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joelsmochi · 4 months

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closer

rating: E 18+ pairing: tortured artist!Joel x black!girly!f!reader summary: Joel hits a creative block with a mural, leading him down a road of discovery and intimacy in ways he's never felt before. warnings: au/no outbreak, unspecified drug use + marijuana use, unprotected piv, sex while under the influence, consenting adults!!! age is not specified but we can assume joel is mid 40s, brief mentions of death + abusive relationships, ooc!Joel (he is not the same person he was 1/2 pill ago…), third person pov but most of it is from joel’s perspective, very fluffy sex they may have said i love you wc: 5.3k a/n: Happy New Year everybody! This was inspired by Closer by Goapele and Prisoner by The Weeknd & Lana Del Rey plus I was thinking too hard about the time I ate an edible that had too much THC for me to handle and I produced whatever this is. Hopefully tortured artist!Joel hasn’t happened yet because I felt creative with this one…

ᝰ

The frayed paintbrush relentlessly slapped against the concrete wall, coating the discolored brick in thick layers of different browns, reds, and whites. Opaque smoke blurred his vision, yet he only let it inspire the strokes of his hand, creating a beautiful image that wasn’t clear to him yet.

Before he knew it, the sun had set; he sat on his hard leather sofa, massaging the twinge that had settled into his wrist while his face wore a disappointed scowl. He was displeased with his progress, the blob that was already half dry on the wall of his loft.

A rumble snuck into his stomach, forcing him to stand up and absentmindedly walk into the kitchen area. However, his disappointment grew when he opened the fridge to find nothing suitable for a proper meal. As he glared at the half-eaten yogurt and scarce 24-pack of beer, he decided to go and get Chinese food.

He lit up a cigarillo to accompany his walk around the block and across the street, tossing whatever was left into a sewer drain just in time for him to open the door to the restaurant.

“Miller,” a worker greeted with a smile, “your usual?”

Unknown to him, the smell of his cigar caught the attention of a waiting customer. She waited until he was done chatting with the employee to ask, “Cream?”

He did a double take, unsure if she was talking to him at first. She was tall, maybe five foot nine or five foot ten, with big hair and brown skin, and dressed in something far too lovely for her to be eating Chinese for dinner.

“I’m sorry?”

“You smell like cream-flavored cigars,” she said, sounding amused.

He felt unsure of how to respond, not wanting to seem rude, watching her diamond earrings gleam from the low yellow lighting. He paid for his food and answered. “Yeah, just had one.”

“Black and mild or swisher?”

“Blacks,” he answered, growing a little uneasy from the stranger questioning him despite the mundane topic.

“My favorite,” she boasted, earning another look from him after he put his change in the tip jar. “They’re much smoother.”

The man didn’t respond, only offering a tight smile in return. The pair stood a few feet apart silently, listening to people chattering and utensils clanking behind the counter as they waited.

She smelled like expensive brown sugar perfume and cocoa butter, a sickly sweet combination that tickled his sense of smell. Her scent was reminiscent of a freshly baked cookie a kid couldn’t wait to dive into. She was dressed in a lovely skirt and a prissy top paired with a mix of gold and silver rings and necklaces and bracelets — two colors he usually hated paired together, but somehow, she made it blend beautifully.

Her makeup was soft, or so it seemed. It wasn’t too heavy, but her eyebrows were bold, as was the line drawn around her vermilion border. He noticed she blinked slowly but held her eyes wide as if she anticipated something to happen.

The employee’s voice brought the two adults out of their daydreams.

“Beef and broccoli and chow mein?” They asked.

The artist waited kindly for the woman to grab her bagged styrofoam container before reaching for his own; he walked a few feet behind her, suddenly feeling bad for his cold demeanor earlier once they were outside.

“You want one?” He called after her before she got too far away; she turned around with a frown, confused at his offering.

He reached into his pocket and held up a couple of fresh cigars. She grinned, secretly desperate for a smoke. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she strutted back towards him. She strutted like a cat, one leg crossing the other.

She allowed the man with the messy hair the privilege of placing the stick between her plump lips, keeping her eyes on his as he watched where he was lighting.

She took a long drag, waiting for him to get his cigarette lit before asking, “What’s your name?”

His eyebrow cocked up, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was amused. But he answered anyway.

“Joel.” He sharply inhaled; she responded with her name and a smile, thick smoke spilling out from the spaces between her teeth as she gently exhaled. “You from around here?”

“No,” she said, “I like to travel. See new places. Find new things… Right now, I’m fixated on museums—art museums precisely.”

That piqued his interest. “Art? What kind of art d'you like?”

“Any art that speaks to me.”

Joel smirked at her answer as if it were funny. “Oh yeah? What speaks to you?”

Instead of her usual quick response, she pondered momentarily, trying to locate proper words to avoid rambling. “Suffering or excitement.”

He could only narrow his eyes at the vague response, but she spoke again before he could ask for an elaboration.

“You must like art,” she guessed correctly.

“I’m uh…” And there’s a long pause; the rhetorical shame of confessing what his job was had risen, but for what purpose? After a short internal debate, he finally admitted, “I’m an artist myself.”

Her eyes widened with excitement, which Joel found adorable. She asked him various questions: what kind of art he created, how long he’d been painting, his favorite creations…

He admired her interest in the subject and how she listened carefully and intently, clearly trying to understand as much as possible about him.

“How do you stay inspired all the time?”

Shit.

Joel’s mind ran blank for a few seconds, and he watched the woman’s face contort into confusion. She worried she’d brought up an unhealed wound and persisted that he didn’t need to answer.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Joel assured, “I’ve honestly been at a block lately…”

“Oh.” She sounded relieved. “Do you do anything to help get over that?”

He sucked on his teeth as he thought of an appropriate answer, yet nothing came to mind. He couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. “Just wait for it to pass.”

“…Could... Could I see your art?”

For the first time, she seemed to be shy. Her teeth grimaced, and eyebrows crooked out of fear of rejection, but Joel was sure he was far more nervous than she was.

"Uh, sure..." He said hesitantly. "What I have at home is nothing special, but-"

"I'm sure it's beautiful," she interrupted. "I'm free right now if that works."

ᝰ

This was unlike him: inviting a girl he'd just met into his home. She had something that enamored him. What was it, he wondered with each passing minute, was it her beauty or curiosity? Was it the way she smiled or how sweet her voice sounded? He couldn't ponder for much longer as she had already begun complimenting his home.

"A loft," she said while taking in the brick walls of his home that were littered with several paintings that all seemed to be works in progress. "It's cozy." Joel watched as her painted nails gently trailed over the armrest of his stiff couch just before she reached up to feel a painting of what seemed to be a little girl.

His staring made the woman laugh, and while he could admit he was being a bit precarious, he just wanted to ensure she wouldn't mishandle that particular piece. She didn't. She just reached to stroke the texture meant to resemble the girl's curly hair; she touched it for only a moment before pulling away and turning around.

After realizing the painting was sacred to him, she asked, "Is that someone you know?"

His shoulders and chest rose as he sucked in a melancholic breath, and she couldn't ignore the sadness that swarmed his eyes.

The woman was satisfied with no answer and moved on quickly. "May I eat with you?"

Joel gave her a stiff nod, his thoughts still filled with the traumatic memories of the girl in the photo.

They sat quietly and slowly ate their food, the lack of heat from their containers making the meal invaluable. The silence comforted him as it felt much different than the cold silence he was used to. No. Her silence was warm and comforting... Like a mother caring for a sick or sad or sleeping child. She didn't offer any awkward glances or stiff smiles. She didn't hide her joy or her optimism despite his distant demeanor.

Her eyes weren't as big as they were just an hour ago. Perhaps the food made her sleepy, he thought.

"Where ya from?" He figured he should at least be a good host.

"Rockport. It's a small town in Massachusetts. You?"

"Born and raised here," he answered.

"Really?" She squinted at him while poking at broccoli with a fork. "Never wanted to leave?"

Shrugging, he said, "Thought about leaving, never needed to."

"Is that painting supposed to be the same girl?"

She pointed to the spontaneous mural partly done on the big red wall opposite to them. He looked at it, forming different opinions and thoughts on his work.

"No. Not entirely sure what that one is yet," he grunted. "Needed to paint something, but I can't quite figure it out yet."

"You should do a self-portrait," she suggested with a wide grin. "I'd love to see how you see yourself."

"Nah, if I did that, it'd just be a college-ruled notebook with a bunch'a scribbles in it."

She chuckled at his pessimism, gaining a confused look from him. "So? Maybe someone would see something between the scribbles."

"I don't like painting myself," he said firmly.

She couldn't care less about his seriousness; she saw his need for perfection and keeping busy with work. Seeing the distress on the average person's face wasn't unfamiliar to her; all she wanted to do was take it away.

"Your art is lovely, Joel," she spoke truthfully, "For what it's worth, I think you'd paint yourself beautifully."

He chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds, taking in her warm smile and gentle words.

"You're very kind," he admitted, "thank you."

The temptress walked and stood in front of the mural to admire the thick blobs of paint that were still tacky. She saw the vision but just as quickly saw the block.

"You seriously do nothing to help the creative blocks?"

With a slight frown, he shook his head to confirm. "Just try working on something else until I find my rhythm again."

"Why not? Why not music or movies or going outside for more than Chinese on a Thursday evening?"

Feeling a bit antagonized, Joel scowled at her. "I paint what's in my head, not around me."

"Maybe that's the problem." She sat close to him on the floor and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Maybe you've painted all you know, and you're stuck right now because there's nothing new inside that pretty little head a'yours."

"Flattery only gets you so far, sweetheart."

"It got me in your apartment, did it not?"

His scowl grew, and he felt no need to hide his annoyance from her.

"Just tryna help," she smirked.

"I don't need your help."

"Clearly not," she simpered; she pulled a bag of ground weed from her purse and held it up for him to see. "Maybe you need Mary's help."

"You're fucking joking."

"It helps me," she said softly. "When I don't smoke, I'm a very anxious and shy person."

Joel's eyes fell to her hands, which were beginning to work the weed into a paper very carefully, watching her roll it precisely. "Really?" He asked incredulously.

"Mock me all you want, Joel, but I must say that even a couple of hits can make you feel ten times better."

"Not interested," he quipped.

"Well... If weed isn't your speed, then maybe..." She licked the paper shut and placed it on the table, then reached in her purse again for a bag containing different colored pills. "...ecstasy would be more fitting."

"You expect me to take drugs from a stranger?" He asked.

She leaned her chin on his shoulder and whispered, "I'm no stranger, Joel. I'm your inspiration."

He found himself laughing at her choice of words, not paying her any mind as she climbed into his lap. She placed a pill between the rows of her teeth and bit down to break it in half, offering him whichever half was smaller.

"You don't have to if you really don't want to... But it will help."

Her voice was so enticing that Joel was sure he was already high from the affection she persisted in giving him.

"Help me paint?" He asked, still not entirely convinced.

"Help you create."

Joel thought about it: he had nothing left in his life to live for other than his talent for painting, and he even felt that it was being wasted on unproductive days and constant disappointments.

For months, all he wanted was to create one last masterpiece and to feel proud of it. If all it took was to give in to some strange form of peer pressure, then that's just what needed to be done.

Almost an hour later, however, his worries about art were set aside.

With his head lying in the pretty woman's lap, he tried remembering why he had been so angry before. He let her stroke the curly hairs on his head and trace his lips over and over again.

"You're doing good," she cooed gently.

"You're very, um," he swallowed between his heavy breaths, "nurturing."

He noticed the woman's eyebrow shift upwards, and an amused hum left her mouth. "Hm. No one's ever said that before."

"Really?" Joel began to realize how dry his throat became. "Well, it's a compliment."

"Thank you," she giggled. "Thirsty?"

"Mmhm," he moaned.

Reaching over to grab the water bottle on the floor, she took a long sip as she felt parched before holding his head up to help him drink some. He felt her sticky lip gloss around the rim and found himself latching even harder onto the plastic container.

She let him drink as much as he needed before closing the bottle and helping him stand up, urging him to paint something.

He felt a wave of heat envelope his body, the hairs along his arms and neck dancing along his skin. He wanted to laugh, but nothing was funny, so he tried to hold it in. He followed her around the room and watched the ends of her hair bend and curl around her arms. She opened a few paint bottles, squeezing some onto his stained palette and holding the brush out for him. She couldn't help but laugh at the elation in his wide eyes; he was definitely in a much better mood than before.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, not bothering with the meaningless utterance of words and just giving into his need to kiss her. She wasn't surprised by the gesture, inviting his tongue into her mouth for more. She tasted the cigar on his breath and lips, ignoring how bitter it seemed.

The paintbrush smeared itself against Joel's elbow, causing him to jolt back in shock, only to laugh when he realized the purple-coated paintbrush was bending on its own. He took it from her hand and approached the wall, immediately getting to work.

While he worked and ranted about how the piece was "basically painting itself," she undressed slowly while prancing around the room and humming to some tune that found its way into her head. Joel saw the colors blend and separate, waiting for the wall to respond with where his next brush stroke should be.

The woman found herself looking at that painting of the little girl again. She was unable to quiet her curiosity.

"Is she your daughter?"

Her voice broke the string tying him to his work, and he stumbled around a bit before turning around and facing her with an asking face. He let his tools go and followed the sound of the siren, looking deeply into her wide eyes.

"She was my daughter," he admitted freely, something he refused to do as often as possible.

"Where is she?"

He noted how concerned she seemed and took it as an invitation to confide in her.

“She uh… She died ‘bout ten years ago.”

Joel felt her fuzzy arms weave around him, encompassing him with a sense of comfort. It was the first time he could talk about the tragedy without bursting into tears. Her lips pressed warm kisses into his forehead and temples as she attempted to bathe him in consolation.

He removed his head from the crook of her neck to look at her face. Her eyes, although appearing a bit lopsided, were still wide and curious, like she was still waiting for something. He tried to focus on just her, but all he wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to pai-

A shriek broke him out of his trance: the woman seemed surprised about the splatter of paint that got on her bare chest and arms. Joel blinked rapidly and tried to decipher what had happened between talking about his daughter and... Now.

Had time managed to escape him? Was he too out of it to realize that? And who put on the jazz music?

The brown liquid dripped down her body and hid her nipples; he found the motion fascinating. How happy she seemed to be coated in the cold dispense helped him feel more at ease and join in laughing with her. Her hair, frizzier than before, somehow gave the illusion that she was underwater. It just flowed so freely.

"You are a mermaid in the most beautiful depths of the sea," Joel shouted dramatically.

"Wh-what?" She giggled before smearing a finger-lengths of paint onto his forehead.

His hand absentmindedly poked the paintbrush into her collarbone, tickling her in the process. "You are free... And kind... Did you turn the music on?"

And she's giggling again. God, he couldn't get enough of that sound. She was a siren, manipulating him with her songs of joy and laughter.

"You told me to," she answered; only Joel took a few minutes to process it. She covered her hand in yellow paint, cradled his cheek, and let the print of her hand stick to his face as if she were marking her territory. "I'm glad I met you tonight, Joel," she said quietly.

Instinctively, he beckoned for her to close the space between them. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

Her arms snaked around his neck as she looked at his aura and vented. "I was supposed to go on a date tonight with my ex-boyfriend. He wasn't the greatest guy. Abusive. Angry. But my parents love him, and they say he's changed, so... I wanted to try again."

Joel's drug-induced nosiness got the better of him. "Why didn't you?"

She sighed, a smirk daring to grow on her face. "I wanted to make him feel stupid."

He wrapped his arms around her waist at her wise words, holding her close as if she would blow away had he exhaled too hard.

"M'glad I met you too," he admitted. "Did I spill paint on you?"

"Just a bit, but it was my fault. You were in a daze," she admitted bashfully.

The pair took a few minutes to look at each other, feel their spirits, and soak up the serenity between the small gap in their lips.

"Do you wanna fuck?"

Those words would have left Joel speechless in any other scenario at any other time on any other day. But he was high out of his fucking mind, and once his brain had fully processed her question, he answered with a short and sweet "Yes."

He waited patiently as the vixen undressed him, and she took her precious time; her knuckles grazing the wiry hair along his pelvis sent hot shivers across his abdomen before his jeans pooled around his ankles. Lifting his arms to aid in the removal of his shirt, he flinched and giggled childishly when she placed a kiss or two along his collarbone.

She gasped at the nails digging into her sides, his hands begging for more because his voice was too weak to. The desperation grew in his eyes, and he wanted to feel close to her. To feel all of her depths and shallows and curves and grooves. Her essence rendered him helpless. The smell of her perfume was even more sickly than he recalled, but all the much more sweet.

Their bodies danced onto the floor, bending and curling around each other like snakes.

"I was always afraid of this," he spoke as she worked her hand around him, not that he needed it. "Feeling close with someone. After my last... You know."

She smiled at his words, telling him with her eyes: I know.

"I was so scared to feel close to someone..." She admitted. "After him, I wanted to be left alone. Untouched."

"What changed that- oh, fuck," Joel moaned, feeling her wetness encapsulate him.

"Someone found me, ha-ah, hmm... And took care a'me, just like I'm doing for you."

Joel clawed at her back, reaching for her hair, but his arms were too heavy, with the quick rushes of euphoria soaring through his veins. Her moans and pretty little sounds coaxing him into blindness. He couldn't see her face, covered in the universe of her bangs littered with stars and planets, until she leveled her happy face with his. The shimmer in her glossy eyes let him know she enjoyed this just as much as him.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, ever s-seen," he moaned.

Finally able to lift his arms, he used them to hold her face gently. He admired her refreshing beauty. She moaned something about how sweet he was, though it went unregistered to him.

All he could feel was her thighs flexing against his hips every time she rode down, and he felt his cock brush that sensitive sponge deep inside of her. Her hands pressed painfully into his ribcage, but he didn't mind. He loved that she needed him so much that it hurt.

She laid her body down on his chest, bringing her lips to his chin; he whimpered at the softness of her lips, his warm breath hitting her nose and making her body shudder. His mouth parted to stick his tongue out for her to lick and suck, which she did graciously.

He never knew his tongue could feel so ticklish or that having it licked would feel so damn good. It made his cock throb against her walls, forcing a moan out of the both of them. Her nails scratched his scalp tenderly, hips rocking back and forth, creating the perfect rhythm.

Her breasts dragged against the hairs on his chest, making some of the dried brown paint flake onto him; her nippled peaked, vulnerable from the friction.

Joel wrapped his forearms around the base of her spine and rolled over as carefully as his intoxicated body would allow. With hair splayed out, she looked so ethereal, like a walking painting herself.

Then, he noticed a bucket of paint sitting nearby and dipped two of his long fingers inside, dragging the white liquid down the valley of her breasts until he reached the peak of her belly. He noticed how her body reacted: all of the little shakes and shudders signs of appreciation made his heart swell.

His hand reached around her hip to grip her ass as he rested his body weight on her and enveloped her in more kisses. His hips rocked gently and slowly, careful not to hurt her. He wanted to feel her cum and hear her beg him to keep going.

To her, it felt like he pushed deeper with each thrust, begging her body to swallow him whole and allow him the grace of becoming one with her. Her eyes were so low, yet she was seeing more clearly than ever. Seeing his aura radiate off of his broad shoulders and tousled hair - it was a haze of blue and purple. But hers were shades of reds and oranges in his eyes, a fiery tyrant that bullied him with praise and adoration.

His nose tickled her chin while his lips made their way up to plant another kiss on her sweet, sweet mouth. The alcohol in her perfume singed the hairs along his face and nostrils, pilling the hairs on his arms.

"Harder, ngh- please," she murmured.

He saw her blown pupils roll gently beneath her eyelids as beads of sweat formed along her hairline. Her breathing was shallow and short. She was close.

Licking his reddened lips, he pushed her knees back until they were flush with her jawline and shifted his body weight from his knees to his toes, then changed the force of his hips without changing the rhythm.

She loved that he listened to her: harder did not mean faster, and he fucking perfected it. Almost like he knew just how hard to go.

Joel drove into her deep enough to make her cunt squelch and clench around his thick cock. He felt clumsy inside of her like he was tripping up over his own orgasm. He felt all of her ridges and curves, the smooth and the rough; everything intensified in a way that could only be described by the God he didn't believe in.

But she had him questioning that in the back of his mind. He would have believed that she was God herself if he wasn't aware of how high he was. She looked celestial, her mouth forming an 'o', and her hair sprawled around her shimmering face. Even with her mascara flaking and running slightly, she seemed so content, so pleased.

Joel's desperation to come inside of her was almost primal, instinctive... If her nails weren't digging so sharply into his forearms, he wasn't sure whether or not he would have been able to hold back.

He didn't ease up on her throughout her orgasm. Honestly, he didn't think too much about it. He never wanted right now to end. With a sense of ecstasy coursing through his veins, he managed to turn into something he tried so hard not to be. He craved her body, her kisses.

He pulled her into his lap before resting his cheek on her breast. He inhaled the musk of her sweat deeply, cherishing the divine woman she was. She felt as beautiful as she looked. She fucked just as sweet as she smelled.

His clammy hand ran over her flexed calve as she bounced on him. Her movements were sloppy from his tight grip, not that either of them cared. She was sure not to go too high or come down too hard, allowing her pussy to drip white remnants of her orgasm onto his balls. He licked and kissed and bit her tits as a submissive thank you.

She kissed the top of his hair, strumming her fingers along his scalp. "Joel," she moaned, "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," he grunted almost instantly.

Raising his head to look back at her blissed out face, he pulled her even closer. His chin dug into her clavicle, but his neediness only made her laugh softly.

Joel's face twitched as his body proposed its orgasm, his dick throbbed roughly against her sensitive walls. She gasped, taking it as a sign to fuck him faster despite the burning in her legs. He winced at her arms weighing heavier into his collarbones but just clawed at her ass to power through the pain.

She placed a hand over his heart and pushed gently, forcing him to feel the thumping against his chest. He felt so much of his anger and pain dissipate beneath her touch, instilling love and peace in place of it.

"You're so precious," he whispered. A lovely smile rose onto her face, one that drove him crazy. He looked at her with big puppy eyes that threatened to fill with tears. She licked along her teeth and bit her bottom lip. "I love y-you..." He knew he didn't mean it and that she didn't either, but he missed being able to say those words. "Tell m- oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Tell me you love me," he pleaded. "Tell me you love me 'til I cum, baby."

"I love you, Joel.”

His eyes screwed shut, face falling into the curve of her neck.

“I love you, baby. I want you to cum for me,” she moaned, breathless from exhaustion.

His nails dug deeper into her flesh, he was clinging onto his climax as much as possible, wanting to wait long enough for it to destroy him.

“Oh, Joel, fuck!” She yelped. “I love you, I love you!”

And he broke.

His nails scratched lines up her back whilst he screamed into her chest. Her pussy throbbed against his sensitive cock from the arrival of her second orgasm, heightening his sensitivity.

A few tears shed his eyes at the closeness; Joel felt like he was falling into the Earth. He was so dizzy and confused, cornered by the affection clouding his judgment.

“I love you,” she whispered into his scalp, placing one last kiss before climbing off of his lap.

He hissed at the last stroke of her cunt but helped her lay down, using his t-shirt to prop her head up.

“I love you,” he said before kissing her head.

“You should drink some water.”

As soon as she said that, he felt the itchiness in his dry throat. He grabbed water from the table a few feet away and chugged as much as his stomach could handle.

“Will you bring me the joint and a lighter?”

Joel fulfilled her request and sat the water next to her, immediately looking back at his work in progress while she got herself situated.

A few moments passed before she spoke again. “Are you coming down?”

Confused, he looked down at her but saw that the colors weren’t so loud anymore. “Think so…”

“Take a few hits. It’ll help.”

He hesitated but sat down and did as she told him.

“Thank you,” he said after briefly coughing and handing the joint back to her. “I think whatever that… Pill was actually helped.”

“If it wasn't the pill, it must’ve been the sex,” she teased, earning a laugh from him. She tapped his shoulder and pointed her head towards his mural.

ᝰ

A rough pounding woke Joel up from his slumber. He groaned, pressing the meat of his palm to his forehead and slowly sitting up before remembering the girl was still next to him.

He watched her sleep soundly, mouth slightly parted and a gentle snore creaking from her throat. The memories of last night flooded his mind, and while they were somewhat fuzzy, he remembered clear as day how it felt.

He felt most of his questions had been answered by something more complex than communication. It was frightening yet calming at the same time.

Her body stirring regained his focus, and he knew she must have been feeling the same tension headache as he was when she groaned before her eyes fluttered open. She squirmed from the cold air and looked up at the hungover man, smiling as she remembered the night before.

“Morning, Joel,” she said with a playful tilt.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said. “Your head hurtin’?”

“Yep,” she grunted while sitting up. “Ever been to that café on thirty-fourth street?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll take you there for some coffee and breakfast. My treat,” she told him.

Her eyes landed on the big, dull wall that had been taunting Joel for weeks, only to find it was a brightened, complete piece of art.

She admired the woman's beauty and asked him without looking away, “S’that me?”

Joel smirked and reached for his boxers, standing to put them on.

“She’s beautiful, ain’t she?” Joel kissed her head and walked away, leaving the woman alone to admire his masterpiece…

Her.

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pezberrywhoreee · 6 days

Text

'Controlled'

pairing: dom!janis imi'ike x sub!regina george

words: 2,685

content warning: harddom!janis, puppyslutsub!regina, bdsm, d/s dynamic, hypno kink, puppy play, forced puppyfication, cnc, strap, humiliation, corruption, oral fixation, orgasm torture, overstimulation, frottage and grinding, spitplay (drool)

summary: she doesn't know what's good for her, but she'll learn

a/n: any tist's or people that do hypno (whether erotic or not), i want to make it clear that it was an artistic choice to not include dialogue of each suggestion of triggers that janis gives. i thought that it would get too repetitive and it could've potentially made the reaction a little underwhelming. however, i fully understand that suggestions must be made in order for a trigger to essentially function. i don't know if im overthinking it or not but im really not out here trying to misrepresent the art that is hypnosis with my subpar knowledge :D

"What makes you think you can talk to me like that?" Janis stalked behind the taller girl, her voice eerily calm and collected by her neck.

Regina only scoffed in return, finding the girls attempt at intimidation humorous at best.

"Kneel right now" the brunette ordered, her low tone already tickling Regina's inherent need to submit to the woman. "Fucking kneel!" Janis raised her voice when the blonde gave her an unimpressed look.

They had been playfully arguing about how Regina would make a beautifully pliable puppy, to which the blonde counter argued that the brunette was crazy to think that she would ever have such little dignity, especially in front of someone who knew her to be so confident in the way she held herself.

It was when Regia kept insisting a little too seriously that Janis was "delusional" that the brunette knew it was the perfect time to start the scene.

Janis grabbed the girl's wrist and dragged her into their shared bedroom. Not one part of her was surprised when Regina didn't put up a fight. She would never admit it but she arguably preferred submission over dominance. It was very obvious but she liked to think that it wasn't.

The blonde held the fierce eye contact that the brunette threatened her with, her peripheral catching how the girl's chest heaved in rage. Regina couldn't help the way her eyebrow cocked along with the smirk that pulled at her lips, which ultimately drove Janis to quickly push the girl onto the floor by her head, forcing weight on it until her knees gave out and she dropped on the hardwood.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" the blonde exclaimed as Janis forced her arms behind her back and gave her a warning and expectant look to stay put.

"You don't know what's good for you, Regina" the brunette hummed, controlling the rage in her voice as she moved to retrieve a couple of accessories to aid what she was about to put the stubborn girl through.

After Regina collected herself from being called her name by her girlfriend, she scoffed once more at her words. "So you're going to force me to find out what is?" she challenged, cocking her head though she kept her position.

"Oh please, don't act like you don't want it!" Janis retorted as she stepped back in front of the kneeling girl.

Regina rolled her eyes because she knew that the girl was right.

Janis joined the blonde on the floor, sitting in front of her to bring her to eye level. "Deep breath" she commanded as she forced eye contact with the blonde once more. She smiled as the girl complied, seeing a bit of her reserve dissolving. "Relax your body, untense, let your knees and arms slack if they need to" the brunette tapped into the familiar soft, monotone part of her voice.

On the exhale, the blonde allowed her body to relax. Her head dropped slightly and her arms unlinked, falling by her sides. Her weight fell into her hips, pushing down into her thighs.

"Good girl, one more time~". Janis encouraged as she mirrored the action, hopefully pushing the girl to feel more comfortable. "Let those eyes fall, listen to your body", she hummed as she kept a close eye on the girl's breathing.

Regina slumped on the exhale further. Her head closer to lolling but still not fully dropped, her stomach more pushed out as her chest hallowed.

"Such a good girl. Every time I say 'good girl' you are going to feel yourself relaxing deeper into that safe, secure place. Don't resist it" the brunette continued, smiling as she saw the girls eyes starting to flutter shut and become one with her breathing.

"Now, every time I touch your forehead and say 'stop' you're going to return to your normal state. Your breathing will be normal as if you just woke up. When you hear a snap, you're going to fall two times deeper into that safe, dumb, thoughtless place. Nod if you understand". Janis hummed, pleased with how quickly the girl was falling into trance.

The blonde gave a slight nod, showing the brunette that she was actively listening.

She brought her finger up and tapped her forehead, humming the release trigger. Regina blinked her eyes open, a tired smile on her face as the brunette came into sight again. "Very good~. How was that, baby?", she asked as her hand reached to stroke at the girl's thigh.

Regina gave her a less powerful scoff. "Do you think this is actually going to work?" she got out just before the snap resonated in her head and she instantly dropped deeper into trance.

Janis let a soft laugh leave her at the irony of the moment. "I'm going to touch your forehead and you will undress unknowingly. It will feel instinctual and natural and you will not realise until I point it out. You're doing so well, baby" she suggested, her tone becoming a bit more commanding, but still recognisable to the tranced girl.

As soon as Regina felt the touch to her face, her eyes fluttered open and she took in the girl's pleased face. She reached for the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head and handing it to the girl in front of her. Janis took it with a chuckle at which Regina furrowed her brows.

The blonde pushed back on her ass to peel off the boxers that she was wearing, handing that to the girl too. Janis took a moment to acknowledge the light sheen of arousal that glazed the girls cunt. She waited for Regina to kneel again before piping up.

"Notice anything?" the brunette gestured to her body, fighting a smirk.

Regina looked down, taken aback by her naked state. "Oh fuck...I'm getting wet" she mumbled, feeling the growing throbbing at her cunt. She fought the confusing urge to let her hands fall between her thighs.

Janis let that smirk make itself known. "Well that was quick, huh?" she teased lightly.

"Shut the fuck up—" Regina just managed to retort before that snap triggered that familiar response that now become muscle memory.

The brunette took this opportunity to secure a leather collar around the girl's neck, making sure it wasn't too tight but tight enough to always be felt. She also slipped a leather harness onto her hips, fastening the buckles in the front snugly.

"When I touch your nose and say 'puppy' you are going to only think puppy thoughts. You will act like a puppy and nothing will exist besides following commands and being a good girl.". Janis hummed, feeling herself really getting into it now.

The trigger elicited a low whine in the back of Regina's throat as she came back into something akin to reality. These puppy-like sounds continued as she planted her fist against the ground and pushed her back up, now on all fours with her back arched.

She briefly shook her head, as if to rid of the hazy feeling in her body which Janis found endearing.

The blonde looked up at the shorter girl, her tongue threatening to loll out.

"Let go, puppy" Janis encouraged softly as she moved to stand back up. She hummed when the girl let her tongue hang out, little pants accompanying the act.

Regina started to barely noticeably wiggle her ass along with her panting but was encouraged by the hummed "good girl" that once again fell from the brunette's lips.

The brunette watched as the girl began to lightly shake from the amount of attention she was getting, a satisfied grin appearing on her face.

She reached for the attachable toy that connects to the harness as she spoke. "Puppy's don't think. You're too dumb to think on your own and you need someone smarter to think for you, isn't that right?" Janis hummed, her tone now mocking.

The blonde nodded, a wide smile obstructed by her tongue.

"Such a good girl-" she hummed before tapping the girls forehead again "in heat: 8". A shit eating grin appeared on the brunette's face as she attached the toy into the rings of the harness, quickly averting her attention back to the panting girl.

Regina sunk into the ground with another throaty whine, her tongue disappearing periodically to whimper. She looked up at the other girl with begging eyes, her ass pushed out.

"Please, mommy" she whined as she dropped her head, hopefully muffling the desperate plea.

The brunette tried to hide her surprise at the infrequent honourific that so beautifully rolled off the girls tongue.

"Uh uh, puppy's don't speak, you know that! Be a good girl and bark for me. In heat: 9" the brunette played around with triggers, laughing sadistically when the girl quietly barked as her face was tapped.

Janis marveled at the panting girl, in love with how deep in her mind she already was. Her eyes caught how the blonde was pushing her hips into the air, cocking a brow.

"Come here, puppy!" her voice jumped up an octave as she sat down on the edge of the bed, patting her lap enticingly.

The brunette hummed contently as Regina crawled over to her without question. She was rewarded with a few a scritches behind her ear which she leaned into. Janis couldn't help but find it endearing to see the girl give into what they both knew was good for her.

"What are we going to do with this mouth?" Janis teased as she ran her fingers along Regina's lips, pushing them into her practically drooling mouth and collecting some saliva to spread on her chin.

She chuckled as the vibrating girl's eyes went between her face and the toy resting on her pelvis, her eyes intense and eager.

Janis gave her a challenging look at which the blonde took the opportunity to nuzzle against the leather decorating the girl's hips, whining while doing so.

"Oh—do you want something?" the brunette taunted as she continued to softly stroke the girl's head. Regina let her tongue loll out once more before giving a low growl in frustration.

Janis knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to not think. She needed to turn her brain off. Now there's no reality in where she would admit this but the brunette could see right through her, and besides they had excessively talked about it during negotiation.

"Is the puppy all bothered? Is she not getting what she wants?" the brunette mocked as she slipped her shin between the girl's spread legs. She gave her a gentle nod as desperate eyes looked up at her.

With a growl the blonde lowered her cunt against the girl's leg, her eyes fluttering and another whine resounding in her throat. "You better put that mouth to use, baby" she purred as she took hold of both the girl's head and the toy, running the tip along waiting lips.

Janis bit her lip as the girl stuck her tongue out and took the silicon tip into her mouth, her hips starting a rather quick rhythm as she rubbed against the brunette. Her eyes squeezed shut at the heightened sensations that were powering her body.

The blonde started to feel thoughts fading away, her mind slowly becoming empty. This only increased her already debilitating arousal.

The shorter girl's hand found a comfortable grip on the girl's jaw, lightly forcing her to take the strap deeper into her mouth. She wanted to show her that filling her holes could potentially make up for being blank otherwise.

"All it took was a little coercion and mocking to get you right where you belong. To get you doing the only thing you're good for. Good girls only think about pleasing" she purred as she stared down into lidded eyes that held nothing but space. A heavy groan left her as she felt whines reverberating through the toy and push against her own cunt.

Just as Regina took the girl into her throat, she felt a grip on her wrist that elicited a stuttering of her hips, her eyes rolling into her skull and her jaw falling slack from its previous suction.

The grip on her jaw tightened "Who said you could stop?" the brunette taunted as she held her grasp on that wrist, prolonging the sudden orgasm.

Muffled moans fell from stretched lips as she instinctively continued to lave her tongue over the toy, eyes begging for mercy.

Janis let go of her wrist, a satisfied smirk plastered on her flushed face. "Good girl! You took that so well~" she hummed.

Regina panted around the length on her tongue, her eyes falling closed at the slight suggestion of falling deeper into trance. Her hips started up again, momentarily jumping due to the sensitivity of her cunt.

The brunette threw her head back as the girl resumed her eager sucking, the flat of the harness continuing to press against her.

She waited until the girl took her into her throat, her eyes fluttering at the fullness. "Statue" Janis hummed, tapping the girl's forehead once again and sighing contently when she completely froze.

The brunette chuckled as took a hold of the girl's hair and started pushing into her esophagus mercilessly, her breath hitching as she forced past the blonde's gag reflex. She stared down at the frozen girl in awe as she was literally transformed into a manipulatable subject to be used.

"Good girl" Janis groaned as she gave her a couple of deeper thrusts as to feel that friction against her aching cunt. "Such a good, pliable puppy" the soft laugh turning into a breathless moan.

A new wave of arousal shot through her as she caught sight of Regina's teary eyes, the trigger having had disabled her from blinking. Reluctantly she tapped the girl's head again, muttering a release before giving the girl some control over her own head.

An agonised cry left the blonde as she felt a grip on her wrist once more. Her thighs grasped at the shin between them. The soft touch of the brunette wiping the tears from her cheek made her realise just how sensitive her skin had become.

"Oh is it too much, puppy?" Janis mocked, feigned care in her voice as she let go of the shaking wrist. She couldn't help but admire how the girl trembled beneath her assault just like she was meant to.

The brunette guided Regina's lips away from the toy to allow her to fill her lungs and clear her uncomfortably empty throat. The blonde looked up at her with dead, watering eyes that begged to be consumed by the other girl's essence, to have someone make a decisions for her.

"Go ahead, baby" Janis whispered as she felt the girl's hips regain its effort in rutting against her leg. Regina wrapped her arms around the girl's thigh to brace herself before her hips took control over her being.

Her lips fell open in a pant, causing a steady stream of drool to pour out of her vacant mouth. A quiet growl left the brunette as the thin liquid made contact with her thigh, watching as a needy tongue pushed out more of what was left of the blonde's brain.

"That's it~ my undignified girl" she purred as she aided the humping girl by flexing her leg against her core. Janis knew that Regina would have scoffed at the comment if her mind wasn't currently leaking out of her holes.

The whines in the blonde's throat increased in pitch which was Janis's cue to press her forehead one last time and utter "In heat: 10", causing the girl to instantly tumble over the edge of another wrecking orgasm. Unintelligible pained sounds fell from drooling lips as her head collapsed in exhaustion, hips stuttering reluctantly.

"Such a good girl" Janis hummed, stroking the blonde's flushed face.

#renee rapp #reneé rapp #mean girls 2024 #mean girls #mean girls broadway #regina george #janis imi'ike #regina x janis #rejanis #auli'i cravalho #mean girls fanfic #smuttt #fanfiction #oneshot #bd/sm kink #pezberrywhoreee kink #pezberrywhoreee #impulse fic #someone let me know now if this was in character for janis

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cailenbraern · 9 months

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Not sure if I can fully articulate my thoughts about Jaskier’s growth as an artist throughout the seasons of The Witcher but I'm going to give it a go.

Because when we meet him in season 1 , he's more or less just starting out. He's fresh from Oxenfurt and determined to make a name for himself on the continent. The trouble is, he's got nothing to draw on. He's still young so his experience is negligible. He performs songs about monsters and creatures with little accuracy or meaning, and we meet him being jeered and pelted with food.

Meeting Geralt gives him a new inspiration for original songs, although he's not truthful, particularly in Toss a Coin. As Geralt said, that's not what happened, and Jaskier responds with respect doesn't make history. He's still too young and too inexperienced to realise what impact his songs can have, and he's solely determined to improve the reputations of Witchers along with his own reputation.

The two other songs in season 1 are Fishmongers Daughter, which I'm not going to discuss in any detail, and Her Sweet Kiss. Now one cane argue that the latter is heavily drawn from personal emotion and feeling, but the end result is a fairly normal ballad style of song with poetry as lyrics and vivid imagery and metaphors. It's a start, but Jaskier still has a long way to go.

Then we get to season 2, where we find Jaskier in the early stages of recognition. We see him performing in a packed bar, with accompaniment, and the crowd are lapping it up. It helps that the song he's singing comes, as per his own words, from the heart. Burn Butcher, Burn is 100% emotion, 100% authentic, and gone is the poetry. The lyrics are raw and passionate.

Despite this, we're led to believe that he found his fame with The Golden One. In contrast with BBB, this song lacks any emotional punch. It's purely a story or anecdote set to music. A fun little ditty, but unless you can suspend your disbelief, if open to criticism. As happens when attempting to smuggle the Elves onto the ship.

Now, we know that at this point, Jaskier has done and seen and experienced far more things than he had in season 1, and this has left an impact on him. He has matured and developed his sense of empathy and his kindness so much more than the immature travelling bard showed in Posada, thanks tp witnessing the violence and persecution of the elves, while also dealing with his own broken heart. Yet he's still clinging on to his want and desire to be respected and applauded for his skill and talent in writing and singing songs, so we see that he does not take criticism well.

More happens in season 2 to shape and form him, Rience's torture for one, the massacre at Kaer Morhen, his friendship with Yennefer and his mending (such as it is) of his friendship with Geralt along with the continuing politics all across the continent.

I do have a soft spot for Whoreson Prison Blues. The first two verses are beautiful, followed by a very crude, very catchy chorus. I can't imagine he would include it in future sets, but it's so personal to him in that moment that I love it.

Little wonder that by Season Three, we are met with yet more changes in our bard. His words to Radovid stating that he doesn't 'do pretty' suggest to me that he has consciously decided to move away from filling his songs with poetry and imagery and is focused more on honesty and truth. Extraordinary Things which immediately follows is a perfect demonstration of Jaskier singing openly and from the heart.

But what I wanted to get to in this long winded post, is that this is the season we finally see the Emotional Impact Jaskier's songs have on other people. No criticisms, no jokes, just the power of his music.

Whatever your opinion on Radovid and his motivations, Extraordinary Things affected him. You can see this in his reaction as he hears it for the first time, and he so clearly can't get it out of his head after hearing it only one time, that he goes above and beyond to learn it.

Next is Ciri, and we see Jaskier singing a lullaby (which he may or may not have written himself, jury's out on that) to her. Later, in the desert, she sings the lullaby back to herself, drawing strength and courage from it. This power has been given by Jaskier through his singing, making her feel safe and loved in a vulnerable moment.

Finally, Eternal Flowers, which I'll say here, is the best I've ever heard Joey sing, both on the album version and in the live performance on the show. He has his lute, but he lays it down like laying down a weapon. It's just him, stripped bare, open, vulnerable, honest, true. This is not his song, but he feels the emotion and the message as thought it was. His empathy is shining. It moves him to tears, but not only him, the Dryads also feel the emotion he is channelling, and it moves them to tears.

I don't have much of a conclusion to this ramble, but TL;DR, Jaskier’s songwriting and art has evolved over the three seasons and his bardic power is a might force to be reckoned with. He will be remembered long after Valdo for his honesty and beauty.

Not pretty. Real.

#jaskier #the witcher #spoilers #season 3 #twn spoilers #twn season 3 #joey batey #i cant articulate

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thefangirlfever · 2 months

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In this lifetime (a Miguel O'hara fanfiction)

Summary : When Miguel had jumped into an other dimension to replace his variant, he had not expected life to be so different…

Tags : fluff, romance, F/M, domestic fluff, kind of slow burn, suggestiveness (I tried to keep it PG-13), angst, mention of death, Miguel being a girl dad, soft Miguel O’hara, idiots in love, he fell first and hard, this is not a self-insert but it kinda is, maybe Miguel os a little OOC (he is just silly sometimes)

Notes : I sacrificed sleeping for this. The idea was too fresh in my mind and I didn’t want to let it go to waste. I’ve been inspired by all these amazing artists who have made horror concept arts about Miguel infiltrating this other dimension and those wondering about the possibility of Miguel’s partner in this dimension. I hope you enjoy my take on this.

English is not my first langage and I wrote this in the middle of the night. Therefore, I apologize in advance for my crimes against the English language.

Word count: 14 285

===============================================

Miguel looked at the shopping list with a highly focused look, way too focused for something as trivial as this but he was on a mission. And it may have been one of the most difficult he ever had to face : being a functioning father. Since he jumped into this new universe after the death of his variant and decided to settle in for the good of his daughter -or rather his variant’s daughter but Miguel tried not to think too much about this- he only had one thing in mind. Making this work.

Not a lot of things had worked in his past life, and it all started back in his childhood. That’s why he had made the promise to himself that he would not make the same mistake with Gabriella. He was no longer Miguel, the messy vigilante, tortured scientist who broke hearts here and there. No, he was a respectable father and this new attitude of him had to shine every time. He would just not allow himself to make any mistake. Even in the way he would follow a grocery list.

Miguel was a new man and that meant no more tantrums, no more stress and just an overflowing sense of calm and control. He had everything under control. He could easily balance the vigilante life with the domestic lifestyle. He would not be the first one doing this. Weren’t most mothers already doing the same ?

But it seemed that the world had already decided to test out his new resolutions. Just when he had stepped in front of his apartment door and passed the badge that allowed him to enter, the digital reader made a red light and a robotic voice said:

“Try again”.

Usually the calm of the robotic voice would have pushed him over, only making his frustration grow even more. But not now. He was a new man. He was ‘cool dad Miguel’ who never throws a tantrum, even when he is tired, locked out of his apartment with his arms filled with groceries on a hot Summer day. He took a deep breath and swiped his badge another time. Must be a small mistake.

“Try again.”

The echo of the mechanical voice definitely got on his nerves.

When he arrived in this dimension, he was amazed and relieved to see that it was not so different from his own. Most of the technologies, slang and even clothes were alike. He had no problem blending in. The only difference was that he couldn’t talk freely to Layla since his variant never had an AI assistant. He didn’t want people to ask questions that could lead them to suspect that he was not who he pretended to be.

Then why was this stupid machine not working?

An other deep breath, an other pass of the badge.

“Try again.”

Miguel groaned in annoyance. He was close to dump the bags on the ground and force the door at this point. He was already late on his schedule at this point of the day; Gabriela would be back from school any minute now and he still had to make dinner… Why wasn’t this working?

“Shock!”, he cursed under his breath before pressing the badge with more strength, trying his best to not let any grocery items fall from the bags. He knew that applying the badge like this would do nothing, since he already had that system in his own dimension. What he also knew was that after three trials, the box would send an alarm signal to the owner of the house.

He was about to curse an other less polite word when the door suddenly opened and to his surprise, the person in front of him was no one he knew. It was not Gabriela. It was a woman, a grown woman. She looked sleepy. Sleepy and pissed off.

Miguel eyed up and down the woman, from her bare feet and oversize shirt to the mess of her hair above a very tired face. He immediately recognized this look for he often had the same one. This was the look of someone who barely managed to sleep because of work, an underlying pressure and an unhealthy stress level. His sympathy went to the woman standing in front of him. Confusion ran through Miguel’s expression, along something else, something like curiosity. His eyes didn’t leave the silhouette of the woman in front of him and they did linger a bit too long on her bare legs to not look rude. A rush of heat ran through his cheeks, and he was pretty sure the summery weather had nothing to do with it, but those slender legs were more likely the cause of it.

He had to internally taunt himself: “Cool dad Miguel wouldn’t pry upon the legs of one of his neighbors this way.” No matter if said legs looked absolutely dashing with their tan, toned and almost endless. Just when his mind was starting to touch upon riskier territory, he lifted his eyes up and all trace of admiration disappeared. Not that the woman’s face was not the type he would usually admire, quite the opposite, but her gaze made it clear that any word from him would put him in great danger of getting his butt kicked.

“You think this is funny?”, the woman asked in a voice that left no room for any hesitation.

She had just spent one of the worst nights of her life, endlessly working under the worst conditions possible and just when she thought she could get some rest and take a nap, she had been woken up by the alarm signal coming from her door. The least person she was expecting to find on the other side of the door was her neighbor, Miguel O’hara. So far the single father had struck her more as the quiet type and not the type who would wake you up from a peaceful nap unannounced.

Right now the guy seemed like he wanted to disappear into the ground. His larger silhouette almost seemed crushed under the weight of her dark gaze and he only stuttered:

“I..I’m sorry...who...what are you doing here?”

At this point, she was suspecting that either the Sun had hit him too hard on his way here or that he was dumb, or maybe playing dumb. She replied with a sarcastic snicker:

“Oh, you mean, what am I doing here in my own apartment?”

Miguel’s brows rose in confusion, although the small grin of the woman only increased the warmth in his cheeks. He hoped she would put it onto the account of the really hot weather.

“Your apartment? There must be a misunderstanding, miss. This is my apartment…” His voice sounded less confident as he kept talking and the woman’s sarcastic grin only widened.

She pointed at the door at the end of the floor, the one facing a large window and replied:

“This is your apartment. Now, if you will excuse me, mister O’hara, I’ve had quite the rough night and I would like to rest now!”

“Wait...I’m so…” before Miguel could even finish his sentence, the door slammed shut in his face. A pack of cookies he had just bought fell to the ground and he couldn’t feel more stupid than in this moment. He didn’t need a mirror to know that he was red to the root of his hair, just like when he was a kid caught red-handed.

He had only just settled in this dimension and he still needed time to adjust. It was not enough that this world looked like his, because it was not his world. And that thought always made him feel sick in his stomach. Unlike his variant, he didn’t know every little detail about Gabriella or their apartment. So, the first night he didn’t find the cabinet with the plates, nor the one with the glasses. He didn’t know Gabriella’s schedule without looking at the planning on the fridge while his variant knew it by heart. He didn’t know what Gabriella’s favorite dish was, nor did he recognize her friend’s names when she mentioned them in a conversation. In these moments, he felt like an intruder and that thought always made him feel nauseous. He had already thought about leaving and returning back to his universe but… he couldn’t leave Gabriella alone. He knew what it felt like to grow up without the care of a father or to be betrayed by him. And he had sworn that he would be better than this.

But he was off to a rough start. Hell, he didn’t even find the door of his apartment. He didn’t even remember meeting his floor neighbor, which was a shame. The woman seemed to know him since she called him by his name but he had no idea of what hers was. Did his variant and her go along well? Now that he thought about it, Miguel has never been the friendly type. He didn’t know the names of his own neighbor in his original dimension. Maybe it was time to change this, and the fact that the said neighbor looked very charming had nothing to do with this decision…

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

Miguel turned around and noticed Gabriela on the apartment floor, holding her pink backpack on her shoulders. The sight almost made all the air in his lungs disappear, just like every single time. He couldn’t believe that she was there, all real and looking just like him. Maybe it could have seemed uncanny to see a mini-him, but every time he saw her dark brown eyes, her freckles and the long strands of chestnut hair, he was just in awe. She may not be his daughter, in the sense that she was not made out of his own flesh, but they looked too much alike for him to care. He was determined to take care of her as if she was his own daughter. Affection swelled in his heart and he replied with a light-hearted tone:

“Mija! You’re home early.”

He gestured in a way to open his arms so she could run to him and hug him, just like they did every day, but he only managed to make more groceries spill from the bags. And yet, he couldn’t care less. It was like, as soon as Gabriella was around, the moody Miguel just disappeared for a new version of him, one that seemed unable to get angry.

“Yes, Sandy’s mom got me home after the …” Gabriella replied while helping him gather the fallen groceries.

Sandy. He knew that name. He could even picture this girl. He was not doing too bad; he was a quick learner. Miguel was pretty sure that in less than a month, he would know everything about this world. His world.

Gabriella looked at the door her father was standing in front of and asked: “Did you talk with the new neighbor?” Miguel could feel the back of his neck burning under the heat of the shame he was feeling. Talking? Kinda. If you call being yelled at by a pretty woman talking, he wouldn’t mind talking a bit more often with her.

“It’s nothing, Gabi.” He would never admit that he had mistaken their apartment’s doors.

“You know she doesn’t like when people come talk to her.”

Oh really? Miguel grinned and replied:

“Yeah, I noticed.”

The little girl grabbed the box of cookies and a wide smile immediately blossomed on her face, making her nose scrunch up and Miguel’s heart melt.

“Those are the ones you wanted, right?”

“Yes, they’re my favorites! Thanks, dad.”

A wave of pride washed over Miguel as his daughter hugged his waist. He was still learning but he was definitely a quick learner.

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

It’s been almost a week since the accident with his neighbor. Miguel hadn’t had the opportunity to see her again and he found himself looking at the closed door of her apartment every time he passed by. From what Gabriela had told him, she was the grumpy type, barely leaving her flat or speaking to anyone in the building. She moved in a few weeks ago, so it was not surprising that she was still shy. However, in her case shyness and grumpiness were two sides of the same coin.

This afternoon, Miguel had made extra time on his schedule to pick up Gabriela from school. The two had made a short stop at an ice cream shop on their way back home and were now waiting for the elevator while Gabriela’s incessant bubbling entertained him.

If someone had told Miguel that one day he would have the time for such mundane things and enjoy them, he would have not believed it. He never took the time for anything, not even having a decent meal sometimes. So, getting ice cream was not even an option. Hell, the moment he tasted that ice cream, he swore that his taste buds had never tasted anything this good in a long time. Was he really living such a dull life that he almost forgot the taste of ice cream?

Just when the doors of the elevator were about to close, he spotted someone walking in its direction and so he held the door for the newcomer. As soon as he recognized the silhouette, he felt a small tinge of both excitement and apprehension in his heart.

His neighbor thanked him with a sign of her head for holding the door and got into the small cabin without saying a word. She was standing in front of him and once again, he didn’t resist the temptation to eye her up and down. Her hair was tied in the back and she had her earphones on -clearly she was not the most talkative person in this building and she made it quite clear -, everything indicated that she must be coming back from some workout session. Her athleisure clothes highlighted even more the shapeliness of her legs and how long they were. This time, his gaze traveled a bit higher and he noticed her wide hips as well as the patch of bare skin above the hem of her yoga pants.

He must have been quite a desperate case if something as simple as the sight of some lower back and a hint of a belly got him all riled-up, he thought. But it turned out that ice creams were not the only thing Miguel had to deny himself with his busy lifestyle. He doesn’t even remember the last time he flirted with anyone; not that he didn’t get the occasion but he had never been prone to flirting with his colleagues and well, he never saw anyone outside of his colleagues. Needless to say that his last romantic experiences didn’t end well either. He had all the reasons in the world to keep it to himself.

But, does this mean that he couldn’t admire a beautiful woman or even try to engage in conversation with her? Absolutely not.

He was a new man, he was ‘cool dad Miguel’ and this new persona of his could definitely be a little friendlier toward his neighbor, right? There was nothing strange about engaging in a conversation with your friendly neighborhood. Miguel even began to think that he could become the type of guy who can easily chat about the weather. Everything was possible in this new life.

“Mhh, excuse me, miss?”

With her earbuds on, she didn’t hear him at first. It’s only when he cleared his throat that she turned around. Her lips were pursed in what could be either a grimace of disdain or annoyance and she looked absolutely done with everything and everyone.

For some reason, this only made Miguel more of a flustered mess.

“Hum...Hi...I wanted to apologize for the next day…”

Why did he have to stutter? He never stuttered. The piercing gaze of the woman didn’t help his stuttering. It seemed like his words had brought no emotion to her face and he even wondered if she remembered that day. Even Gabriella was staring at him as if he was some madman. Finally, the woman replied:

“It’s okay.” And without saying anything else, she turned back, clearly ending the conversation. Miguel didn’t know exactly what he was waiting for but it was not that. Was his pride hurt that a pretty woman didn’t seem to recognize him? Maybe. Was he a bit annoyed at her attitude? Maybe. Was he finding this attitude really attractive? Definitely.

He didn’t have any time to think about what was pulling him closer to this woman since Gabriella quickly resumed her ranting. Miguel was listening to her without saying a word, a fond smile on his lips as he wondered over her amazement of the whole world. At least, until Gabriella mentioned how impatient she was to do his nails again. That was one of the other tings that surprised him the most about himself -how easily Gabriella got him to do anything. She just needed to do her puppy eyes and he would agree on absolutely anything. Again, if someone had told him he was a girl dad, he would not have believed it. But here he was, playing dolls with his daughter or letting her paint his nails. He was very confident in his masculinity, so these things usually didn’t bother him. At least he thought so. For some reason, he was not too fond of the idea of a pretty woman hearing about his next nail appointment.

It looked like the woman didn’t hear Gabriella’s comment and for some reason, he felt relieved. He gave his daughter a soft smile and nodded his head.

“I want to try the one with the glitters! I’m sure it will look good on you!” Miguel internally winced in pain. It seemed like each sentence Gabriella uttered was like a direct kick into his ego but he knew better and simply replied:

“I’m sure it will, mija.”

“There are glitters in it!” Miguel will never understand the enthusiasm about glitters. He had stopped counting the number of times he found glitters on the pillows of the couch. These things should be banned.

A small chuckle echoed through the elevator. It was definitely not him and it was not his daughter either, so it could only be… Both Gabriela and him look at each other with a look of surprise until the woman slowly turned her head to look at them. And to Miguel’s surprise – and joy – a smug smile had crossed her lips, making one of her dimples pop out a little more. That was one dangerous smile and he understood why she wouldn’t smile too often. Not everyone deserved to see such perfection on a daily basis.

He gathered all his courage -who would have thought the moment you need to be the bravest is not in front of an army of zombies or a super villain but while facing the mocking smile of an attractive woman? - and tried to talk. But the words got stuck in his throat and before he could say anything, the doors opened and she left them alone in the elevator.

Miguel stayed frozen for a few seconds until Gabriela pulled on his hands and finally got him back to their apartment. He couldn’t resist giving one last look toward the door of the mysterious woman.

********

Miguel would only catch a glimpse of the woman during the next few days and he never had the chance to initiate the conversation, not that he knew what he would say. If it was like the last time, he would probably just end up stuttering a bunch of nonsense while getting lost in those deep brown eyes of hers like a man doomed to die in quicksands.

So, when he saw her entering the elevator that Tuesday afternoon, he made himself the promise to not speak a word and keeping it low. He didn’t need to embarrass himself more than he already did, twice. The woman seemed to recognize him as she nodded her head in his direction, which both scared him and made him feel butterflies in his stomach. He could notice more details about her as she stood by his side in the elevators. She had let her hair loose today and they bounced around her face in thick curls; glass frames in turtle-shell sat on top of her crooked nose and she was wearing one of these power suits with large shoulders. The color highlighted the glow of her skin and he couldn’t help but notice the subtle fragrance of her perfume.

But overall, he was not staring and he was definitely chill. Very chill. And laid-back. Not at all wondering what it would feel like to smell this scent directly from her skin.

To his surprise, he noticed her sneaking a quick glance in his direction from time to time. He subconsciously straightened up his posture –he had stopped counting the number of times he had been called out for his terrible back posture – and puffed out his chest. He would probably smack himself in the back of his head later for acting like some peacock. But it seemed like her eyes were more drawn towards his hands, especially the glittered pink nail polish on them. A smile curled up her lips, and this time it didn’t seem as mocking as it was the last time. Just when he was about to break the heavy silence between them, she said in a small voice- it was almost a whisper and he thought he had misheard her for a few seconds:

“She was right; it looks good on you.”

The doors opened with a small ‘ding’ and Miguel found himself dumbfounded once again, his jaw hanging low as he whispered in a hushed voice “Thank you”.

******

Miguel was heading toward his apartment building, more than eager to throw himself on the couch, and probably just dive into an endless slumber after that long day at work. Just when he entered the building, he noticed two things. First of all, there was a small sign on the elevator indicating that it was broken. And reading this sign, standing there, her arms overflowing with grocery bags stood his cute neighbor. As he stepped closer, he could hear her groan in annoyance. He didn’t need to think much before addressing her in a faint voice:

“Can I help you?”

Not only did he manage to talk to her but he also didn’t stutter. So, that was a win. The woman turned around and maybe it was his delusion speaking, but her smile seemed even more genuine when she saw him. Or maybe she was just happy that someone would help her out…

“Thanks but I’m okay.”, she politely declined his offer even though she was clearly not okay. Miguel didn’t dare saying anything and he didn’t need to. As soon as she made a step, she almost dropped one of her grocery bags down the floor. Thanks to his superhuman reflexes, Miguel was quick to catch it and she couldn’t deny that she in fact needed his help. Miguel sensed that it costed her to admit this and truly speaking, this was something he could understand and respect; being himself unable to ask for help even if his life depended on it.

The two of them climbed the stairs in silence and Miguel couldn’t resist peaking at the inside of the bags he was carrying. He had no idea on how this woman was living since she was always so secretive and it seemed like no one could get a glimpse of her life behind this closed door. In one of the bags he could spot a box of eggs, frozen pizza rolls and among other snacks one green vegetable. This made him laugh quietly as his own groceries were not so different when he used to live alone, before Gabriella. Not that he minded adding more vegetables to his own diet now. He also noticed a few cans of tuna in the other bag and multiple period pads. His cheeks instantly flared up at the sight, which made him curse himself internally for that. He was a grown man for God’s sake and a scientist. But periods were not what got him reacting this way, it was more likely the fact that he could catch a glimpse of such an intimate part of her life, when he even barely knew this woman.

He forced his eyes to focus somewhere else and they landed on her back and drifted towards the swaying of her hips as she moved up the stairs. Not good for his blushing.

They finally stopped at the right floor and he watched her opening the door. For the first time he noticed the small charm that she used as a keychain. It was one of these small Japanese cats with one of their paws raised to their head and a peaceful smile on their face. He smiled at the sight, finding this little touch of personality quite endearing.

The two of them parted away after she had thanked him and Miguel didn’t dare saying anything more than a polite “You’re welcome” but he was sure he had heard something, or someone, moving on the other side of the door.

******

After only two months in this dimension, Miguel could proudly say that he was fitting in nicely. He knew Gabriella’s schedule by heart, he had met all of her friends and he didn’t mistake the door of his apartment with the door of someone else anymore. Of course this didn’t mean that he knew everything about Gabriella or this world yet. But he had understood that he would need a lot of patience and that was fine by him. Overall he was satisfied by this new life, and it was easy to see. Or course, it was tiring to juggle between saving the multiverse on a daily basis and being a single father, but he managed to make it work. He had even fallen into a comforting routine.

Among all the small rituals he had now in this life – like doing Gabriella’s hair every morning before school, making a lunchbox for the two of them every night or their weekly movie nights – one of his favorites was seeing her...

At this point, Miguel had accepted the fact that he had a crush on his neighbor.

There was nothing wrong in having a small crush, even at his age after all. That’s what he liked to tell himself every time he was delusional. He was pretty sure that the feeling wasn’t mutual and that she was way out of his league, but a man could dream. Either way, he already had too much on his plate, right? Romance has never been a part of the plan anyway.

Then, how come he always ended up acting like a fool when this woman approached him? He had a phd on neuro-physic, had practically invented the inter-dimensional travel and was overall a pretty smart guy but she just had a way to send him back to default mode with one look. He clearly remembered that day he saw her approaching with her wet umbrella and the only thing he managed to say was:

“It’s raining, huh?”

Like, no shit Sherlock, of course it’s raining, he immediately thought. He genuinely wondered how this woman was not already fed up with him but she seemed to hold as much as patience as phlegm in her. He even caught her smiling in his direction from time to time, clearly feeding in his delusion. She didn’t seem to find him as annoying as he found himself and they even ended up chatting a bit.

But most of the time, he would only see her in the morning when he was heading off to work, just when she seemed to come back from work. He guessed that she must have some type of jobs with unusual schedules and this was only confirmed the day he caught a glimpse of her still wearing her scrubs. She must have had a rough night of work and Miguel felt even worse for the day he had woken her up. Her hair was tied in a tight up-do and dark bags settled under her eyes. He was not looking any better after spending a whole night in an other dimension trying to catch an anomaly. The two of them exchanged one knowing look inside the elevator and after Miguel asked “Rough night again, huh?”, she found herself chuckling a bit. This was the kind of sound that he could listen to on repeat for days, he thought.

When he first heard the knock on his door, Miguel wasn’t expecting to find her waiting on his doorstep at this time of the day. But here she was, dressed in that dainty sundress with a flower pattern that just perfectly highlighted the curves of her shoulders and hugged her belly tightly, asking him to borrow some eggs. At this point, he was close to ask for some mercy on his poor mind and body but he managed to calmly give her what she had asked him for. With this dress on, he would have given her all the eggs in the world if she had asked for.

The second time, she came asking for some flour. The third time, it was sugar. Surely, she would soon find herself out of things to ask for, which scared him a bit. He liked these moments when he would see her at the most unexpected times, asking him in a quiet voice to help her with those big brown eyes playing tricks on his brain. After some time, he slowly realized that she must be doing all of this as an excuse to see him; that or she was preparing to open a bakery of some sort.

She always made sure to let enough time between each visit to not look too suspicious but she was fooling no one, not even herself. And one day, Miguel had the utmost pleasure of seeing the subtle hint of a delicate blush on her cheeks when he joked about the fact that they literally had a supermarket down the street. She grumbled something he barely understood and he thought he would never get tired of seeing her like this.

*****

So, when he heard someone knocking at the door this Sunday morning, he immediately jumped on his feet and ran toward the door, hoping it would be her. And it was. But this time she seemed slightly more concerned and flustered.

“Hum...sorry to bother you but I have a problem with the water at my place… Do you think you could maybe take a look at this? It’s okay if you can’t...I just didn’t know who else to ask in this building…”

Miguel practically melted on the spot when he heard her asking for help. It was still early on the day and she was still in her pajamas. She had hastily thrown a robe over her clothes and her face was practically covered by a thick mass of heavy curls, the tip of her nose pointing up out of this beautiful mess. It took him all his willpower to not lean close to her face and start kissing her there, right on the tip of her nose. He had never been a romantic person but there was just something in her that got him enthralled by every detail he found on her body, even the smallest or most insignificant. Not that anything was insignificant with her, whether it was her laugh, her smile, the depth of her voice…

That’s how Miguel found himself lying on her bathroom floor, looking at the underside of the sink. He had been a bit impressed when he first stepped into her apartment. The place was a bit smaller than his and he found himself feeling quite comfortable with the muffled atmosphere. The gentle lights didn’t trigger his very sensitive eyes and he was very glad for this. It seemed like she had settled very well inside this apartment as it was filled with a lot of stuff already; she seemed to be more on the maximalist side of things, and it looked very lively overall. Even the bathroom had a certain level of messiness that he found charming. He quietly laughed when he noticed the huge mass of green plants hanging from different pots, some of their vines even running along the showers walls.

“I’m really sorry for the mess.”, she quickly apologized but he gave her a reassuring look as he began to fix the leaky pipes. He didn’t find this a problem, quite the opposite. He was glad to discover so many new sides of her after being so long in the dark.

He was so focused on the task at hand that he didn’t hear her coming closer, watching him work in silence. The small look of admiration she gave him filled him with pride and a softer feeling that dispersed through his chest.

“Is it bad?”

She had asked while leaning over his shoulders and as she did so, he could catch a whiff of her scent. It was not the same as in the elevator. This time, it was not some sort of expensive and delicate fragrance that perfumed her skin but her natural scent. It was a very heady scent with some spicy notes in it. He could discern something like cinnamon and an other more delicate and dainty scent close to vanilla. His hypersensitivity made the sensation even stronger and his nostrils flared up while he fought the urge to pull her closer to inhale deeply this scent.

“No, it’s nothing. We also got this sometimes at the apartment. You just gotta make sure those pipes don’t get clogged too often…” His words died on his lips when he noticed just how close they were now. Her warm breath was brushing against the back of his ear and he could feel the small hair on the back of his neck standing up. He suddenly realized just how small the bathroom actually was as their bodies were suddenly very close to one another and he tried to move away. Due to his larger frame, he only managed to hit his head against the edge of the sink. He was expecting her to laugh or at least crack a smile but she seemed genuinely worried as the impact had made some of the stuff on the sink fall.

“Are you okay?”

Without giving him any time to reply, she leaned a bit closer and her fingers carefully pushed some strands of hair on top of his head to check if he had any concussion. Miguel felt like her fingertips were directly sending a jolt of electricity down his whole body and to the tip of his hair. He sat there, quietly, letting her slender fingers rummage through his locks, trying to keep his gaze focused somewhere else, anywhere else than the pleasing sensation of her warmth so close to him.

She had insisted on thanking him with a cup of coffee and no matter how hard he had protested, she managed to make him seat on one of the stools in the kitchen. Miguel was still a bit flustered from their little moment earlier and he was trying his best to not stare too much at her, so his gaze traveled through the apartment. That’s when it hits him. Everything looked strangely old inside this place, or was clearly thrifted. Miguel knew that his original dimension and this one were really advanced in terms of technology compared to many others and therefore, a lot of the items and devices peopled used on the daily were highly futuristic and sometimes seem soulless… But here, everything, even the smallest trinket, seemed to have a soul, a story. He liked how everything seemed to belong to different eras and seemed frozen in time. The place was like a small, comforting bubble of warmth in the chaos of this futuristic raging city.

When she presented him a warm cup of coffee, they both exchanged a smile and she couldn’t help herself but joke:

“It’s not the finest China I have…”

“It’s perfect.”

Miguel made sure to carefully hold the cup as it seemed even older than both of them combined. He gave the apartment one last look and his eyes stopped on a fuzzy shape that he hadn’t noticed before. The thing moved and two pointy ears appeared from the depth of its black fur. Then two round eyes stared at him from the living room.

“Or should I rather say that it’s purr-fect.” Miguel chuckled, knowing that his lame dad joke was either a hit or miss and to his delight, she chuckled even more. His grip on the cup went a bit more shaky every time he heard her laughing.

The cat at the other end of the living room yawned and stretched on top of one the numerous pillows thrown on the couch. With a place like this, he definitely understood why she would never leave her home. He didn’t even want to leave himself.

****

“Look, dad, a cat! He is so cute.”, Gabriella cooed while looking through the kitchen’s window. There was indeed a small, fuzzy black cat resting on top of their balcony, a sluggish look on his face while his tail swayed from side to side in the air.

Miguel smiled as he recognized the said cat. However the cat didn’t seem to recognize him and he ran away as soon as Miguel made a move to open the window to Gabriela’s disappointment.

Nevertheless the cat came back a few times and soon even Miguel was smitten by this little fuzzball. There was even something in the mean looks the cat was giving him that reminded him of his owner. Even the shape of their eyes were almost alike.

Miguel could be in the middle of cooking when he would suddenly hear the cat meowing on the other side of the window, begging for some leftover, as if he wasn’t being fed already enough. To his surprise, Miguel found himself feeding the cat from time to time, even buying some designed snacks for him since he wasn’t sure that the feline could eat everything.

As soon as Gabriela had managed to pet the small feline and he had purred in her arms, Miguel knew it was over. She would beg him to adopt one cat and he was right. For the first time, he had to refuse his daughter something, no matter how much she would plead with her hangdog look or her sulky face, there was no way they could handle a cat here.

But Miguel had to admit the small feline had a certain charm to himself. He might look cold and unapproachable at first but as soon as people gained his trust, he was almost clingy. Like someone else Miguel knew too well… He even found the cat waiting for him on top of their building when he would come back from a mission late at night as Spider-Man. It felt good to see someone waiting for him, even if it was just a cat. It was like a link between the two lives he was living. Because there was no way he would tell anyone else about his secret identity.

***

“Why the glasses?”

“I’m sorry? What?”

Miguel had perfectly heard the question but he didn’t know he would answer it yet. She had asked him quite abruptly this question and he was a bit unsettled to say the least. Coupled with her most innocent-looking eyes, he was unable to think for a clever answer. The truth was that Miguel had to wear these glasses because of his mutation. His eyes were more sensitive than most people’s and if he didn’t want to end up with excruciating headaches, he had to result to this.

He stuttered:

“I...hum...when the Sun’s a little too bright, I end up having migraines and it’s very painful…”

Her silence made him feel a bit more uncomfortable and he kept sinking more into convoluted explanations:

“It’s like a condition...from my mother...hum...it’s very rare…”

It was a rather vague explanation but she seemed satisfied by it, or at least acted like she was. While they were walking to the doors of their apartments, Miguel couldn’t resist asking her why she asked this question in the first place. To which she replied:

“I just thought it was a shame that you had to cover your eyes like that…”

****

Miguel was quietly laughing as he looked at the different brands of snacks in front of him. The racks of the supermarket were overflowing with different varieties of chips, candies and probably enough sugar to kill an elephant; exactly what he needed. Gabriella was off to a sleepover with her friends and he finally got the whole evening for himself. What was making him laugh was the fact that all these brand’s names were almost the same as in his universe, but not exactly quite the same. It was often a small letter that changed the whole name and this has always been something funny to him to look at. It truly was fascinating to see how many changes there were between all the different universes, and yet, everything was part of something bigger and united. Like some sort of web.

He finally chose a pack of chips and an even larger one of marshmallows. A small chuckle that he immediately recognized rang behind him and he slowly turned around to face her. Of course they were leaving in the same neighborhood, so it was inevitable that they would end up shopping at the same place. Miguel gave her a stupid, little giddy smile and asked:

“Someone finally came to buy her own eggs and flour?”

Seeing the blush that spread all over her cheeks, Miguel felt very satisfied with himself. Not that he minded her visits at the apartment, but at this point she must know it. She was holding a basket with her own groceries and Miguel couldn’t help but smile when he saw all the cans of tuna she had bought for the cat. He assumed she just came back from either one of her yoga classes or a jogging because she looked a bit disheveled and her face was still red from the effort. Her skin looked very flushed around her face but what caught his attention was the way her skin seemed to glisten from all this sweating. He was clearly not about to complain about the view. Was there even a moment when this woman was not stunning? Must be something in the air of this dimension…

She looked at the bags of marshmallow he was holding and her smile only widened.

“Let me guess, movie nights?” Miguel watched her trying to grab something on the highest shelf and despite her more than respectable height, he had to help her. When he handed her the small box, he finally replied:

“Not really. I’m just planning on stuffing my face with as much snacks as I can. No particular reason.”

“I’m sure Gabriella gonna love this program.”, she replied with a soft voice that barely showed any sign of mockery. He had always noticed how she seemed to have a soft spot for Gabriella. Honestly, who wouldn’t? Maybe he wasn’t very objective, but he could proudly say that his daughter was like some sort of angel. And it seemed like she could even agree on that.

“Gabriella is not here tonight. She’s at her friend’s place.”

“And that’s a good news?”, she asked with a bit of a smile. She must have noticed how slightly disappointed he sounded while saying so. To be quite frank, Miguel was glad that his daughter had friends to spend time with. She was a very sociable little girl, unlike him when he was younger. He just couldn’t help but think that after waiting so much time to have his own family, he wanted to make the most of it. Maybe he was also a bit too protective sometimes, which apparently was not exactly his variant’s type. He was sure the variant made a good job raising Gabriella, especially since he was alone, but Miguel knew better than this. The dangers of the world were nothing new or strange to him and he wanted Gabriella to stay away from these as long as possible. To some extent, he wanted her to stay the little girl she was. Not in some creepy way but he had never seen her as a baby; he had missed her early years too and he wanted to enjoy these last years with her before she would enter high school and then leave for college… This thought alone made his head spin. For one of the first time in his life, he was able to make plans for the future.

He knew that this was just a slumber party but so many things could happen while she was away from the house. What if she fell down some stairs at her friend’s house? What if she burned herself while they were making s’more? What if she had an allergic reaction? What if…

The woman put one of her hands on his arm and asked him if he was okay. Miguel must have looked like someone who was spiraling down his train of thoughts.

“Yes, thank you. I’m perfectly fine. It’s just that…”

He didn’t need to say more. With an understanding smile, she replied:

“It’s her first slumber party and you’re afraid to let her out of the house?”

Miguel wasn’t sure that it was Gabriella’s first slumber party. She must have had many others before but for him this was totally new. All of this was new to him, just like the contact of her warm hands on his bare arm. “Focus, Miguel, focus.” He cleared his throat and asked:

“Is it that obvious?”

A cheeky smile curled up her lips, and Miguel could swear he saw more understanding in it than just amusement at his situation:

“You look like my parents when I used to go on slumber parties. I remember my dad willing to come pick me up at any hour of the night and my mom who could barely fall asleep if she knew I wasn’t at home.”

She even sounded nostalgic when talking about this. Miguel had the feeling that he was looking at a new part of her personality through a tiny window opened just for him.

The only problem was that he was pretty sure that ‘cool dad Miguel’ was not the type to spend hours getting his daughter ready before an innocent slumber party and stressing over everything and nothing. That wasn’t very ‘cool dad’ of him and he must have looked like one of those overprotective parents who would wrap their kids in bubble wrap if they could.

Was she viewing him like that?

“I think I understand your parents…”, he simply replied and to his relief she agreed with him.

“I never said I didn’t understand them. I mean, yes, it was frustrating sometimes to not be allowed to go out or go to some parties or even have a curfew while everyone was outside…”

Miguel’s chest tightened as he imagined a teenage Gabriella wanting to go at a party. That would be hypocritical of him to deny her this but at the same time, he knew he would spend his entire night worrying about her.

Was Gabriella frustrated with him being over-protective? Was he a little bit too much?

“...but one day I understood that they were doing this for my own good. In their clumsy, sometimes very awkward way, they just wanted to protect me.”

Her last words brought some comfort upon Miguel’s heart and he was thankful that she was willing to talk and listen to him about these things. For most of his life, Miguel had never been a father or even a parental figure to anyone and he never had the chance to learn this from his own parents.

“I just don’t want her to resent me for acting this way. I’m glad she is going out and making friends, really… But...I don’t know, maybe this is going too fast?”

Like, literally too fast. He was expecting a strong reaction from his interlocutor, but she only smiled even more softly.

“Trust me, she won’t resent you.”

“Hod do you know that?”

“Because I’ve seen the way you are with her. She is lucky to have a father like you.”

If Miguel could have combusted right on the spot, he would have done it. His face was probably the same shade of red as Gabriela’s ladybug cuddy toy and he could feel even the back of his ears heating up. How embarrassing would it be for a grown man to have a meltdwon in the middle of the snack alley? He didn’t want to try his luck and find out, so he took a hold of himself and managed to keep his composure. First, she was touching him and then she was giving him one of the most beautiful compliment he would ever dream of...

“That’s...thank you. You’re...you’re being too nice.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t be saying this if it wasn’t the truth.”

Her firm tone left no room for any doubt or way for him to talk back. This was like a nice pat to his ego but also very reassuring words to hear. It was not every day that Miguel got praised this way and he wouldn’t complain about getting this kind of praises by her, out of all people. Miguel appreciated how brutally honest she could be at times for it only made this type of moments even more enjoyable and he was sure she wasn’t lying to him just to make him feel nice.

“Thank you.”

She nodded in acknowledgment while the two of them moved toward the checkout. While Miguel was putting all his stuff on the conveyor belt, he saw her looking at a few newspaper put near the cash register. He cringed as soon as he was the front page. A large picture of him in his Spider-suit, in full color was on the first page.

Miguel knew he had to protect his identity but it didn’t mean that he couldn’t help the people from this realm. Just like in his own Nueva-York, the city’s underbelly was a paradise for any kind of criminals and the traffic of the rapture wasn’t helping either. He just couldn’t stand there and let this city be run by crime, even if it meant sacrificing some of his time with his daughter to run off in the middle of the night. Every time Miguel thought about the death of his variant he was filled with so much frustration. The fact that an innocent man could have been killed this way in the middle of the street and left for dead without anyone willing to help him really strained his faith in humanity. He couldn’t let that happen again; he wouldn’t let any criminal in this city make an orphan of a kid.

However, he was aware that some people were not very found of him and especially the way he was not collaborating with the police. But after all, it has always been part of Spider-Man’s identity. He had to work hard in order to gain people’s trust.

He couldn’t help but look at her face while she was looking at the front cover and when he saw a small smile on her lips, he really thought that was over. He will definitely have a melt-down at the checkout.

The title of the paper reads: “Spider-Man, criminal or hero?” and Miguel was curious about her answer.

“So, what do you think?”, he asked in a small voice. She looked back at him and Miguel was again about to lose it when he saw the pink hue covering her cheeks.

“You mean, about Spider-Man? I mean, is there even a need to ask this question? Of course he is a hero. I mean, before moving in Nueva York I was very anxious and everyone was warning me about this city. But since he is here...everything changed and for the better.”

Take a deep breath, Miguel. Just take a deep breath. Just don’t look at her in the eyes and everything will be fine. Of course, he looked at her in the eyes and he almost lost it. If this fool didn’t know better, he would have thanked her for this.

“You don’t think so?”, she asked and Miguel panicked a bit, trying to find a good answer without cringing at himself.

“I...I think that what he is doing is admirable. But I don’t know if he would consider himself a hero…”

“Then how would he see himself?”, she asked in an interested voice. Miguel swallowed hard before replying:

“I think, and that’s just an hypothesis of course, that sometimes he just feels alone… He probably didn’t have much of a choice when it comes to being who he is and he probably just feels like a guy who tries his best…”

The silence that followed his words made him immediately regret what he just said and he was about to back off:

“It’s just an hypothesis of course…”

“I’ve never thought about it this way…”, she replied slowly. “I hope he doesn’t feel as lonely as you think he is… He doesn’t deserve this.”

At this point of the conversation, Miguel’s legs were very mushy and his brain had some trouble forming even a simple sentence. The way she was looking at this picture of him made his limbs go all jittery and he wished that she could look at him this way. If she did one day, he would die happy.

They kept chatting all the way back home and when they finally parted way, Miguel felt like there was an unresolved tension in the air. They both stood in front of the door and looked at each other as if they were waiting for the other one to say it, to make the first step. He was alone tonight and so was she. What’s wrong in asking your friendly neighbor if they wanted to spend a nice evening with you? Nothing. Then why couldn’t he just invite her to come over?

He knew that as soon as the door would be closed on them, he would barely hold himself together. He would just burst into a million pieces like a broken puzzle just to let her build him back together. He would let her do anything she wanted with him, whether she desired to break him or just pamper him. He was hers without any doubt and that thought both made his heart race faster and ache. When was the last time he allowed himself to be this vulnerable around someone? What if he had to leave in the middle of all of this because of a mission? What if the feeling wasn’t mutual and he came off as pushy? What if she didn’t like him back?

Miguel felt like years of self-doubt and hesitation all rushed back to him. He suddenly remembered the fact that he was a mess, someone who didn’t really belong here and that his body was the one of a mutant. How would he explain the talons on his hands or even his fangs?

And that’s how the two of them parted away that night. Miguel knew that whatever choice he would make, he would regret it.

****

Miguel smacked an other kiss on Gabriella’s cheek before leaving his apartment. He was in a rush and under a lot of pressure as well as an unhealthy amount of caffeine. He hadn’t slept that much last night because of a mission he had in an other universe and when he was expecting to spend this day at home with Gabriella, chilling and rewatching one of their favorite movies together, he had been called at work for an emergency. If not for his brother, Gabriel, he would have had to leave his daughter alone at home all day.

Maybe it was time for him to find a baby-sitter. He knew Gabriella would hate this idea. She was already ten and she would argue that she would be fine alone. He didn’t doubt her maturity any minute but an accident could happen so fast… Even if he didn’t really like the idea of letting a stranger come into his house, he had no other choice. He just needed to find someone he really trusted enough to take care of Gabriella, and someone Gabriella appreciated.

He was very much lost in his thoughts when he heard a soft voice greeting him. Miguel lifted his eyes from his shoes and when he saw her, his breath almost left his lungs. She must have been going out today because she looked all dolled-up. His voice croaked out a small “Hi” and suddenly all thoughts about baby-sitters or work left his mind. The off the shoulder dress made his imagination run wild while his senses succumbed to the sugary aroma of her perfume. She was so close to him in this small cabin, so close he could run his hands over the satin of her dress if he just stretched his hand a little further, and yet so far away like some forbidden fruit. The memory of this aborted evening together had left a sour taste in the back of his mouth and he resented himself for chickening out every single time he found himself alone with her.

They engaged in some light chatting and Miguel couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of jealousy when she mentioned going out with friends this afternoon. He couldn’t really afford to be jealous since he was nothing to her and was too much of a coward to make the first move. He also knew how shitty of him that was to feel such things but he couldn’t deny it. The longer he kept looking at her in this dress, the more he wanted to pull her closer to him and keep her wrapped in his arms for days and days. It’s been months since he met her now and he was still at the first step of it all, which consisted of daydreaming about her and immediately feeling ashamed of his fantasies. This woman was turning him into a mess.

“It’s very rare to see you out there on a Saturday? I hope nothing bad happened…”

How sweet and considerate of her… If only his attraction to this woman depended only of the physical attraction he was feeling for her, this would be easier. He would just put it on the account of all these months he spend alone, living like some monk. But it was more than that. Miguel didn’t just want some easy hook-up with her. He wanted to wake up with her every morning; to have her taking part in their movie nights with Gabriella; to let him braid her hair before she went to work; to love her… He wanted so many things. He wanted that wit, that laugh, that tenderness of her into his life.

“No...it’s just that...we are working on something and they needed me at work… It’s...it’s complicated…”

Miguel didn’t want to bore her with his work stories but every single time he did so, she just stayed quiet and let him dump his worries on her shoulders. He felt terrible because he knew she already had a lot going on her side but at the same time, it felt good to have someone listening to him and even understanding him.

“Hopefully my brother managed to get some time off today to watch Gabriella. But I think next time I will need to find some baby-sitter… Do you think I could place an ad at the supermarket?”

“I could do it.”

“Placing an ad?”

“No, I mean, watching over Gabriella.”

Her proposition took him by surprised and he was too stunned to speak for a few seconds. This could be the right solution after all. Gabriella and her seemed to get along very well and she had her way around children with her job. He also knew she was someone he could trust…

“But I don’t want to bother you…”

“You’re never bothering me, Miguel.”

***

It was past midnight and Miguel was afraid to go back home, just like when he was a teenager coming home after his curfew at the Alchemax Institute. Only this time, he was worried for different reasons. He had managed to leave work early today but due to some troubles in one of the worst neighborhood in town, he had to put on his Spider suit and go, barely having the time to call for his neighbor to watch over Gabriella. He had thought all of this would be over soon, but it turned out he was wrong. He felt terrible, knowing he had to ask her for her help in such a short amount of time and he was coming back home way too late without looking suspicious. And if that wasn’t already enough, he was spotting a pretty bad bruise on the right side of his face.

When he entered his living room, he found her sitting on the couch, her legs under her body, wrapped in a cozy blanket, fighting off sleep with a book in hand. This triggered his sense of protectiveness and he just wished he could run to her and take her in his arms. He couldn’t believe she was waiting for him all this time.

“Hi…”

She was a little startled by the sudden intrusion and she jumped on the couch. She turned around and as soon as she saw his bruised face, her smile disappeared. Miguel tried to act as if nothing was wrong, asking if Gabriella was already asleep, to which she slowly nodded her head:

“Yes...yes she is. But...what happened to your face?”

“Oh this?”, he said while touching the bruise with his fingertips, “Nothing. I just...tripped.”

This poor explanation didn’t convince her and she was back on her feet in a matter of seconds. Her hands immediately cupped his face and her fingertips brushed against his bruise. The very focused and serious expression on her face made him imagine that this was what she was looking like when working. He always guessed that she must be a great nurse but he was definitely certain of it when he saw all the care she put while handling his beaten up face. He barely felt her touch, except for when she pushed her fingers a little more against the skin that was already turning purple.

He made a soft sound that he wasn’t even aware he could do and that made him feel terribly ashamed of himself and very self-conscious. The sound was between the gasp and the moan and made his loins burn immediately with the need to release all the heat trapped in his body.

“Shh...it’s okay. It will take maybe a week or two to heal but that will be fine…”, her soft voice comforted him and he had to fight the urge to just rest his head against the palm of her delicate hand.

She went to the kitchen to grab a bag of ice for his face and Miguel released a soft groan when her fingers left his cheek. He must really be down bad for acting like such a fool. When she went back and put the bag against his face, he immediately felt relief wash over him.

“I’m sorry for being home late…”, he whispered after a few awkward minutes of silence.

“It’s okay. We had a great evening together with Gabriella. She is really cute.”

“Yes, she is.”

He was growing a bit more uncomfortable under her gaze. There was no way she believed his lie and he knew it. But he couldn’t tell her the truth and risking her safety. Little did he know she already had some suspicions about him at this point and if he was suspecting it, he decided to let it go. He was too tired to have an argument or even a conversation tonight and he just rested his back against the couch, his head thrown over the pillows. The only thing her remembers before falling asleep was her voice:

“Please, be careful, Miguel.”

***

Not all Miguel’s missions implied fighting off goons or criminals. Sometimes he would have to rescue people trapped in a burning building or from any other type of disaster honestly. And today was one of these days. As soon as he had heard that a train had deviated from its usual route and was about to crash down the bridge in the middle of the city, he dropped everything he was doing and ran off to the place of the accident. Apparently one person was still trapped inside the wagon.

Miguel moved as carefully as he could, using his webs to swing from one part of the bridge to an other before landing on top of the train. A woman was holding one of the bars for her dear life and she looked so pale, he thought she was about to pass out from fear. It was true that the whole thing had stopped at a really concerning height. If the train just fell, this would kill them both instantly and this was without even talking about the shock of hitting the cold water underneath.

When he recognized the face of the woman, Miguel’s anxiety skyrocketed and it took all his willpower to not call for her and stay calm. He needed to keep a cold head and not let his emotions take over him during a mission, which was something he had learned to do years ago. He carefully slipped into the wagon through a broken window and made his way towards her, using his palm to stick to the wall.

“Hey, are you alright?”

She didn’t answer. Her gaze was locked on the dark water underneath and Miguel immediately guessed that she must have been scared of heights.

“Hey, look at me. It’s going to be alright.”

The woman turned his head toward him and her expression really shattered his calm behavior. He had never seen her so distressed and scared. She was usually so calm and collected, even wearing a slug smile from time to time. There was none of that now as her eyes were open wide and her lips quivering in fear. Just when she was about to say something, a strong gust of wind blew against the wagon and the fragile structure lost its balance and hung more in the void. She pushed a scream of pure terror while nervous tears rolled down her cheeks.

Miguel jumped as fast as he could across the train and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He was no longer thinking as Miguel but as Spider-Man. Usually, this contact between the two of them would have made him flustered but not today. His grip around her waist tightened and he pulled her closer to his sturdy chest.

“Just close your eyes, okay, and trust me.”

His warmth wrapped around her as she closed her eyes and her own arms wrapped around him.

“That’s right. You’re doing just fine.”

When he was sure she was holding him tight enough, Miguel carefully took the two of them out of this hazard situation and shot one of his web toward a pillar of the bridge.

“We’re gonna move just a bit, okay?”

“What?”

She didn’t have the time to voice her concerns that Miguel jumped from the platform of the train while this last one dived into the water. Unlike what she was expecting, no sound of terror left her lips when she felt their bodies swinging through the air. Even if she was truly terrified, she trusted him and either way, her body wasn’t able to move from his tight grip and her fear. She just nuzzled her face deep onto the crook of his neck while holding him tightly. The wind blew through her hair with force and Miguel wished he could have felt it brushing against his skin, without the mask blocking it. He was a bit more relaxed now that they were out of this situation and he basked himself in the warmth of her body, certain that he would never have an other opportunity to feel it. The scent of hair made him feel ill with a fever so intense he never encountered one before. The need to just dive his face into those luscious curls was getting too strong for him and he needed to collect himself asap.

When he finally landed on the ground, he made sure to gently let her down. His voice was a bit hoarse after all of this when he asked her is she was okay.

But no matter how much his voice had changed, she definitely recognized it.

***

The sudden flash of a flashlight blinded him for a few seconds and he groaned in annoyance. Miguel was still wearing his Spider suit and he was panicking, hoping he could make it clear out of this situation from anyone who caught him going back to his place this late at night. He was just hoping that it wouldn’t be Gabriella because he knew he wouldn’t be able to lie to her. He wouldn’t even be able to lie to...

“I knew it!”

Shock! It was her. Miguel’s eyes squinted in the direction of the silhouette holding the light. Long curly hair, loose bathrobe and thick brows furrowing into a concerned expression. He was done.

“That’s not what it looks like.”

“You’re dressed as Spider-Man in the middle of the night, on top of our apartment building, Miguel. What does it look like to you?”

He was not sure if she was angry, frustrated or maybe both. Miguel tried to explain himself but after seeing him jumping from a building to an other and using his web, he would just lose his time denying it. She had recognized his voice, she was suspicious since the day she mentioned his glasses. There was no escape for him.

“I...okay, you got me there but…” Why was he acting like he needed to apologize? He did nothing wrong? Yes, he did lie to her and hid the truth from her but it was for her own good. He never intended to hurt her feelings or make her feel like he wanted to keep her out of his life.

“But what? Do you really think I was this stupid to not connect the dots?”

“I’ve never thought you were stupid!”

“Do you realize just how worried I was?”

This time, he didn’t have any word to reply to her. His mouth just hung low and he was breathing out some deep huffs. Did he hear this right?

“You...you were worried?”

Her fists tightened into balls and she kept on ranting:

“Of course I was worried! How do you think I felt every time I saw you coming back late and all beaten up! I even imagined the worst case scenarios, Miguel! I swear to God, you’re gonna make me go crazy one day! I just…”

Before an other word could leave her lips, Miguel put into action his other plans for them. He didn’t think of anything while doing this. But the fact that she cared so much about him, when he has spend his whole life thinking no one would and that he was worthy of such attention, had broken his last resistance. If she knew who he truly was and didn’t mind it, she might as well know what he was thinking and feeling.

With one swift move of hi wrist, Miguel launched a web at her and pulled her closer until she ended up in his arms, all pressed against his solid chest and stammering heart. And without giving it a second thought, his lips found her in a kiss he wished he could have given her sooner. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs playing along the edges of her jaw, holding back as much as he can to cover it in kisses and let his hands slide down her neck.

He wished he could devour her with his kiss, make up for all the time they lost. His heart practically bursts out of his chest when he feels her indulging into the kiss, tilting her head to the side so they could deepen the kiss. Her hands grabbed his suit tightly while she moves her plump lips against his. They are breathing into each other’s mouth and their bodies molding against one another, making him feel weak in the knees. Her soft curves brush against his body and he can’t fight back the urgency of this situation. Some strands of her hair get tangled with his fingers and he wants more. So much more in this moment.

They both had to break the kiss at some point because the heat between them has become unbearable and they needed to breathe. They huffed into each other’s face with their foreheads touching. Her eyes are still closed and he is watching her, admiring her like one admires a piece of art. His fingers brush against her cheek, her nose, her lashes and he shivers when he feels them fluttering against his skin. Her eyes are beaming with affection, the same way his do and he feels like he is watching a galaxy of lights and stars unraveling into these deep sloes.

“Do you always resolve a conflict this way?”, she asks with a small grin that almost makes him start to kiss her again.

“Only when it’s with you…”, he breathed out in a tender voice.

***

“Stop moving around.”

“Stop torturing me like this, then.”

She immediately stops the movement of her wrist and therefore of the needle she was using to stitch him up. He is sitting on the floor of her apartment on top of a mountain of soft and fluffy pillows while she was tending to his wounds, sitting behind him on the couch, his head on her lap. Life couldn’t get any better than this to his humble opinion and he couldn’t resist the temptation of bickering around. He slowly shifts his body, half-facing her and grips her thigh with his hand, a smug face on his lips:

“What kind of nurse are you if you’re always this brutal with your patients?”

He was clearly messing with her since she was nothing but pure softness when it came to his wounds. And God knows he was giving her a lot of work. But he couldn’t help it. It was like she had unlocked a new side of him and when he was around her, he couldn’t help but feel playful, as if all the weight on his shoulder had disappeared.

“If you’re not satisfied, then you can go and find someone else as your new healer.”, she replied with a sarcastic tone, knowing damn well he wouldn’t leave even for the most talented healer out there.

“Mhh...I think I’m gonna stick around with you a bit more…”, he replied in a low voice before kissing her bare knee.

His eyes lifted up to look at her from above and his gaze darkened under his lashes when he saw her flustered expression. He could trace his way all along her thigh, only using his lips if he wanted to and the need to do it was growing stronger with every minute. Instead he kept squeezing her plush thigh with his hand, letting out a low hum when he realized how easily he could dig his fingers into her plump skin.

“How generous of you…”, she replied with a flirty smirk.

“I know, I’m so selfless sometimes…”. Just when he finished his sentence, he squeezed a little harder her thigh. But despite being careful and trying to keep it playful, one of his talons pushed against her flesh making her gasp.

“Shock! I’m sorry, it’s not supposed to happen. I didn’t mean to…” Embarrassment was filling up Miguel’s face. This was the reason why they had never been intimate together yet. There was no way he could trust himself around her. He knew he wouldn’t hurt her on purpose but he also knew an accident could happen so easily. His guilt would never let him find peace again if he hurt her.

“Wait, those are claws?”, she asked in an unexpected tone. No one has ever looked at these claws with a tone like this one. She looks genuinely curious and a bit… impressed. Her hands gently held his and she asked:

“May I?”

Miguel was genuinely too flabbergasted to even make a coherent sentence so he simply nodded his head while her fingers traced the lines on his palm. The feeling of it tingled him a bit and he squirmed a little. Not that he was uncomfortable but every contact skin to skin with her had this effect on him. In the silence of the room, he could hear his heart beating in his ears.

She was studying every detail of his hands, from the rough fingertips to the veins on them. One of his hands could easily hold both of hers and the skin on them was warm, just like a small personal heater. When her fingers brushed against his fingertips, one of his claws came out. He hated the fact that even after all these years, he couldn’t sometimes control them perfectly. Usually he did a great job at holding them back but he needed to stay absolutely focused in order to do so. And with her being so close and her breath hitting his skin did nothing to help his focus.

“You’re not scared?”

“Why would I be scared?”, she replied in the most genuine tone, almost making his heart melt. If he hadn’t already been on his knees in front of her, he would have fallen to his knees.

“Because...I could hurt you…”

A gentle smile cured up her lips and she brought his hand closer to her face. When she began kissing his fingertips, Miguel was left breathless, almost shaking. No one had even treated his body with such care after his transformation, and not his claws out of all the spots on him.

“You could never hurt me, Miguel…”

***

Miguel’s hands couldn’t stop shaking as he slipped them under the fabric of her top, feeling the smooth and soft skin of her belly. In fact his whole body was shaking and he felt like he needed to calm himself, to pull back just a little. But it was impossible. They had been waiting so long for this moment, he couldn’t let it go.

They were stripping each other off their clothes with a growing urgency. The cold air of the room brushed against his burning skin and he felt like he won’t be able to survive this moment. His body was burning hot like a furnace and he needed to release all this pent-up tension as soon as possible. Every muscles under his skin rippled, tensed and locked while he tried to hold himself back.

When the last piece of clothing had disappeared from his body, she looked up at him and Miguel swore he could have died right on the spot. It was worth waiting this long for the look of awe she was arboring.

“You’re gonna be the death of me…”, she whispered in a breathy voice and Miguel’s vision almost turned blurry the moment she touched him.

“Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes, I do.”

***

She was slowly waking up when she felt something sliding along her waist. Miguel’s strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to his chest. It was barely 8 in the morning and he was already acting this way. She loved it.

“Hi.”

She felt his breath warming up the shell of his ear and her chest tightened when she remembered all the things he has whispered to her the night before. And all the other nights… She had stopped counting them but Miguel didn’t. He even remembered clearly every one of these moments they’ve shared together and he could have easily told them apart.

“Hi.”, she replied in a sleepy voice and that triggered something deep inside him. His hand left her waist and slides up and down her body, his fingertips gently tapping against her skin. Miguel’s face nuzzled against her neck and he proceeded to leave a trail of sloppy kisses all over her skin, from her ear to her shoulder. Her hair brushed against his face and he was close to let himself be suffocated by those locks.

When his hand slipped under the hem of nightdress, she shifted her body, trying to get him off her.

“Miguel...we already talked about this…”

“Please, just five minutes…”

“You said that the last time and I ended up being late…”, she lazily protested. The weight of his body was making her sink down the mattress and despite how good it felt, she knew she had to act upon this. She gently pushed him back and he obliged, after leaving one last kiss on her upper arm.

“I have to go to work…”, she said with so little enthusiasm that Miguel just wanted to pull her back into his arms.

“I know, bebita, I know.”

“Then maybe, you could let go off my dress, please?”, she replied with a cheeky grin. Miguel finally reluctantly let go off her. His arm stayed on her empty side of the bed, taking in her warmth and the scent she had left on the pillow. She grabbed her clothes on the floor and was about to go for the bathroom when she noticed his sulky face and the way he was running his fingers along the mattress.

When she leaned against him and placed a kiss on his lips, Miguel’s face immediately lit up.

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

***

There have never been a ‘tonight’, nor a ‘tomorrow’.

There have only been this day ever since.

Miguel will never forget it as it plays on repeat in his head, again and again.

***

First, there has been confusion. And then, denial. When he saw the whole world around him unraveling, he only had one question in his mind. Where were they?

Gabriella was at a game’s rehearsal but her… She should have been on her way to work by now… He couldn’t be less sure of it. Wait, didn’t she say she needed to get something at her place first?

Miguel remembers running as fast as he could. The door was still open and when he entered the small apartment, his heart sunk down his chest. It looked like madness. All the colors of the room were mixing together in a dreadful mix of shades. All the precious stuff she had accumulated over the years were gone, disappearing faster than he could even register it. But the worst was yet to come.

She was laying there, on the ground, the lower half of her body was slowly disappearing into what looked like a myriad of pixels. Her cat pushed a last meow and vanished as it it had been blown by the wind, as if it was nothing.

Miguel had only seen her this scared once before. It was that day on the train. Tears were running down her ethereal face as she was suffocating for air. Miguel knelt down by her side and immediately wrapped his arms around the last remains of her body. The pixels were growing and going higher on her with every breath she took.

He remembers that he had cried, that he wanted to tell her so many things… But all he managed to say was screaming “No” in denial. He couldn’t lose everything right now, not after he finally managed to find happiness. She couldn’t disappear like that. He remembers holding her in his arms almost an hour ago and she was fine. Her body was still whole, it was real and she was his just like he was hers.

“Please, don’t leave me! Don’t go!”

No plead could stop that. Her body was being consumed and he had no clue about what was creating this. She cupped his face one last time, begging him to let go, to go look for Gabriella, to make sure she was safe… She knew it was too late for her. And Miguel knew she was right. After that, everything happened so quickly. He remembers the taste of their last kiss, bitter like his tears as she vanished into the void.

***

Miguel already thought that his heart was broken at this point.

That nothing could ever compete with this moment.

And then he lost Gabriella.

In his arms.

He saw her vanish, he heard her last cries of terror and sensed the despair in her eyes.

He had failed her.

He had hurt them.

***

Miguel gave one last look at the screen in front of him. His office was dimly lit and he could watch on one of his giant screens one of his favorite memories.

Gabriella had won one of her games that day and she was hugging him. Gosh, he looked so proud of her and he certainly was. He took her in his arms, made her swirl around while she kept on laughing. Her little nose was scrunching up, just like every time she would smile.

When he finally put her down and looked up at the camera filming them, his smile became charming and his eyes lit up.

He could see himself talking at the person behind the camera, his voice warm and filled with nothing but longing.

And every time the Miguel from the present heard the voice talking back, he would finally let go of the tears he was holding back.

================================================

Notes: Thanks for everyone who read this story. I hope you all enjoyed it.

I’ll be posting less things this month because of college but I’m not forgetting mu dbf! Fiction and I’m already working on the next parts.

#miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #atsv #across the spiderverse #fanfic #atsv miguel #spiderverse #miguel 2099 #miguel angst #miguel o'hara angst #Spotify

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siempre-bucky · 2 years

Text

dominant enough, mrs. bridgerton?

Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader x Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: You had a simple request for your beloved husband, "I want you to be more dominant in bed." Stunned by your request, Colin sought advice from your former lover, his brother.

warnings: heavy smut, pussy slapping, deep throating, orgasm denial, vaginal sex, oral sex(m and f receiving), threesome. minors dni

wc: 4.1k

A/N: I have it bad for luke squared. These two men have ruined my life in the best way... this is my first time writing a threesome and for Colin. I couldn't resist. ♡

Benedict hummed in tandem with the long stroke of his paintbrush; he thought it was a method of creating a solid line with the rich paint. His train of thought came to an abrupt halt by his newlywed little brother strutting into the room, his boots clicking on the wood floor of the day room. "I can hear you thinking from here, brother," Benedict sighed, peeling his eyes off the colorful canvas.

Colin huffed and rubbed his chin with his fingers in thought before stealing a cake of his brother's set up. Before the elder Bridgerton could scold him, he took notice of the blush that graced the younger brother's blush. "You and Y/N finally decide to leave the bed?"

"Hush," Colin huffed, tilting his head.

"Trouble in paradise already?" Benedict gathered from the sharp response.

Colin dramatically sprawled out onto the light blue couch, "She told me something..."

Benedict rolled his eyes and went back to focusing on his painting, "Must I force it out of you? It seems like you're dying to tell me."

Colin was more afraid to tell his brother what his wife had requested of him. Normally, Colin felt comfortable coming to his brothers with his problems and seeking advice; he always trusted them no matter how silly. Yet this, he wasn't sure how the artist would react. "Y/N told me she would like me to be more-" he paused, caught up in his embarrassment, "-dominant in the bedroom."

His head rolled to the side to see Benedict's eyes almost bug out of his head. A loud cough escaped his throat, and an alarmingly bright red flush from the explicit memories rushed to his face. "What?" was all he could muster.

"I thought she rather liked how I performed," Colin sighed, pouting his swollen lips. "What did you do to please my wife?"

First, Benedict wanted to smack the smirk off his little brother's face. Second, he wanted the memories to stop sending shock waves throughout his body. It was no secret to Colin of the past you and Benedict had shared while attending the Academy together. Benedict remembered the nights of years past in the empty drawing rooms with his hand wrapped up in your hair, strings of saliva hanging from your chin from having his cock shoved down your throat.

And how could he forget those eyes of yours, the teary ones drunk from the pleasure of being tied down by his belt while his fingers tortured your clit. How they looked up at him needy and desperate for his touch. The ones that cried with joy while saying "I do" to his brother.

"That's my good girl," his voice came in the form of distant echoes. "Take it all the way down, and I'll give you what you really want."

"Benedict," your whine flooded his brain.

"No, no. What do you call me?"

"Mr. Bridgerton... Please fu-"

"Benedict?" Colin's booming voice brought him back out of the clouds.

Benedict hastily placed his messy palette on the table and went to open a window. The cool spring air eased the heat on his cheeks. "W-what, Col?"

"What do you think she would like?" His voice came out soft. There was no denying Colin would do anything to please you.

"She's a brat," Benedict managed, "when you demand things from her, do not let up. She will push all your buttons. Her hair, pull it so hard it might tear from her scalp."

Colin's eyes went a little wide, he never wished to inflict pain. "Don't worry..." Benedict muttered, "she loves it."

It was almost on cue that you slowly strolled into the room, your nose buried in one of the leather-bound books you picked up on your honeymoon. Colin's eyes instantly went to your chest, deep purple marks made the night before poking out of the pale blue dress you wore.

Having finally finished the page of the book, your eyes peered upwards. Colin's face was a familiar crimson, his chest heaving beneath his waistcoat. Your gaze shifted to the corner of the room, landing on Benedict who trained his eyes on his canvas, his fingers gripping his brush so tightly you swore it would break.

You gracefully at down next to your nerve wrecked husband, placing your book down on the table in front of you. It didn't take long for you to notice the tent growing in his pants. "Colin," you murmured, leaning in closer, "is there something you wish to tell me."

"I have been thinking about what you had told me, my love."

You smirked, your head cocking to the side. You'd be lying if you said the nervous quiver in his voice didn't excite you. If he truly had been thinking about your request, you might as well see if he would act on it. The smirk didn't go away as you placed your hand on his thigh dangerously close to his crotch as you stood up.

Benedict gathered his kit as you strolled over to the table in the corner, your eyes briefly connecting as you delicately picked up the teapot. "Don't let the maids find you," he grinned playfully before making a swift exit.

Colin's eye's followed his older brother to ensure his exit.

"Y/N."

That tone. You never heard that tone come from Colin before. It was low with a raspy grit that stilled your movements. A stark contrast to his sweet melodic voice you fell for. This one, this one made your heart skip a beat; it made you clutch the handle of the teapot a little tighter. Letting out a shaky breath, you smiled, and your eyes fluttered shut. "Yes," you breathed.

"Come here," he demanded.

After sitting the teapot on the table you slowly sauntered over to him. His arms were draped along the back of the couch, his legs spread open wide. "What's all this?" you asked, knowing damn well what he was trying to do

"Get on your knees for me."

You fought back a shutter and the appearance of goosebumps on your skin, but you certainly let yourself feel the wave of pleasure to your core. It was his first time acting like this, you told yourself that you should play nice and do what he asked of you. Be the doting wife the ton expected of you, but you were not that kind of girl. Maybe you would submit when the sound of Colin growling your name soaked your silk panties. Colin wasn't to that point yet.

Letting out a chuckle, you place your hand in front of you, raising your eyebrows teasingly at him. The brunette's jaw visibly clenched at your defiance, and even after Benedict's warning, he expected you to fall apart in front of him. "On my knees? Oh, my darling," you snickered as you shook your head at him.

It was exhilarating! The anticipation of what he would do next. Would he leap up and grab you by the hair and force you on your knees? Or would he wrap his fingers around your throat and squeeze until your vision felt blurry? Yet there was also the thought of him giving up and beg you for forgiveness.

You and Colin were locked in a bitter staredown. His plush lips opened to speak again but it wasn't Colin's voice that entered your ears. It was lower, and his accent thickened. "He said get on your knees," Benedict demanded lowly from behind you.

There's the flood.

Your head whipped around to see Benedict leaning against the doorframe nonchalantly, his arms folded across his broad chest. "Benedict?" your voice came out in the form of a whisper.

His eyes glanced at you, narrowing his eyes and dipping his head low as if he was asking for your permission. You nodded sheepishly as your lips slightly parted with your teeth poking out to bite your lower one.

Colin swallowed the discomfort. He saw the way you crossed your legs, at first he thought it was because it was solely because of Benedict's presence. Then he the desperate look in your eyes when you turned to face him, seeing how your chest was rapidly rising as he slowly looked you up and down. You wanted him too.

"Brother, would you help me remind her how to obey her husband?" Colin asked evenly.

You and Benedict both looked at him with shocked expressions. Did Colin Bridgerton suggest a threesome? "Colin..." you whimper, trying to fight back the excitement from the pit of your stomach.

Benedict nodded and briskly walked up to you, his strong hand gripping a fist full of your hair, making you cry out. The taller man bent down to whisper in your ear, "Is this what you want, Y/N? Tell me and I will stop this at once."

You pull back against his hand, "Oh Benedict, this is what I've fantasized about since that day we all played Pall Mall for the first time."

He remembered that day. It was the day you met Colin, and the last night you slept with Benedict after you nearly moaned out the wrong brother's name in bed.

Benedict dragged you over to the couch head first, your soft grunts delectably filling the space. "Tell her again," Benedict instructed as he finally stopped tugging.

Colin's eyes remained on you as he slowly stood, looming over you. "Get on your knees," he told you. You smirked at the demand, no quiver or ounce of hesitation resonated in his tone. So you obliged, lowering yourself onto your knees with your hands gliding down his strong thighs.

"Hold her hair."

Colin's careful fingers grazed along your cheek, lighting a warm fire on the smooth skin. His touch trailed higher until he replaced Benedict's hand with his own. Rolling the soft strands in between his fingers before abruptly gripping them, roughly tugging.

"Colin!" You whimpered, digging your nails into his thighs, pulling back against him.

Your husband hummed with satisfaction, quickly undoing the buttons of his trousers with his free hand. "Are you going to be a good girl for me? For us?" Colin asked you as he freed his aching cock from the confines of his pants.

"Of course," you whined, "Mr. Bridgerton."

The formality of your words sent a wave of pleasure throughout his body. Dragging you closer to the weeping tip. Letting out a light gasp, your tongue poked out to drag along your lower lip. Slowly, you took in the swollen tip of his cock, your tongue painstakingly circling the slit. Fuck he tasted good, he always did.

The adrenaline was rushing through him. He admitted to himself that this was exciting, you on your knees with your lips around his cock, his hand in your hair. Another pair of eyes watching him fuck your mouth as Benedict once did.

"Take it all the way, princess," Colin moaned, gripping your hair tighter to guide you down his shaft. You fought back the urge to gag as his cock hit the back of your throat. A pitiful groan escaped your throat as you blinked away the warm tears. You didn't want to miss a moment of Colin's pleasure-contorted face, etching it to memory.

You shot your hand out, fingers curling around the top of Benedict's dark blue trousers, pulling him closer. You knew his body well enough you didn't need to see as your hand trailed lower to palm the growing erection. Slowly, stroking up and down, applying light pressure as you stared up at your husband.

"Do you deserve to breathe, love?" he hummed mockingly. Balling the hand that rested on his thigh into a fist, you pounded on the toned muscle in response. Colin pulled you off his cock, strings of saliva coating your throat.

"Fuck!" you mewled, sharply gasping for air. And just as fast as Colin had you off his cock, you were right back on. Hollowing your cheeks as he roughly bobbed your head, your nose gently bumping against his groin. Tears were now freely falling from your eyes, spit cascading from the lips of your mouth and illuminating your skin in the sunlight.

Colin finally released your hair and set your mouth free to breathe. The man relished seeing you like this, needy and desperate for him; your pathetic whimpers were something he didn't know he needed to hear. He bent down and wrapped a hand around your throat, clenching and pulling you up off your knees.

His lips met yours with nothing but sloppy lips and tongue, the taste of his pre cum on his lips. The noise was obscene, your core gushing for him. "Fuck, baby," he moaned against your lips as he pulled back ever so slightly. "I do not believe your mouth has had enough, don't you?"

You followed his eyes to Benedict's flushed face, his jaw visibly clenched. Knitting your eyebrows, you shook your head. "N-No," you whispered.

"Would you like Benedict to fuck your mouth while I have my way with your pretty pussy?" Colin asked as he held your jaw with his fingertips, forcing you to look at your former lover properly. You nodded.

"Are you sure, Col?" Benedict asked, making his way to the arm of the couch.

Colin's hand gathered your dress, two fingers pressing against your dripping core, making you jolt. "I shall take that as a yes." Colin's fingers lingered over your clit, rubbing teasing circles and making you lean closer into him.

His hand found your throat yet again, tight enough you were sure you were going to find bruises there in the morning. Colin threw you onto the blue couch and positioned you so that your back was arching over the arm. Your gaze met Benedict upside down, shooting him a wink and a smug smirk.

You helped Benedict fumble with his clothes, tugging his trousers low to grip his erection. Benedict hissed at the contact and leaned into the touch, your thumb spreading the pre cum around the tip. His soft hands touched your chest, his nimble fingers tracing your collarbone before trailing lower and dipping inside your dress. As soon as he began to roll your hardened nipples in between his fingers a chill ran through you, your hips rolling forward desperately.

Colin grabbed your hips, forcing them back onto the couch and pinning you in place. He ignored your soft whimpers, letting the pads of his thumbs press into the bone. "Oh look at you," he hummed, "would you like me to touch you?"

"Colin, please," you mumbled, trying to roll your hips again in a sad attempt to feel some kind of friction. "Please touch me."

Colin removed his hands and slowly pulled down your panties, tossing them to the side. Lowering himself, he placed loving kisses on your inner thighs, teasing where you wanted him the most. "Deeper," he heard Benedict grunt.

"But Ben," you pouted.

Colin's free hand rose, only to come down roughly onto your sopping cunt. The wet slap echoed throughout the room and it only made Colin want to do it again. So he did again and again until you begged for him to stop. His eyes glanced up, your throat protruding as you took Benedict's cock deeper into your mouth in compliance.

He finally soothed the ache, flattening out his tongue and dragging it slowly along your pussy, letting it pause on your throbbing clit. Your jagged breaths and moaning pleas were music to his ears, letting him wonder what you would do if he just stayed here unmoving on your clit. "You have teased her enough, brother. Let her feel something, get her close," the artist told him from above.

Colin ate you out like a man starved, normally he loved to take his time and spell out entire love letters with his tongue, but he loved seeing you fucked out and desperately grasping for him. He secretly liked this position of power, having you unfold under him. Colin leaned forward, letting you weave his brown locks in between your fingers, guiding him back to your clit.

You released Benedict's erection with a soft pop noise. Out of all the fantasies you've had, this was the best one; Benedict kneading your tits while your husband assaulted your cunt. Four hands dug into your flesh, holding you down while they had their way with you, positively sinful. You sat up slightly, letting your eyes land on Colin. "That feels good," you told him, "fuck, Colin you make me feel so good."

A knot formed in your belly as you feverishly stroked Benedict's cock. "Do you want to cum?" he asked you as he noticed the change in your movements.

You bucked your hips, the pleasure around your clit was reaching its precipice. Colin didn't let up as he sucked the nub into his mouth, letting the tip of his tongue lightly flick it to build your orgasm. "Y-yes!" you shout, "I want to cum. I need to cum."

"Ask. Did you forget the rules, baby? I thought you were a better slut than that," Benedict taunted you, pressing all your buttons.

You sheepishly looked down at Colin. "Can I cum? Please, Col, I need to cum. Can I, my love, please, please," you begged him.

Colin raised a single dark brow as he released your clit from his mouth. You nearly came from the sight of seeing the mix of your fluids and his spit around his lips. They were puffy and slightly parted, his tongue swiping the corner of his mouth, sitting back on his knees. His thighs looked so rideable from that position. "No," he dismissed.

"No?" you gasped.

"No," he repeated darkly, ridding himself of his shirt. "If you are going to cum, you're going to cum around my cock. Do you want me to fuck you, dearest?"

You nodded.

"Use your words, Y/N."

"F-fuck me, Colin. Use me"

Colin smirked and moved forward, lining himself at your entrance. Benedict tilted your chin back, "Open," he commanded. You did as you were told, taking his length back into your mouth, taking your hand, and pumping the base. Benedict threw his head back and did the work, pumping in and out of your mouth.

Colin wrapped your legs around his waist as he slowly entered you. The stretch of his cock was mind-numbing, the slight pain of it made the feeling so much better. It was never intensely painful with the Bridgerton men, especially Colin. He was perfect... like his cock was made for your pussy, he filled you perfectly. "Colin," you moaned against Benedict's erection, the vibrations of your voice made him shudder. "More...please."

Your husband obliged, rocking his hips deeper into you. Grasping at your glistening skin while the other hand found your clit. "You look so pretty like this," he told you.

"Make me cum," Benedict moaned out, "I'm not going to last long."

You hollowed your cheeks, tongue swiping along the underneath of his shaft and along at the thick vein. Letting out a hum, he moved his hands from your chest and let him fall to his sides. Looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, you pulled out the one trick you always did to get him to cum. Benedict was a simple man... words went straight to his dick. Briefly releasing him from your mouth and pouted, fully opening your teary eyes. "Cum for me, Mr. Bridgerton," you whispered, "Cum down my throat."

Benedict gripped your hair and placed his cock back inside your mouth. He let out ragged breaths as he felt his orgasm build, the tip hitting the back of your throat with each thrust of his hips. "F-fuck," he cried out with a cracking voice, ropes of warm cum coating the inside of your mouth.

He pulled out and hovered over you, holding onto the arms of the couch for dear life. He started to chuckle and pressed a kiss to the valley of your breasts, "That was fun, yeah?" he asked you.

You panted and nodded, "So much."

Benedict stood and stroked your cheek lovingly as a farewell, "You'll be just fine, brother, you learn quickly," he joked as he began gathering his clothes, "Again... mind the maids, we do not need Lady Whistledown or whoever knowing."

Colin chuckled and slowed his pace, feeling his orgasm starting to form. "Thank you, brother. She looks completely fucked out."

You turned your attention to your husband, slumping into the couch. Humming in delight from the release of pressure on your back. "Colin I don't know if I can last much longer," you tell him, reaching up to put your hands on his shoulders. The third-born leaned forward and wrapped his arms around you.

"You will last for as long as I want you to," he whispered in your ear. He slowly started to pull out until only the tip was left inside you. "Don't forget you asked for this," he reminded before slamming into you.

You cried out and clawed at his back, "Fuck Colin!" you yelped, "Do that again... please." His hard thrusts hit your cervix every time, rocking the couch back and forth against the polished wood. You placed your forehead on the top of his tense shoulder, closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling of him inside you.

"Fuck," he cursed, tightening the grip on your waist. "I-I want you to cum."

"So you can cum," you smirked.

Colin cocked his head and gripped your hair, pulling you back, "Don't start being a brat again, he told me about your antics," he warned. You smirked and lifted your head to place kisses along his soft jawline.

You whined and nuzzled your nose against him, "Make me cum, Colin...please."

Colin started rubbing fast circles around your clit and matched his pace. His pelvis bumping against his thumb harder against your clit. "C-Colin," you panted, your breathing becoming erratic. "S'good. Feels so good, fuck, Colin." your words slur together as the familiar pressure builds, his hips driving forward and back.

"Your pussy is perfect, my love. Cum for me, Y/N, give it to me," he whispered drunkenly in your ear. "Do it, baby."

You let out pathetic whimpers, rolling your hips as your orgasm washes over you. His name falls from your lips along with praises as you fall slack in his arms. "Cum inside me," you tell him against his skin, your hands holding onto his bicep. "Cum in my pussy."

"Shit- oh. Fuck, Y/N. Fuck." Colin's hips stuttered and with a few sloppily thrusts, warm cum coated your insides, filling you. Like you, Colin's body went slack, panting and pressing kisses to your neck.

"Stay for a moment, my love," you told him once you felt him start to pull out. You wanted to enjoy the moment, two spent bodies mingling and wrapped up in each other. He obliged and gently cradled the back of your sore head.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked gently, feeling your heartbeat thump against him.

"I am unharmed," you uttered, feeling your throat becoming sore.

Nearly delirious from the heat, Colin sat back on the opposite end of the couch, opening his arms from you. You huffed at the loss of contact but sat up and smiled at him fondly.

You crawled into his lap, and as you staddled him, Colin dipped his fingers into the sleeves of your dress to help put it back on properly to cover your chest. "I love you," you slurred, a small smile forming on your lips as you wiped away the small beads of sweat on his forehead.

His shaky hands found your hips and gently rubbed in the spots he was tightly gripping moments before. His light-colored eyes examed the red marks caused by his hands and his lips that littered your body, you looked so beautiful covered in them. "I love you too," he hummed, "did I please you in the way you desired?"

There was a slight hesitation in his voice again. Of course, he was talking about Benedict. Letting your fingertips trace his soft jawline, you pulled him into a gentle kiss. "It was everything I wanted and more, you truly are the best husband in the world, Col," you responded sweetly.

"And Benedict?"

You scrunched your nose and swiped your thumb along his lower lip as you pulled back to look at his red face. "Benedict is good in bed." Colin's face fell at your words. "He is also a good bother in law, but it is you, Colin that has my whole heart. No one can love me and please me as you can."

Colin wrapped his arms around your waist and brought you closer to him, his nose burying itself in your neck, the mix of three fragrances filling his nose. "Perhaps, then, I'll please you again," he spoke as he kissed your collar bone, "and again," he kissed the hollow of your throat, "and again."

#colin bridgerton #colin bridgerton x reader #colin bridgrton x you #colin bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton smut

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thewritingginger · 1 year

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18+ Imagine Hanma Shuji...

Having you model for him.

Have some spice with our crazy boy to kick off your weekend :3

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Pairing: Hanma Shuji x Fem! Reader Word count: 800+ words Warning: 18+, Voyeurism, Naked pictures, Praise, Female masturbation, Sex toy (Vibrator), Vaginal penetration, Vaginal fingering, Cunnilingus, Cream pie

Enjoy ~

“Just like that, Doll face. Spread yourself open for me,” Hanma’s low voice instructs, followed by the sound of his camera shutter, capturing your lewd position. You’re laid out on your shared bed, resting upon a pile of soft pillows and black silk sheets, naked, your legs open wide with your hands working yourself between them.

You spread your puffy lower lips with one hand as the other presses your purple vibrator into your dripping cunt –slow and torturous as directed. Your lust heavy eyes look at your boyfriend, his hair messily tied up and wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants with a painfully hard bulge jutting out, holding a camera to his face.

“So beautiful. Fuck,” he says, looking at the screen in his hand. “You look so pretty on camera, Baby. Makes me want to plaster you all over the house so everyone that comes over sees how dirty you are for me.” You whimper at his taunting words which only eggs him on further.

Putting his camera on the mattress you let out a surprised gasp as you’re pulled to the edge of the bed by your ankles. Ripping the toy from your quivering walls, Hanma holds your legs open wide by your ankles making you whine in embarrassment as he grinds his covered erection against your bare center.

“Shu, please!”

“Hush now, Doll,” he chuckles, picking up his camera once more. “I know your little cunt needs me but we’re not done with our shoot.”

Snapping a few pictures of his stained pants with pretty white splotches created by your weeping core pressed against him, “You were made for the camera, Baby,” he says as he finally pulls himself out of his pants.

His heavy length rests tauntingly against your needy center.

“Please, Shu,” You plead, uncaring of how whiny you sound —you know he loves it. “I need you,” Wiggling your hips against his already leaking phallus, encouraging him to finally slide in where you need him most.

“Such a needy girl,” he tsks in a mock scolding . With his camera in one hand and his erection in the other he snaps a few pics of his tip dipping into your entrance, whines of loss fall from your lips as he pulls out after he only enters a few centimeters of his thick tip. When you try to beg him once more he just shushes you.

“Babygirl, you can’t rush an artist,” he says with that annoying grin, “I want to capture that gorgeous cream coming out of you already —Fuck!” he curses as your wall unconsciously tightens around his intruding head. He demands you do that again and you do, over and over. He teases the two of you till you feel him shoot his hot load into your aching pussy. Pulling out, you feel the mixture of the two of you leaking down your asscrack to which he promptly gets on his knees and snaps a half a dozen shots of your weeping hole.

“Gorgeous! Your pussy looks so beautiful filled with my cum, Baby,” he says before tossing his camera on to the mattress behind you then resuming his place between your legs. His callused hands hold your thighs open wide as he finally gives your pussy the attention it needed. His tongue begins to lap up his spillings before he latches onto your clit.

“Fuck- yes!” you cry out. You feel his low chuckle against your center, vibrating up your spine, clearly enjoying your hold on him—hands pulling his hair, your thighs wrapped tightly on either side of his head.

Reaching between you he inserts two thick fingers into your pussy, curling expertly against your gummy walls. Squelching, moaning, and slurping fills the room as Hanma brings you to the end of your rope. You’ve been edging yourself for the past hour—or however long Hanma forced you to pose for him. With your end in sight you start chanting his name,

“Oh, God, Shuji! Yes, Shuji! Yes -don’t stop!- ah!”

Coming up from between your legs, his fingers still stretching and pushing you to your climax, you look down to see his lips and chin glistening in your slick, his eyes wide with crazed lust.

“That’s it, Doll face. Come for me, show me that cute fucked out face of yours. Your pussy is squeezing my fingers so tight. Thaaat’s a good girl,” he praises, using his other hand to scratch your clit as you finally release onto his fingers.

His fingers over your clit continue a slow circle as you’re coming down from your high, chest heaving and hips bucking from over stimulation till his movements finally seize entirely.

“Smile for the camera, Baby,” he says. Turning your head, your tired eyes drooping open, you see Hanma straddling your waist, camera in hand, looking right at your face.

Giving him what he wants you shoot him a tired smile, your face hot and fucked out just how he likes it.

Hope you enjoyed reading this!

If you want to see more, let me know :)

💛 ~

~ Masterlist ~

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyorev #tokyorev smut #tokyorev x reader #tokyorev hanma #hanma shuji #hanma shuji x reader #hanma x reader #hanma smut #x reader #x fem!reader #*nsfw

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abhainnwhump · 2 months

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IMYM Chapter 22: Mind Sickness: Dream

(Content warnings: Referenced tortured, referenced abuse, inaccurate medical procedures, very brainwashed Ink, nearly 10k word chapter. I need to stop torturing Dream so much in an Ink-centric whump story.)

<- Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Next Chapter ->

Dream’s joy and happiness faded as soon as he slammed into a wall of black paint. They fell onto the broken road, rubbing their head and staring at its height. The wall shook and splashed over him, Fresh, and Epic like a waterfall.

Dream spit the thin bitter paint out of his mouth. He resembled his twin more than he liked. He looked up with shock. “Wha- what was that for?”

Ink broke into laughter, except . . . it was all wrong. Not just because he played a cruel joke, but his laugh didn’t sound like his. Ink should have snorted and sounded carefree. Instead, he had a quiet giggle and he hid it behind his hand. Laying on the ground, Dream started to notice other strange things.

Ink showed no signs of being in pain. No limping, no bandages, no bruises, no scars, not even fear of his captor. He appeared more uneasy about Epic, Fresh, and him.

Even with his positive aura, something else was amiss. He was too healthy with the circumstances. He also looked more diminutive than Dream remembered, at least with a thinner waist. Was he shorter or was Nightmare taller? Ink stood in perfect ballerina stance with an uncanny smile that never faded. In fact, his entire face was too round and soft. And the artist’s outfit . . . Nightmare had to have forced him into it. Ink would never wear those lavender bows and that lacey white dress unironically. Dream didn’t process it at first since all he saw was his best’s friends face. Only one person in the multiverse had that cheek mark. Maybe Ink had scars and bruises under the white fabric. He had to be hurting somewhere.

Then he saw the worst of it. His eye lights. The lilac hearts and white pupils replaced them. Lilac, pink, bows, the bows around his waist and on his head.

Wait, bows . . . oh stars. Bow. Bow.

Dream went cold and he felt like an idiot. Everything clicked into place. It was like working on a puzzle but not knowing what the picture is until you find the last piece. Core warned them about this not long ago. Killer lied and faked Ink’s death, he was with them all along. But yet, he was left with more questions. Most began with Why?

He turned to Epic for his input, but he disappeared. Fresh was as stunned as he was, hiss aura was almost heartbroken. Dream prayed to the Creators that Epic had some common sense and ran through the portal. The guardians should handle this, not a mortal who isn’t experienced. He looked back at Nightmare and Ink. Nightmare crossed his arms and a smug smile plastered across his face. Dream scowled at his vanity and cruelty toward Ink.

Dream blinked to make sure he didn’t imagine this. “Ink, your clothes. . .”

The artist looked hurt, picking at his frilly sleeves. His voice sounded different too, higher-pitched and soft, it was adorable. “Is something wrong with them?”

“Of course not, my little doll.” Nightmare reassured. He ran a hand down his skull. Ink closed his eye sockets in ecstasy, leaning into the touch. Dream cringed. “You look adorable. Dream is just dense and doesn’t understand the new you. Nor what we have.”

“New . . .” The Guardian of Positivity trailed off. He refused to believe what the last sentence implied. Fear filled his mind, shutting down all logic. He barely held his anger back. “Nightmare, what have you done? What did you do to him? WHAT DID YOU DO TO INK?”

Ink answered for him. “He fixed me!” His smile didn’t match his words, as if his twin did a good thing. Dream went nauseous. The sleep deprivation had to be affecting him. Yes, this had to be a bad dream. This couldn’t be the real Ink. He couldn’t be in love with Nightmare. He couldn’t have killed for him. He took him prisoner!

It’s true. A dream wouldn’t be this detailed. It’s an undeniable aura., but he can be saved.

Dream took a deep breath and held out his hand. He hoped for him to see it as a sign of peace. “Ink, listen to yourself! I don’t know what Nightmare told you, but he’s lying! He’s messing with your head! He’s using you! Look what he’s done to you!” Dream gestured at his . . . everything. He tried not to cry. “He didn’t fix you, he made you worse!” It came out harsher than he intended it. Ink lowered his head and stepped behind Nightmare, taking hold of his tendril. His little whimper broke Dream's heart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Nightmare pinched his nasal bridge. “Now do you see why I kept you in the castle? I told you they’ll hurt you for being my partner.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Dream protested. “What I'm trying to say is that you’re not . . . his. You’re your own person. Nightmare has no right to treat you like this! You’re not a doll! Oh stars, Ink please! Snap out of it!”

His brother shook his head. “More lies, for shame. Is it so hard to understand-” He paused and gained a malicious grin. “Oh, is a demonstration what you need? You always were a visual learner. Come here, my angel.”

The artist obeyed with a smile and stood in front of him, bouncing on his heels. At first, Dream didn’t understand what was happening. Nightmare wrapped his tendrils tight around Ink and lifted his chin to face him. He caressed Ink’s cheek. Otherwise, he stood still as stone. His eye made contact with his twin’s, conveying a thousand words without uttering one.

Now show Dream who you belong to.

Ink threw himself at Nightmare, cupping his captor’s cheekbones and kissinghim. Nightmare pulled him into a low dip, still locked into the kiss. Any possibility that Ink may have been feigning vanished. He wouldn’t fake his happy aura. Nightmare wrapped his hand around the back of the artist’s skull. He hadn’t stopped glaring at Dream, smirking as he fed from his disgust and horror. It was like a car crash. The guardian couldn’t look away, no matter how much he wanted to. He gripped his swords and Fresh followed with his bat.

They stopped when a sound resembling a lightning bolt crashed in the distance. A Gaster Blaster appeared behind Nightmare and Ink. Purple flames flicked and flickered in its eye sockets. Jacket blowing in the wind, Epic stood on top of the blaster’s skull. He gagged and looked like he wanted to vomit.

“Are you kidding me, bruh? You destroy my home, kill my friends, and I leave for eight minutes only to come back to you snogging Inkblot? The hell . . .” Epic shrugged. “I got other things to worry about. See ya.” Epic snapped his fingers and shot the blaster. Nightmare wrapped his arms around Ink and he melted them both into the ground. Dream’s heart stopped as he thought he had taken Ink away again. But then he sensed a strong negative force behind him. He turned around and slashed Nightmare’s tendril aside with his sword. Nightmare retracted his tendril, glaring him down as he kept an arm tight around Ink. Ink clung to him like he was the last good thing in his life.

“Inky brah, let go!” Fresh shouted. Dream could have sworn he saw a purple tendril peek from under his glasses. It vanished and he snapped his fingers. Four furbies surrounded them. Nightmare blocked the explosion by covering both of them in a shield made from his tendrils. Dream still didn’t understand. Was Nightmare protecting Ink? His arms were tight around his frail form.

Scowling, Nightmare snapped his fingers. Ink twitched as if a button was pressed in his mind. He flipped his parasol into a fighting position. He looked to Nightmare, who pointed his finger at Epic. “Fight that one, I’ll humor Dream. You can do it, my sweet Ribbon.”

Epic paused at the name. “Woah, woah, what did you just call hi-?”

Before Epic could finish, Ink charged with the parasol. Nightmare melted into a puddle of sludge and mixed with the shadows. Dream held his daggers out as he watched for any sign of movement.

Ink and Epic clashed. Ink danced, staying light on his feet and gliding around Epic. It would have been beautiful if not for the circumstances and the blood on his dress. Epic brought down his rubber chicken and Ink twirled away. The chicken squeaked.

Fresh launched his first attack at Nightmare, who shot at him from the shadows. A hurricane of rainbow paint and confetti pushed Nightmare back. Dream combined their swords and fired an arrow at their brother. Ink had a strangely potent amount of positivity as he fought Epic.

Nightmare waved his hand and harnessed the malice surrounding the area. The monsters corrupted in the Code Purple rose from the dead and crawled close. Dream slashed them aside, muttering apologies as he cut the heads off each one. Fresh bashed them with his baseball bat.

Ink blocked off paint and blaster beams with his parasol. Epic jumped on broken building parts and eyed Ink. Ink kept watching Nightmare with a nervous glance. Epic found the highest platform he could and jumped off with a scream. He had his rubber chicken ready and close to Ink’s head.

But in the last second, Nightmare threw Epic aside and blocked Ink off. Epic made a safe landing. Nightmare turned around and cupped Ink’s cheeks. Dream, Fresh, and Epic took the chance to duck behind the debris of the building. They panted and looked at each other.

Epic peeked up from the rocks. “Hm . . . ooo-kay, bruh. I see a good shot. I can throw a bone and it should go straight threw Nightmare and we can grab Ink. I don’t know what’s going on in his head to stay with that guy. Look at them!”

Epic sharpened a bone attack and watched for the two. Nightmare didn’t notice as he fussed over Ink, cleaning grime from his face and cooing. Dream leaned over to Epic and whispered. “Now, please.”

Epic threw the bone with all his fury. Ink looked up as Nightmare tended to him and gasped. “Nonononono, Nighty look out!”

Jumping in front of Nightmare, Ink blocked the attack with his body. The bone lodged through his chest. He didn’t make a noise as if he couldn’t feel it, but he stumbled and twitched. Nightmare caught him before he hit the ground, sitting down and holding him. He lay his hand over his head and used magic to put him to sleep. With extreme gentleness, Nightmare sat down with Ink in his lap, stroking his skull. Dream, Fresh, and Epic ran over. Nightmare glared at them, but he turned it into a charming smile.

“By the way, I forgot to ask, do you like him so far?” Nightmare readjusted Ink so his arms wrapped around his waist. “It took a fair bit of trial and error, but he’s a fast learner. He was so fun to break, both physically and mentally. He’s adorable when he begs, you should hear him.” He brushed his cheekbone. “Not a single defiant thought in this little head . . .”

Epic stared with an unreadable expression. “Bruh, what is wrong with you? I mean, what is actually wrong with you?”

Nightmare frowned. “How rude, you didn’t answer my question. I assumed you would love the new Inky. He’s gone from a pest to a sweet, obedient doll. I washed away all his annoying habits and replaced them with polite manners. I recall you hate how arrogant and loud he was. Well, now he’s humble and silent. He loves being my servant. He- oh, I have an excellentidea. I will allow you to keep him for a few days and see how much better he’s become. Once that time is up, I will return to bring him home.” He lifted Ink with his tendrils and dropped him at Dream’s feet.

Dream kneeled and rested his sleeping friend’s head on his femur. He wondered what kind of torment or spell Nightmare put him through to make him so submissive. He glared at his twin. “Whatever you did to mess with his mind, we’ll free him from it. We’ll tell him you handed him over. We’ll tell him what you truly see him as.”

Without turning around, Nightmare said, “And who do you think he’ll believe? The love of his life? Or the person he believes abandoned him? You should be more grateful, brother. I usually hate sharing my toys.” With that, he melted into a puddle of darkness.

Fresh eyed the shaking beams. A pipe snapped and whistled. Rumbling sounded from the ceiling. “Come on, brahs! This joint is going down!”

Dream found he could lift Ink with no trouble at all. He never could before. Epic grabbed Dream and Fresh’s arms and snapped his fingers. He teleported them to the Omega Timeline portal. The building they were in collapsed not a moment later, dust covered the air in a black and gray blanket. Black negativity devoured it. Fresh reached his arm out and twisted it, changing the location of where the doorway would take them. His portal abilities were stronger after becoming the Guardian of Creativity. They jumped through the entrance.

The four skeletons appeared in a small white waiting room with wooden bookshelves. The Omega Hospital. Core and Blue chatted at a round table. Blue’s left eye socket was bruised and forming a small scar. Core’s hair was burned at the tips. The knight caught sight of the skeletons and waved, pausing mid-greeting as soon as he saw the mess.

“What happened to you guys?” Core peeked up at the unconscious body in Dream’s arms. “And- oh my stars, is that Ribbon?

“Ribbon?” Epic and Blue asked at the same time.

"He's Nightmare's most recent hi-" Core stopped. Dream’s fingers slipped, revealing Ink’s paint mark tattoo. Core went pale. Their aura was consumed in shame and guilt.

“Oh, um . . . so why are you covered in malice?” the child asked, looking everywhere but at the three skeletons.

“A lot happened . . .” Dream admitted. They were hiding something, but it wasn’t important right now. Ink was in critical condition. “Don’t worry. This isn’t malice, this is paint.”

Epic took Ink from the guardian’s arms. Ink shifted so he nestled into his jacket. “We’re going to need to heal him and check for extra injuries. Most of the scars seem psychological, but who knows what else that creepy octopus bruh did to him.”

Core nodded and the two talked over medical procedures as they entered a hospital room down the hall. Dream and Fresh joined Blue at the table. “How did saving Underfell go?”

He perked up when Dream mentioned his mission. “Not bad! They didn’t believe me at first. Red thought Core and I were looking for attention and cussed at us. But once he saw the corruption, he helped me out! But forget about that, what happened with Ink? What did Nightmare do to him?”

The three skeletons summarized their adventures. Underfell Frisk gave Blue a cinnamon bunny as a thank you. Blue and Dream split the treat, Fresh didn’t want it. It tasted and smelled like spice, butter, and brown sugar. Dream didn’t realize how hungry he was and devoured the snack in seconds. His magic was running low. Despite that, he still healed Blue’s bruise.

“That’s . . . wowie.” Blue said once Dream and Fresh finished their story, exchanging parts. “When Core and I were fighting the Murder Time Trio, they said something about a ‘special surprise’. I thought they were messing with us. I never would’ve guessed they meant Ink! Bow is Ink?”

“Mm-hm.” Dream ate the last of his cinnamon bunny. “Nightmare did something to him. Toture, or some magic. He was acting so strangely and. He acted like he loved-”

The screaming started from down the hall.

Dream shot up and was about to check it out as Core ran down the hall, bracing themself on the corner. They panted and rubbed their arms. “Dream, Blue, Fresh, we need your help. Now. It’s Ink. He woke up, he’s strangling Epic, nearly broke half the bones in my body, and- don’t stand there, get in here!”

The Stars shared a concerned glance and followed them into an emergency room. Epic and Ink wrestled on the concrete floor. Anti-Magic cuffs around his wrists forced Ink to rely on physical strength. Epic huffed as he pinned his back to the ground. The artist struggled as much as he could, yipping and tearing up. Epic made his movements quick. He flipped around, lowered Ink’s wrists behind his back, and brought them both standing. Ink tried to kick him. Epic forced him on his back onto the hospital bed. Core held his arms to the banister, which turned out to be a laboring task.

“No, no, NO! Please, you don’t understand! I’m not Ink! I’m Ribbon! I’ll do anything you want, just give me back to Nightmare! Please! I belong to him!” Ink wailed and kicked. His face dripped with tears. His aura burned with agonizing fear, but strangely, he didn’t stop smiling. “Nighty, save me! HELP!”

Dream watched, paralyzed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It stung his golden apple soul to see his friend suffering this way. Blue found his strength first and summoned two magic wristbands to hold down the artist’s arms. Fresh snapped his fingers and used confetti-infested paint to hold down his legs. Core exhaled in relief. Ink wailed louder. The sound helped Dream refocus. Ink needed him; Dream would worry about his obsession with his twin later. Removing his glove, Dream rushed over and placed his glowing hand over the artist’s foreskull.

“Shh, it’s okay. No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe now, it’s okay, it’s okay. Calm down, that’s it. Breathe in, breathe out, nice and slow. I’m sorry, I know it hurts. Deep breaths. Focus on the sound of my voice and nothing else. Relax. Go back to sleep.” Dream rubbed Ink’s cheek with one hand, trying to soothe him.

Ink stopped thrashing and began to settle down. But he fought against the magic and Dream was weak, so he sobbed harder at the touch. “Stop . . . stop it. Hands off, liar.”

Liar?

His negative emotions pulsed strong enough so Dream couldn’t put him to sleep. Thankfully, Core was three steps ahead of him and wrapped a clear gas mask over his face. Ink tried to fight the sedative too, squealing in protest. His attempts fell fruitless as Core turned the machine on. “I’m sorry, Ink.”

He fought, his eye sockets fluttered, and his arms slumped against his sides. Even if it was only for a little while, he was at peace.

The sudden silence was haunting. No one spoke for a full two minutes, instead sharing looks of question and worry. Fresh didn’t look away from Ink. Dream had imagined what Ink’s return would be like before, even in his wistful fantasies. None of them involved this level of fear, horror, and crying.

“Phew.” Core’s voice was quiet. They wiped their forehead with a sleeve. “What in the world was that about? Why was he crying for Nightmare to save him?”

“This is what I meant by ‘long story’. Nightmare . . . brainwashed him. To what extent I don’t know, but he’s madly in love with him,” Dream said.

They looked over at the artist. Now that he was up close and away from danger, they could see some of the physical effects of his brother’s ‘care’. His face was beautiful, along with the rest of his body, whether he wanted to admit it or not. And that made Dream clench his teeth. He doubted Ink consented to having his body mutilated like this.

Dream took a white towel from the counter and gently wiped Ink’s face. He intended to dry his tears, but the surface revealed itself pink. A streak sliced across his left cheekbone, blush. “Why is- is this makeup?”

“Bruh, if Nightmare’s got him in dresses, why are you surprised he went for the full sugar-and-spice look?” Epic brushed his fingers against his bruised neck. He flicked the heart charm around his neck. Dream thought it was part of his dress. “We’re going to need some permanent restraints, at least for his arms. Otherwise, he’s going to kill someone. Seriously, all I did was try and hook him up with an IV and his murder mode was on. It wouldn’t go in for some reason.”

Blue released his magic. “He does have trypanophobia, but that can't be it. I think I have something that could work! I'll be back." Blue ran out of the room, his smile twitching the entire time.

Dream finished cleaning Ink's face, but not before he heard asound like a china plate against a table. He tapped Ink’s eyelids.

Clink clink.

No . . . no, Nightmare couldn’t have been that cruel.

Dream forced the tip of his finger under Ink’s left eyelid and lifted it. It was certainly plastic. His whole face glimmered with a porcelain covering, not bone. He ran his hand down his neck, resting on a pull-string charm again. Dream gave it a pull and his snores became more audible.

Core's face was grim. "That’s a voice box. I don't know how he even managed to do it, it should be medically impossible."

"Only one way to find out." Epic undid the buttons on Ink’s blood-stained dress, adjusting and lifting his body to slide it down. He tugged at the bone through his chest. “Could someone lend me a hand and fetch the magic stabilizers? They’re clear and in little vials.”

“Of course.” Dream walked across the room and found the medicine. Core helped him. Fresh stood between them, watching Epic and Ink. His aura was a mix of disappointment and sadness, not too different from how Dream felt. Epic pulled Ink's dress off and shimmed it down to his waist. He paused.

“Holy. Shed.” Epic’s voice sounded tight. “I figured out why the IV didn’t work.”

Dream carried the syringes over and Fresh peered over to view Ink’s now-exposed body. His breath caught in his throat; it was so much worse than he was expecting. No wonder the bone hurt so bad and he had such a little waist. The attack didn’t hit his ribs, it broke through thick plastic and porcelain. Ink had a feminine human-like torso, not a skeleton’s bones. Fluffy stuffing fell out of the battle wound like blood would. In the center of his chest was a dark crescent moon brand. Nightmare turned him into some twisted arts and crafts project.

Core stood on their tiptoes to see better. They pushed their hand to their mouth and gagged, turning away. “Oh my stars, I’m going to vomit.”

“I don’t blame ya. Oh, thanks, bruh.” Epic took the vial and opened Ink's mouth, slowly pouring it in. The stabilizer medicine was usually delivered in syringes, but they couldn't do that. He took off one of Ink’s white lace gloves. A ball-jointed plastic hand was underneath. “I’ve never seen something like this, same as you Core. This type of body modification shouldn’t be possible. He should be long dead. Back in medical school-"

“Ya went to medical school?” Fresh interrupted.

“Yeah, I have a medical degree and a robotics degree. I went a few years ago for personal reasons.” Epic grinned mischievously. “Okay, where was I . . . oh right. Back in medical school, we learned a bit about artificial limbs. But this is something else. There's gotta be some magic involved in keeping him together. He should've died from blood loss when he cut off his arms."

"Nightmare must have found away around that . . . I don't know how." The guilt returned to Core's aura and they looked out the window instead.

Dream noticed Core’s strange behavior. “Core, you looked nervous earlier. Why was that? No one is angry, we just need to know. It could help him. Did you know Ribbon was Ink?"

"No, I didn't." The child hung their head. “Two weeks ago . . . I went to this show outside a Mafiatale variant. I could sense the unnatural activity and it was Nightmare showing Ink off. He called him 'Ribbon'. He gave a speech and then made him sing. I knew there was something off about that whole thing, but I didn’t know it was Ink! His paint mark was covered and he didn’t look like him at all. He was wearing a dress like that except it was blue and more revealing. His voice was so high-pitched it sounded nothing like him. Nightmare made up this story about how he found 'Ribbon' in an abandoned timeline. I feel bad I didn’t do anything but watch."

Dream set their hand on their shoulder. "Don't feel bad, none of us would have known either. Nightmare tricked the entire multiverse into believing Ink was dead and we believed him. We're not calling him Ribbon, we won't let Nightmare win like that." He looked at Ink with his hand still on their shoulder. "But just to be safe . . . can you check Ink's mind? In case Nightmare put any spells on him to hinder his healing."

"Sure . . ." Core removed their hand from Ink's head. They looked at the others. “The test worked. . . . do you guys want the good news or the bad news first?”

Dream tried for a hopeful smile. “The good news first."

“The good news is that whatever Nightmare did improve him. Ink has stronger abilities, senses, and stats than he did before. His ATK and DEF are up almost twenty percent.”

Fresh grinned. “Dat's all great! What’s da bad news?”

Core looked guilty. “Everything that isn’t that. It says his mind has a history of spells, but it does not say which type. Nightmare could be seeing through his eyes for all we know.”

Epic glanced at Ink before tearing off a spare piece of bandage and wrapping it around his eye sockets.

“He was weirdly weak." Epic pondered aloud. "I’ve arm-wrestled Ink before and we were an even match. He won too. That was the night we went skating and he went missing. But I crushed him this time. His arms have almost zero muscle on them. And not just because we’re skeletons, bruh.”

Dream rubbed Ink's head and crouched down, pressing his skull against his. "Can you fix this and make him himself again? Or . . . or is this permanent? Will he live?"

Epic leaned back and crossed his arms. “That’s what it looks like, bruh, he'll be stuck as a weird porcelain doll. But if he’s made it this far and can fight as well as he did, he’s going to be fine. Now the conditioning on the other hand, that needs to be rid of as soon as possible, once he calms down a little.” He snapped a pair of medical gloves on. “Let’s get this taken care of and I’m going to see my brother and check on my girl buddy, Undyne. Her girlfriend, Alphys, died in the corruption and she’s not doing well. Also, I could use a cookie break, I'm still not over my AU getting destroyed."

==============================================================================

Dream hesitated with a breakfast tray in his arms. He’s volunteered at the hospital several times before, but this was the first that made him nervous. He opened the door to Ink’s hospital room, only a crack. Ink was fast asleep. Dream dropped his defense and the corner of his mouth perked up. Ink always was the one who slept in the longest. He could almost imagine everything was right again.

His wrists were bound with the white plush straps Blue brought. So far, they succeeded in keeping him from fighting and/or injuring himself. His legs were also tied to the bed with matching bands. The guardian disliked they had to restrain him at all, but they were soft enough and tied with comfort in mind. It was the best for everyone.

Setting the tray aside, Dream took advantage of his sleepiness to check on his bandages. The ones on his torso were secure and healing nicely. Little smiley face bandages covered his arms and neck where he was test-injected. Dream made the mistake of shifting his t-shirt to see his torso better. Ink’s eyes flashed open. He hissed and Dream pulled the heart string so he could speak.

“B-back off!” Ink cried. His struggle was weak and slow from drowsiness. “Please don’t touch me, sir!”

Dream did as he asked and retracted his hand. Ink shuffled away as much as he could. Fear and anger clouded his aura. He didn’t like anyone, but he had extra apprehensiveness for Dream. He wished his friend wasn’t so scared. Dream shivered, though his jean jacket and sweater should have kept him warm.

“Okay, I won’t touch you, I’m sorry. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’.” He thought he saw a look of confusion cross Ink’s face. Despite the outburst, Dream tried for a bright smile to increase his positive aura and calm his fear. “Are you hungry? The croissants are fresh-baked!”

He shook his head. “No thank you.”

“Just one bite? Please? You haven’t eaten anything in days! You’re going to get sick!”

Ink stared at the food for a long time, ravenous hunger shining through his eyes. He flicked his head away.

Dream sighed and left the tray on the side table. Ink refused to give up his hunger strike. A nurse tried to spoon-feed him the first time he awoke and the only thing he consumed was a panic attack. Crying, flailing, and all. He wouldn’t take any painkillers either; the medicine terrified him more than the food. Core has also tried to force-feed him and he bit their hand hard. Dream thought of using a tube, but with Ink’s new clockwork organs, it would be too risky. They didn’t know how they functioned. Since nothing worked, he decided it was best to wait for Ink’s permission. The guardian pulled up an armchair from the wall and sat beside his friend.

“If you want to help me, I kinda want these bands off.” Ink tugged at his wrists. “I swear, I’ll be good! I won’t fight this time. Please?” He gave him puppy-dog eyes, which were both cuter and more uncanny with the body modifications. “Please?”

Dream looked away. “I can’t do that.” He wanted to. He wanted to so badly, but he knew Ink was lying. He’d make a break for it, run away, and harm someone in the process, maybe even himself. “I’m sorry, it’s for your own good. Once the pink paint wears off, we’ll remove them. I promise. You’ll be able to see clearly.” Ink’s sad smile made Dream feel guilty. “But if you want, I could bring you your sketchbook and some crayons so you could draw while we talk. Blue and I kept it and the rest of your drawings. That way, you would be free and have something to focus on, but I can still keep an eye on you. I would also need to put the restraints back when I leave, sorry. I know you must be bored from doing nothing in this room. I would be too.”

He laughed to lighten the mood, but Ink didn’t join in. On the contrary, he looked more miserable. “I don’t want to draw, all I want is Nightmare.”

Dream stopped laughing and Ink sunk into his pillows, his aura miserable. The two remained quiet for a long time.

Dream carefully planned some questions. It may have been for nothing. Ink remained silent every time he was asked a question, especially if it was about Nightmare. But he had hope with the paint losing effect. One of his old village friends once said something like, ‘If you want to sell a lie, tell them what they want to hear’. Could the same logic apply here?

With a deep breath, he broke the silence. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is it you see in Nightmare? I know you love him, but how can you fall in love with someone who kidnapped you?”

The artist looked offended. “Nightmare didn’t kidnap me! He asked me on a date. He offered to let me live in his castle as his boyfriend and I said yes. As for why I’m in love with him . . .”

For the first time since his rescue, Ink’s eyes sparkled, filling with life. “Everything, he’s a masterpiece. He’s smart, caring, handsome, mysterious, has an amazing voice . . . I could go on forever. Sure he’s a bit overprotective, but he only means to keep me safe. He made me better and stronger, he wouldn’t protect me if he didn’t care! And he makes me feel special and understood like I’m the most important person in the Doodlesphere. Then there’s his aura. Sounds weird with it being pure negativity, but it’s addicting to be around. I can’t get enough of it! No one else makes me feel the way he does.” His eyes frowned and he looked away from Dream. “I miss my Nightlight.”

Dream froze. He hadn’t heard that nickname in years. Technically centuries, but he didn’t count the time he was frozen in his stone prison. ‘Nightlight’ was the nickname Dream gave his twin when they were children. Nightlight and Daydream. If Nightmare told Ink about the nickname, he must have put a lot of trust in him. Maybe he did see him as something more than a weapon. He didn’t know which option was better. It wasn’t even close to the worst aspect of his answer, but it was the part that disturbed him the most.

Dream decided to keep getting answers while Ink was talking, not risking the chance. “Did he ever hurt you?”

Ink narrowed his eyes, which looked more sinister than angry. He seemed to panic. “No! He never hurt me! Not once!”

Dream’s expression turned firm. “Ink, I know you’re lying. This all started after I didn’t push you to talk, I won’t make the same mistake twice. I’ll even take a yes or no answer. Did. Nightmare. Hurt you.”

“. . . he’s hit me a few times, but not recently! And I deserved every single punishment! I was too dumb to follow his rules even though he made them easy to understand. And my name isn’t Ink, it’s Ribbon!”

“He hits you?” Dream’s heart hurt. He pressed his jaw together. trying to keep his temper calm. He would let his anger toward Nightmare out in another way, not in front of a traumatized Ink. “Ink, you don’t deserve to be hit by your partner, no matter what you did. You’re not a masochist, I know you. You sometimes joke about pain, but you don’t want it. And for stars’ sake, you are not dumb! What about the dresses? Did he force you to wear them?”

“No! I’m a doll, and dolls must wear dresses, otherwise I’m doing something wrong. He likes it when I wear cutesy things. I like them too, they’re comfy. Nightmare says I look my best when I’m in skirts and bows.”

Dream fiddled with his thumbs. That didn’t sound like Nightmare’s taste at all. Nightmare loved the gothic aesthetic. What twisted game was he playing? “One last question.”

Ink squirmed in his spot. His aura was full of shame. “On that first day, when you were crying and fighting, you called me a liar. Why is that?”

Ink raised a browbone like it was a joke Dream didn’t understand. “You- you know why.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“You do,” the artist said with gritted teeth. It wasn’t in an angry way, more fearful. “Can I ask you a question, sir?”

Dream smiled. “Of course! You know you can ask me anything.”

“Why do you care so much about what happened to me? I don’t get why you’d think twice. Nobody cared when I disappeared, you left me. ”

“Nobody care- that’s not true at all! We stopped searching for you because Killer gave us your scarf and told us you were dead!” All the built-up stress from the past few months tumbled out of Dream. He raised his voice. “I thought you were being used as a living training dummy or kept as a slave! But I never could’ve guessed that you- that you became so . . .” Dream gestured his hand around, unable to find the words. He eventually gave up. “Everyone misses you and we need you. The Doodlesphere has been falling apart without you protecting it. no world is safe from Error or Nightmare. Fresh, Core, and I are patrolling it, but it’s getting more difficult each day. So many monsters and humans are losing hope thanks to the constant Code Purples! They’re getting worse and more violent! Come on, Ink, I know you’re still in there. Buried under brainwashing and lies, but something in you has to hear me. Please. We’re friends, remember?”

For a brief moment, something in Ink’s expression changed. Regret? Realization? Embarrassment? No matter the emotion, the artist was lost in his mind, his eyes resembling a child who made a grave mistake. Then he hit himself against the headboard again, hard with each word. “Idiot! You’re so weak-minded! Gullible! Bad doll! Bad doll!”

“Stop that!” The guardian took the round pillow from his armchair and set it between Ink and the headboard. He’d need something more permanent if he was going to keep this up. “You’re not any of those things! You’re just confused right now, and that’s okay. We’re going to help you get better-”

“I’m stupid for believing the lies of a brother killer!” Ink halted as Dream went still. “Nightmare told me everything. I know all about that mysterious past of yours. Your naivety and selfishness got him bullied and turned him into a monster. And then you were using me to get stronger by taking advantage of my magic. And-and everyone took advantage of me! Everyone knows I’m as dumb as a rock. Nightmare rescued me from you!” He shook with a crazed look. “All of you . . .”

Dream was speechless. Nightmare had to have exaggerated the story, he knew he did, but it still stung. He couldn’t believe Ink’s self-esteem was this low. “I-”

“Don’t answer that! I hate you, Dream! I hate you so much! You don’t care about me! You just want to manipulate me like everyone else!” Ink thrashed in his restraints and started to wail.

The Guardian of Positivity didn’t know what to say. He wanted to take his pain away but didn’t know how. He couldn’t fix this problem. He slowed his breath down and sighed. He stood up and trudged toward the door. The handle was freezing in his hand. He resisted the urge to look back at Ink. “I’ll check on you in a few hours.” He opened the door and crashed into another skeleton.

Dream and Fresh both fell into the white hallway, Dream on top of Fresh. He rolled off. The parasite rubbed his head and Dream readjusted his jean jacket. He had no disdain towards Fresh, but he was hoping no one would be out here so he could have a good cry. His head pounded and he rubbed his eye sockets.

“Sorry ‘bout dat, Dreamboat! How’s Inky-brah?” Fresh asked as he stood up. He kept his word and didn’t tell anyone Ink was alive, other than the nurses, doctors, and a few of their friends. The artist’s condition was too unstable to be known to the public.

“Um . . .” Dream peered back into the room. Ink still shook, cried in hysteria, and muttered something to himself. Something with the word monsters. If he kept his behavior up, he would need to be sent to special care. Dream shivered at the thought of Ink in a straitjacket. He would hate it, it would terrify him more. Dream turned to Fresh. “He’s not doing well. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, sorry. We had an argument and . . . we were both hurt.”

Fresh frowned and he stared into Ink’s room. “Still? Geez, he’s been a real downer . . .”

Dream sensed his aura and set a hand on his arm. "He'll get better. Core and I are working on getting him therapy so he can remember who he is. He's just a little confused right now, it will be fine. Come on

Fresh looked back at Ink's room one more time and decided to follow Dream. Ink would have likely started crying again at the sight of him. They walked through the hospital hallways. A few doctors and nurses walked past, continuing business as usual. Their footsteps echoed through the sterile hall.

How could this happen? How could everything go so wrong? It was all too much. First Ink’s disappearance, then the drop in positivity, then the corrupted worlds, and now this. Dream wanted everything to return to normal, for his brother’s sick game to end.

And it was all his fault.

He was the reason Ink was abducted, tortured, and brainwashed. He was the reason all those worlds and innocents died from corruption. He was the reason everyone was suffering. It was all so Nightmare could steal the last golden apple. If he gave him what he wanted, would the darkness go away? He looked up at Fresh.

No, he had to stay positive. Smile for the others, give them hope.

He and Fresh made it to the hospital lounge. It was white with a few black seats and small tables. Visiting hours have been restricted since Ink showed up, so it was empty except for one person. Core Frisk sat alone on a chair, sipping a cup of hot chocolate. They read a book written in Wingdings. As leader of the Omega Timeline, they had special privileges. They sensed Dream and Fresh before they opened either of their mouths.

“Is Ink still- oh no, something happened,” Core noted, wiping a spare chocolate drip from their face. Bandages wrapped around their right hand where Ink bit them.

“No, I-” Dream sighed and wiped his eye sockets as he sat on the chair beside Core. They were met with a wave of dizziness. “Yes, something happened. Ink hasn’t stopped asking for Nightmare. I coaxed a few answers out of him and he said some . . . hurtful things.”

Core set their book down, suddenly looking concerned. “What did he say?”

“He explained the dresses and why he loves Nightmare. It’s because . . .” He felt sick remembering Ink’s worshipping look and couldn’t finish the thought. “Stars, he has Ink wrapped around his bloody finger. He can’t think about anything else but him."

“And he was shakin' and cryin' in dere. I'm all up and talkin' with him, but he didn't make a peep, so I dipped!" Fresh leaned against the chair with his hand on the armrest. His arm grazed Dream and he paused. Fresh patted the sides of his cheekbones. "Hol' up. Dream, ya burning hot.”

"I am?” The guardian placed a hand on his forehead. “Strange, I’ve been feeling cold all morning. Now that you mention it, I’ve had this weird dizzy headache too. Maybe I should drink some water.”

Core watched him with concern. “I can get some for you if you want to lay back a while. You’ve been working non-stop.”

“Thank you, but it’s no trouble. You shouldn’t need to-” Dream collapsed onto the floor, barely catching the table. His head swam and ached; his throat hurt. The whites and grays of the lounge merged. His teeth chattered from the unknown source of cold.

“DREAM!” Fresh and Core each caught one of his arms and dragged him back toward the couch. The guardian didn’t resist as they pushed him on.

“I can sense your magic is unstable.” Core said, clenching and unclenching her hands. Dream didn’t argue. "I need to grab a thermometer so you-"

"No need, gotcha already." Fresh snapped his fingers and a painted thermometer. He tossed it over to Core. They almost missed it, but they caught it.

“Oh . . . thank you. Dream, open up.” Core stuck a thermometer under Dream’s tongue. A few seconds passed before they pulled it out. Their void-like eyes went wide. “Holy stars, you have a fever of a hundred and seven! Dream, you're very sick! Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dream heaved air and tried to steady himself, preparing for a dizzy spell. “Because . . . I didn’t think it was that bad. And it isn’t. Ink and Nightmare are much more important, especially Ink. He needs us, he needs me.” He sat up with his cape loosely hanging over his shoulders. “I don’t have time to rest. I have so much work to do and-”

“Nuh-uh!” Fresh pushed him back down. “Ya can’t get any sicker than ya are now. Da multiverse will be fine, I can watch it! Y'all keep forgetting I'm a guardian and have radical superpowers now!”

“That's true . . . okay.” Chuckling, Dream had to admit, he was quite tired. He lay on the couch and let sleep take him within minutes.

He awoke to a dark hall. A massive glass window graced the back of the room and showed a rainy night. The decorations of flowers and white silk banners suggested a party of some kind. Or an event. A glimmering chandelier dangled from the ceiling.

But despite the breathtaking interior, signs of a recent battle littered the place. Bones stuck out of the rubble from the walls and ceiling. Blood and clothes were scattered about, even a broken Gaster Blaster head. Nightmare's malice dripped across the room. Dream realized he was standing in his castle. Muffled screams sounded from the hall behind him, but he couldn't make out any voice in particular.

Core Frisk stepped through a white portal. Their face was frozen in shock like they witnessed a traumatic tragedy. They weren’t paying attention to where they were walking and almost hit one of the bones. They frowned until they saw what was hanging on it. A dark blue scarf. Core took a shaky breath as they stared at the scarf in their hands.

“Core . . . help!”

The child looked around the room and spotted Cross trapped under rubble and sludge. He shivered, beaten and bleeding. His body was covered in scratches, scars, and burns. His left hand was caked in a hard layer of malice. Dream fought as hard as he could to reach for and comfort him, save him. But he couldn’t move or offer help.

Core ran over to his side. Cross’s ribcage was broken open and he lay in a pool of blood and grime. His fingers twitched.

“Cross, where’s everyone else? Where’s Dream? Where’s Epic? Blue? Or Error? Is he . . . dead?” Core asked as they crouched down beside him. They held up the scarf.

Cross groaned and tried to shift under the rocks. He moaned and fell back down. “They . . . Nightmare took Blue and Dream. They said something about Error, but I didn’t catch what they said. Sorry, kid.”

Core stood still, their dark eyes staring into nothing. Their coordination was off as they tried to lift the fallen pillar off of Cross. Their nine-year-old arms couldn’t lift it. Glancing between Core and the archway, Cross gritted his teeth. “Leave me here. One of them is going to be back any second and-”

A clatter rattled from behind Core. Core looked up and before they could react, they were slammed against the rock with blue magic. Horror held his hand out and chuckled. He wore a ripped black suit, unlike his usual jacket. Core struggled and pulled for their freedom, but it was no use. Horror slammed them down again and knocked them out. Cross screamed.

“Lucky . . . day.” Horror grinned. He breathed heavily. “Boss . . . is goin’ . . . be happy about this . . .”

The scene changed. The ruined castle was gone. Instead, five skeletons and a human child were held in a dungeon. They all wore silver Anti-Magic cuffs on their wrists, pulsating with purple magic. Blue tried to lockpick his way out of the cage. Cross kicked and punched the stone wall, not caring about his bleeding knuckles. Epic tossed a scrap of paper in the air as he lay on the floor. Error paced around in circles, occasionally grabbing his bars and shaking them. Core sat cross-legged on the ground, tracing lines on the floor. In the final cell, Dream saw himself, lying in the corner, thin, and bruised up. His eye lights were dim, losing strength from the negativity in the place.

“Bruh, you’re going to break your knuckles. Calm down, you’re not getting anywhere.” Epic scolded Cross.

Cross dropped his hand down to his side and sighed. He looked down at it, covered in blood and scratched bones. He slumped down on the bench in his cell. “I don't care, it's the one thing keeping me sane right now."

“Cross, please.” Dream’s voice was quiet and monotone. He barely looked up. "Don't hurt yourself more than you are now. You have to save your strength, you're already weak."

Error's fingers scratched the bars, echoing across the entire dungeon. "Don't pull that 'oh I'm so selfless and so worried about everyone!" crap on me." He spoke in glitchy falsetto to mock Dream's voice. "This is all your fault. You got everyone involved when you couldn't wait one more day to rescue stupid Ink. I could be in the Anti-Void right now laughing at this but noooooo, you needed my help."

Dream narrowed his eye sockets. "I didn't make you! And I didn't mean to screw this up! I said I'm sorry a hundred times! Again, I'm sorry!"

Core stood up. "Stop arguing, all of you. It won't free us. You both have points. Nightmare will either become bored and kill us or let us go with a twist. We need to stay patient and determined."

They stayed silent and went back to their former activities. Blue almost broke his lock, but then he stopped. He cupped his hand to the side of his skull and listened.

The floor broke open beneath them, and they all fell through the floor of their cells into portals. Instead of finishing, the dream changed. Nightmare stormed through the door of what appeared to be the Omega Hall. The colors faded into monochrome black and gray. It was dead silent with only the occasional whisper of wind against the banners. He opened the door to the meeting hall. It was as empty as the rest of the desolate building, but someone was there.

Dream gasped as he recognized the variant from his hallucination back in Candytale. The other him stared out the window with a blank stare. The Omega Timeline was barren and lifeless, only zombies created from malice wandered. Dream scrunched his face at the sight of his home destroyed. How could something like this happen? The fake Dream turned to Nightmare and bowed at his presence. "Hello. Can I help you, Your Highness?"

"I do. Come here." Nightmare pointed at the ground and the fake Dream kneeled before him. The moon mark glowed brighter. Nightmare pushed his hood down and his chin up. "Did you find them, yet?"

The fake Dream shook his head. "No, but I have found some of their group members in captivity. They're set to be executed tomorrow morning. I have troops surrounding the timeline. I found out from one of them that they're after your baby doll. They're going to torture him until you step down from your throne."

Nightmare's expression tightened and his tendrils waved, almost sending the banners down. "Thank you for the information. I'm not ending my rule, but I'll keep Ribbon inside the castle until they're taken care of." He turned around. "A progress check was all I needed, you may continue your work. But next time there's noticeable gain, report to me immediately, do you understand?"

"Understood, Your Highness." Dream said. The real Dream sensed the bitterness in his voice. He didn't like that version of himself. He couldn't feel hate, but it was close."

He left Dream alone. Nightmare opened a portal to his bedroom and lay on his bed. He pinched his nasal bridge and took a deep breath. A while later, the door opened, and Ink stepped inside.

“Nighty, is everything okay? You look sad.” Ink looked like he did in his hospital room, only his outfit was different. He wore a pastel pink and white dress and a pink beret with a bow on it. He held a baby skeleton in a blue onesie in his arms. He had black star markings gracing his skull.

Nightmare sat up. He smiled at Ink as if nothing was wrong. “I’m fine, my sweet doll.” He kissed his foreskull and then kissed the baby. “How come Crescendo isn’t in bed? Is Aurora?”

“I couldn’t get him to sleep, so I thought walking around and rocking him would do it, but Aurora is sleeping. It’s working.” Ink rocked the baby. "Maybe he was worried about you!"

Nightmare watched him with pure adoration and kissed his cheek. Dream could sense the emotions in his soul, but he wouldn’t call them love. No, this was something much darker, more dangerous, more toxic.

The scene changed one more time. Dream looked around and touched a soft white cloud. The sky was a pleasant pink with droplets of purple and blue. His back felt strangely heavy. He found out he could move when he turned his head to the left and stroked the feathery gold wing.

“Daydream?”

The guardian spun around. The voice had the same British accent as he does. He turned around to a skeleton not much taller than he was. He wore a purple vest over a white dress shirt. His eye light matched his clothes. The right side of his face was a gash of melted and broken bone. Atop his skull was a gold crown with a moon symbol in the center. Dream teared up, but this time, they were tears of joy.

“Nightlight!” Dream ran to his twin and threw his arms around him. The long-lost brothers hugged each other, neither wanting to let go. Dream’s fingers traced over something velvety. Confused, he removed them to a purple feather lodged between his fingers. Nightmare had wings. Angel wings, just like his, only far larger.

“Even after five hundred years, you’re still a crybaby,” Nightmare teased. He laughed, and Dream didn’t realize how much he missed the sound. He drew back once “Hey, what’s wrong? We’re together now.”

Dread and failure consumed Dream’s thoughts, though the latter was confusing. He thought of several failures, but none of them felt quite right. “I’m dead.”

Nightmare sighed. “You did your best. I watched the whole fight, that monster overcame you. But you were brave, really brave. He tricked you, that wasn’t your fault.”

"Which wasn't my fault?" Dream panicked. He didn't know what Error spoke of, nor Nightmare now. "Please, tell me so I can fix it before it happens."

“You don't remember? Oh, well it will only hurt you if I say it. Speaking of saying . . . um . . . there’s no way I can put this lightly. Your friend, Ink was it? He doesn’t exist. His mind is so far gone that even if he falls in battle, he’ll still be Ribbon in the afterlife." Nightmare looked guilty and stared at the ground.

Dream's smile faded. Nightmare noticed and kept talking. "But not all is lost. You still have a chance to rescue him. You can do it, brother. I believe in you. Don't lose hope yet."

Nightmare stepped away from him. His boots faded into wisps of air as his voice began to trail off, slowly growing louder. Dream . . . Dream . . .

“Dream! DREAM! Wake up!” Cross shook his shivering body awake. “It’s alright, wake up. It’s not real.”

Dream’s skull dripped with sweat. Seeing he was safe and not in that horrible dungeon with bloody knuckles made him cry. He hugged him with full force.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Shit . . . that must have been a worse nightmare than I thought . . .” Cross spoke mostly to himself. He returned the hug and rubbed the back of his skull. His aura was perplexed and worried. “What did you dream about? I thought you couldn’t get nightmares.”

“I can’t.” The fact scared him. He never had a nightmare in his life, only pleasant dreams or none at all. Through the tears, Dream explained the vision to his boyfriend. He left out the part about seeing Nightmare pre-corrupted. He told Cross about Nighty a few times prior, but it hurt too much now.

“If it makes you feel any better, I doubt Nightmare would keep you in a fancy coffin for all of eternity, that’s not like him at all. I could handle a rock falling on me too.” Cross sat down and laid an arm across his shoulders as he drank it. The corner of Dream’s mouth curved up. “Everyone’s fine. I talked to Epic and Blue about five minutes ago and they told me about Ink’s . . . condition. The Stockholm Syndrome hit him hard, didn’t it?”

Dream nodded. “It’s not even that alone. Nightmare made him believe he’s a doll named Ribbon. He dressed him in cutesy dresses, altered his body, changed the way he speaks and acts, and Ink is obedient to a tee. It’s so . . . creepy. Ink thinks it’s love, Nightmare thinks it’s duplicity. But he didn’t break him, yet. I know it. The real Ink heard me! Even if it was for only a few seconds.”

“Are you sure? Dream, I believe you, but I also believe you're taking on too much negativity. You can't handle the Code Purples, Nightmare, Ink, and your mental health at the same time. It's killing your soul and we can all feel it." Cross touched Dream's chest with his finger. He pulled out his soul. It darkened from the pure gold to a dim gold, yet it still shined.

"But . . ." Dream gasped as a painful tingle vibrated through his body. The same feeling he had whenever there was a strong source of negativity. Whenever . . . him.

“Nightmare!” The Guardian of Positivity jumped as if he was shocked with electricity. “Nightmare’s back. He’s in the hospital. He has to be close to Ink.”

“This is exactly what I mean. You have that shield around the base, it's impossible for Nightmare to get in here. But if it will make you feel better, I’ll check it out. Besides, I want to see this ‘dollified Ink’ for myself. I’ll be back.” Cross grabbed his daggers and ran out of the room.

Dream stood up to follow him, but he was met with a wave of dizziness and sat back down. He put his hands together and prayed to the Creators that it was a mishap. And that he would get better so he wasn’t useless like this.

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