she did so, she was greeted by the sight of flowers on her counter.

It was a rather obscure sight to behold. A clash of purples and yellows and blues. The ones she could identify were baby's breath. So, so many. Practically pooling out of the feeble vase the flowers were tucked away into. Turning the vase around, she searched for a note. Perhaps Jinyoung brought them in whilst she was out. Though when she did find the slip of paper she had wanted, it was empty. Virtually no writing at all. And while she was momentarily stumped, a brief flash of a memory sparked in her head. The memory of an equally blank return address.

A gasp surged forth from her throat, backing away from the flowers until she was pressed against the wall. She clutched her phone, ready to call for help as she slipped out of the kitchen. But then she took a gander at the living room.

The first thing that caught her eye was the pop of green suddenly in her vision—a moss green couch. Atop it were pillows that complemented its shade, and a throw blanket across the cushions. The walls were adorned with artworks she admired, bookshelves contained trinkets she fawned over. And atop the coffee table lay a candle of her favorite scent.

All of these things were mere fantasies to her, nothing more than fleeting desires for a future home. Added to a wishlist of her own to track them for future reference. Yet now resided in her living room as if always having belonged to her.

At this point, her mind was racing, heart beating out of her chest. Her eyes darted around her home to find that practically everything was unfamiliar to her. Paintings, vases, furniture, plants. Everything was different. Everything was what she had always wanted. Yet she had bought none of it.

In a surge of mindless panic, she bolted out of the living room and down the hall, eyes downcast so as to not see the walls lined with more unfamiliar decor. Once inside the sanctity of her bedroom, she planned on calling for help. Whether it be from her friends, the authorities, Jinyoung, someone had to come and save her from this hellscape of a house.

She all but shoved open the door, nerves alight with utter fear from what she had just experienced. Her hand clutched the phone like a lifeline, just about ready to call emergency services before she caught sight of what had become of her room. What nightmare had unfolded in the place she once considered her sanctuary.

Every square inch of wall.

Every available surface.

Every single speck of her room.

All of it was plastered with photos. Photos of her.

Ones printed from her social media just last week, ones from years ago, ones she had deleted immediately after posting, ones she didn't even remember taking. Shots of her walking around town with her friends or spending time on her own out and about, like the ones sent to her in the mail, yet these she had never seen before.

There were shots from her window as she did her makeup. Shots of her changing, though with horizontal dark lines obscuring the full images—grates from her louvered closet door… as if having been taken from within.

Photos of her sleeping in her bed... taken from right above her.

She stumbled back, a gasp catching in her throat as her pulse thundered in her ears. A whispered sob spilled from her lips, and then a defeated, mortified shriek as she crumbled in upon herself. Her body coiled into a fetal position, face burying itself into her knees. Her one refuge which hadn't been violated by this sickening invasion.

She didn't know for how long she remained there until Jinyoung soon came, the familiarity of his voice calling out to her relieving her anguish almost instantaneously. A remedy to her every ailment. (y/n) felt his hands roam across her, gathering her limp body into his own sturdy one, cradling her to him in his protective embrace. He littered her face with soft kisses, brushing away her tears and whispering reassurances to her. If he was shocked by the surrounding area, she hadn't been made aware, mindlessly nestling further into his body and crying out the last of her tears.

"Jinyoung," she muttered weakly, voice battered and defeated. He hummed softly, fingers gently carding through her hair as he rocked the two to and fro. Her eyes were shut, face pressed into the crevice of his neck, hiding away from the horrors of the world, the horrors of what she once perceived as her home. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, my love," he responded, voice mellow and steady. The vibrations from his chest soothed (y/n) as she grew more distant from her surroundings.

"I want to go home."

Those words were like music to his ears.

Everything he had ever strove for. Everything he had ever wanted in life. Like a confirmation that all of his hard work, all of the trials he'd gone through, had finally paid off. He had finally obtained his one sole desire—and he wasn't letting her go ever again.

A smile crept onto his face, a twisted and manic grin as his arms coiled around her tighter, claiming her as a constrictor does its victim. Taking a look around at the memories he had captured of her ever since he first met (y/n) online, he felt triumphant. Succeeding in both capturing (y/n) whilst simultaneously proving how she can never be safe without him. Victory was sweet, but this false vindication for a situation he himself conjured felt somehow even sweeter.

"Of course, my love. Let's go home."

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