#Container Glass Market Share

[neha24blog]

Container Glass Market Segmented On The Basis Of Product, End-User, Region And Forecast 2028: Grand View Research Inc.

San Francisco, 8 Sep 2023: The Report Container Glass Market Size, Share & Trends Analysis Report By Product (Bottles, Jars, Vials And Ampoules), By End User (Pharmaceutical Industry, Chemical Industry, Consumer Application), By Region, And Segment Forecasts, 2021 – 2028 The global container glass market size is anticipated to reach USD 82.2 billion by 2028, according to a new report by Grand…

[zara-renata]

Control | ao3 | the Sylus series

Summary:

You are feeling a bit depressed after completing a mission that didn't go 100% the way you wanted. Mephisto, and then Sylus, pay you a visit to cheer you up.

Notes:

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, a little Sylus POV This is not actually strictly part of the Sylus series, but rather a bit of an interlude outside of the series I'm writing because it doesn't advance the plot and I don't know where I'd fit it in. I was having an awful day earlier this week and wrote this purely to make myself feel better. I hope it does the same for others. It doesn't contain all the same triggers as the series (but I'd still advise checking the CWs) and can be read as a standalone if you'd like. This story contains: sfw, pure self-indulgent hurt/comfort for overachievers who, despite doing their very best, still feel like they didn't do enough, fluff, banter, tender Sylus, clingy Sylus, still-bit-of-a-jerk-Sylus, CWs: grief, discussion of the realities of law enforcement and innocent civilian death as a result of criminal activity, violence typical of the game and Sylus's criminal tendencies, mention of slight depression and feelings of emptiness.

Here you are, again. It has been a long day, a long week, a long month. You’ve been called out almost every shift to counter an increased spurt of wanderer attacks, while also trying to execute a carefully orchestrated undercover mission to stem the tide of illegal modified protocore weapons that recently flooded the black market by arms smugglers.

No, not Sylus. He’s too clever to put himself on the Association’s radar for his arms dealing in a way that could result in a trap being set for him.

No, the idiots you were going after couldn’t hold a candle to Sylus.

But their activity resulted in civilians being caught in the crossfire, and you had spent the last month seeing firsthand the carnage left behind after a gang battle erupted on the outskirts of Linkon City. You forced yourself to look at the broken bodies and broken families of the people affected, boots crunching on shattered glass, trailing bloody footprints on the cracked tarmac of the street. You would not allow your… situationship with Sylus to blind you to the reality of what his line of work could do to people. People just trying to live their lives, make their rent, raise their children–to survive a life that’s already painful and short enough already, without people like the assholes you just finished bringing down tonight arming other assholes with weapons that no one should be able to access. Weapons designed with one purpose in mind: maximum damage, minimum finesse. Weapons designed as if collateral damage is a feature and not a bug.

You’re tired. Days like this have always happened to you, even before you became a Hunter. The lethargy seeping through your body, the disinterest in doing anything that normally makes you happy. You lie on your bed, staring blankly through your gauzy curtains, the autumn wind driving the intermittent raindrops against the glass of your window. Each one a crystalline jewel, splattering, liquid diamonds trailing down the pane like tears. 

You have the evening stretching before you, and you want to enjoy it, you do. But you can’t seem to make yourself get up, as your mind drifts to the images you made yourself engrave in your brain. The least those people deserved was you to bear witness, and ensure that you never forget, since your work as a Hunter came too late to help them, in the end. 

You turn your gaze away from the gloomy late afternoon, let it wander over the riot of plants hanging from your ceiling and along the shelving in your room. Life continues. Proof of it is right here in your bedroom, the plants turning carbon dioxide into oxygen for you to breathe with your healthy lungs. You’re fine. You’ll be fine.

Before, you might have dropped in on your grandmother, making her a meal and sharing it in quiet companionship. If Caleb weren’t on a flight mission, you might have asked him to go on a run or to the gym with you, worked off some of this jittery aggression on the mats or by pushing your lungs past their capacity in an effort to leave him laughing in your dust.

But they’re gone now, of course. Victims of the same type of assholes you took down today.

You should be reveling in the success of your mission, but all you can see is the still form of one victim in particular, a snapshot in your memory of their slender wrist, their half-opened hand, lying in the street amongst the glittering shards of glass and scorch marks on the asphalt.

This empty feeling will pass. You know that. You have enough life experience to understand that feelings like this, moods like this, ebb and flow like Rafayel’s tide. So what if it’s harder now, to pull yourself out of them when you find yourself drifting in this sorrowful sea, because your support network has been washed away? That doesn’t mean you’ll feel like this forever. Only that it might take a little longer to drag your tired body off the bed, to refill your empty tank and survive and maybe enjoy another day.

Suddenly, you hear a tapping. You turn your head back to the window. Mephisto is perched on the other side of the glass, gently pecking the pane. He tilts his head and regards you with one glittering red eye.

You haven’t seen Sylus for several weeks now, both of you busy with your respective occupations, and you, doubly busy with the undercover mission. He has sent photos, here and there–blurry pictures of a black cat, a flock of birds in flight against an evening sky, the setting sun’s rays the color of fire and blood. He has asked how you’re doing, and you’ve lied and said you’re fine. He sent you a photo of a glass of wine on a low table near a roaring fire. “You should be here,” he’d captioned it.

Despite all of your complicated feelings about who he is, who he was to you when you first met him, what he does to afford his huge open hearth fireplace and all the finest things in life, you wished you were there with him too.

But you weren’t, and you haven’t been for awhile now. Over the past few weeks, you’ve seen Mephisto in the trees, heard his grating call over the sounds of traffic. But he hasn’t approached you, until today. Normally you would play your typical cat and mouse game with him, or rather, crow and worm, and you’d grab your paintball gun and see how good your aim is as he flaps outside your window, or you’d lure him in with a treat and lock him in the bathroom and wait and see how long it takes Sylus to send Luke and Kieran to set him free. You like to think of it as enrichment activities for both the crow and his owner–you’re not going to make it easy for Sylus to stalk you. He might get bored, after all.

But you just don’t have it in you, today. You slip off the bed and pad to the window, throwing it open. Rain mists your face, drawing goosebumps up your bare arms. Mephisto watches you, and caws softly. You’d call it a coo, if it wasn’t such a horrible sound. Much like his owner’s attempt at a lullaby. You back away, slip back onto the bed. If he’d like to come in, he’s welcome.

You return to staring at your bedroom walls. After a while, you hear the flapping of wings, and suddenly Mephisto lands next to you on the duvet. He shakes his mechanical feathers, and water droplets are flung onto the fabric and the mountain of pillows.

“Thanks, buddy,” you murmur, watching as he uses his beak to groom himself. It’s uncanny, sometimes, how alive-acting he is. Like a real bird. You’ve always wanted a pet. You know that Sylus insists that Mephisto is not a pet, but you really can’t see the difference. Mephisto clearly likes his owner, and does his job dutifully, and sometimes you think, with great pleasure. He drops little destroyed bits of surveillance hardware at Sylus’s feet on occasion, like a real crow bringing something shiny to a human who was previously kind to him. 

Curiously, but without much expectation, you extend your hand to the bird. He hops backward, away from you, but remains on the bed. “May I pet you?” you ask.

He cocks his head, makes soft little chirruping noises in his mechanical throat. You let your hand fall to the duvet, palm up, and close your eyes. It’s nice to have company, in any case.

After a while, you feel him hopping again, and then something cold and smooth hesitantly nudges your palm. You open your eyes. Mephisto is gently pecking your palm. He nudges it, then bobs his head, observing you with his beautiful ruby eye.

“Is that a yes?” you ask. In response, he sits down, nestling into your duvet. You lift your hand, and he lets you run your fingertips along the top of his head and along the smooth, cool metal feathers along his back. 

Every few minutes, he ruffles his feathers and readjusts his position, slowly inching his way closer to you on the bed. Finally, he is resting against your thigh, within easy reach of your hand, head tucked into one of his wings like he’s ready for a nap.

The open window lets the brisk, rainy autumn evening in, and the light slowly fades. Eventually, you manage to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

And this is how Sylus finds you, towards midnight. He lets himself in through your front door, using the fingerprint scanner he reprogrammed to accept his own as well as yours. He enjoyed seeing the look on your face, when you figured out that’s how he had gotten into your apartment without the key you had offered and he had refused. Your angry facial expression is worth more than all of his dragon’s hoard of wealth, in his trustworthy opinion.

He notes that the temperature in your apartment is surprisingly cool, even through the warm wool of his thick black coat. He had sent Mephisto to check on you, but he hasn’t managed to get an update since the bird was tapping at your window, sending back images to Sylus’s phone of you lying on the bed in your sleep clothes, awake, but not looking at your phone or watching your wall-screen, even though it hadn’t even been dinner time yet. He had told himself not to worry, that you were probably just tired after the past grueling month. But now he is worrying. He slides off his black monk strap shoes, and places them neatly along your entryway wall. Despite the faint worry edging up his spine, he takes the time to neatly line up your own hastily kicked off boots next to his, because he also worries that you’re going to trip and break your neck one of these days on all the shit you just leave scattered around on your floor, too exhausted to immediately tidy them up and put them away.

He makes his way through your dark apartment, picking up discarded clothing and folding them over his arm to put in your laundry basket, and quietly steps into your bedroom. 

No wonder it’s cold in here–your window is wide open. It’s no longer raining, but the chill night air drifts into your bedroom and stirs the leaves of your indoor plants. You’re buried in your duvet, curled around an equally nestled Mephisto, who deigns to lift his head from where he had it tucked under his wings. He caws softly, as if to tell Sylus to be quiet and to not wake Sylus’s sweet little Hunter.

“This is dereliction of duty,” Sylus quietly scolds the bird, lifting the lid of your laundry basket next to your closet and neatly putting the clothes inside. He goes to the window and shuts it, and then draws the gauzy as well as the blackout curtains against the night outside. He returns to the living room, hangs up his coat, and brings a glass of water back to your bedroom.

He leans over the bed and pokes Mephisto. “You’re in my spot.” The bird puffs up his feathers a little in indignation and caws quietly.

“Nope, out. You’ve had your turn.” Sylus prods him again, and finally Mephisto ruffles his wings, hops to his feet, and flaps off to the living room, making disgruntled noises as he goes. Sylus sympathizes, but doesn’t feel guilty at all for dislodging him from your side. It’s Sylus’s turn now.

He slips out of his slacks, pulls his sweater and undershirt over his head, and slides under the blanket next to you. You sigh in your sleep, frowning a little, and Sylus runs his finger between your eyebrows, smoothing the furrow there. If he could, he’d reach into your dreams and crush anything that would cause such an expression on your face in his bare hands. Unfortunately, that’s not one of the perks of the aether core in his eye. He settles for plastering his body against your back and wrapping an arm around you, running his nose along your neck and inhaling the scent of your hair. The distance between Linkon City and the N109 zone is getting harder and harder for him to handle gracefully.

While you’ve been busy taking down the low level morons playing at being arms smugglers, Sylus has also been busy for the past few weeks, negotiating deals, consolidating his power, tightening his grip in his efforts to acquire a monopoly on the illegal protocore arms trade in both the N109 zone and Linkon City. He’s making progress, but his work is not yet done. He’s tired, and he has spent every day of the past month missing you. Now that he knows your latest mission is over, he intends to soak in your presence for as long as you’re available, before he has to head back out into the cold gloom without you again.

Sylus closes his eyes. Just for a moment. He’ll check in on some online auctions in a few minutes, review the stock market moves of the day and reconsider investments, but for just this moment, he’ll hold you in his arms, and warm your cold hands in his warm palms.

And that’s how you find yourself waking up in the early hours of the morning, a big warm body pressed against yours. You blink, note the time of two in the morning. You reach out and feel around, setting your bedside lamp to its dimmest setting so that you can see in the pitch-black room. You turn your head, and find Sylus’s sleeping face on the pillow next to yours, looking more peaceful than he ever appears when awake. The furrow between his brows is almost nonexistent, and his mouth is soft, plush lips parted a little. In this moment, you can imagine him as a little boy, angelic in sleep, mischievous while awake. Your heart hurts a little, imagining what kind of life that little boy had to endure to become the sleeping panther next to you tonight.

You turn fully, brush your nose against his, and then cuddle into him, head tucked into his neck. You breathe him in. He smells like warm, sleepy Sylus, a little sweaty under the duvet. You resist the urge to lick him.

“This is the best way to wake up from a nap,” his hoarse, sleep-filled voice vibrates through you.

You laugh softly. “Good, because this is the only package we offer tonight. No refunds.”

“I wouldn’t dream of returning this experience.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

You both lie like that for a while, the sound of the wind outside and your combined quiet breathing the only sounds filtering through the room.

You had fallen asleep feeling empty, but waking up with this elusive man in your bed has you feeling sated. Refueled. Full. You sigh. How is it possible that a man who is responsible for the same things as those assholes you apprehended yesterday can make you feel like this? You remember that person lying in the street, eyes that will never see again, a parent who will never come home again. As if they were just sleeping. But as you stood over them, you knew better–your heart was the gravity well of a black hole, and you felt like you would fold in on yourself from the weight. If only you had been a little quicker, a little cleverer. If only you could disintegrate another human being like Sylus can, with just a gesture. You could have disappeared the assholes who were responsible for this person’s death, an entire life, someone’s baby at some point, brought into the world with love and effort and surviving each and every day, right up until the day you found yourself standing over them, as they lay broken in the street. And they died, for what? For some senseless, stupid feud over money? Turf? A feud they had absolutely nothing to do with. Fuck . You’re feeling sick again.

You burrow deeper into Sylus’s warmth.

“Speak,” Sylus says.

You pull back slightly and look up into his sleep-bleary face.

“Speak?”

“Are we a parrot tonight?” He smiles, eyes heavy-lidded.

“A parrot?”

“And a comedian, ladies and gentlemen,” he leans forward, nuzzles your nose with his.

“Don’t get too close, I probably have morning breath,” you murmur.

“Ah, so you can formulate your own thoughts.” He nuzzles the side of your mouth. “Do I look like a give a fuck if you have morning breath? I probably do too.”

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then you yawn, widely. 

He runs his hand down your side and pinches your hip. You yelp.

“Don’t change the subject,” he commands. “Tell me what’s on your mind. I can hear it racing from here–I’m pretty sure it’s what woke me up from my pleasant nap.”

“Oh, did I disturb his royal highness’s beauty sleep?”

“Yes, so you owe me. The compensation is telling me what had you staring into the void yesterday, and what made you sound so sad just now while enjoying being wrapped in my extraordinary arms. Many people would pay a lot to be in the position you’re in right now,” he says smugly.

“Yes, in order to slit your throat.”

He huffs. You note that he’s wrong; you’re probably the only one with morning breath. He somehow manages to just smell good. Toothpaste and mouth. You want to lick his teeth. “You’re probably not wrong.” He pauses. “Please talk to me. I’ve gotten used to hearing your worries. You can shut everyone else out, but I don’t like it when you shut me out too.”

You roll away from him, but his arm around you prevents you from going far. You glance at your windows, but the blackout curtains block even the city lights. 

“I’ve just. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things over the past few weeks.”

“Uh oh. Nothing ever good comes from that,” he teases. You swat him in the chest. His body shakes with quiet laughter.

“Do you want to know or not?” you gripe.

“It’s not my fault that you didn’t make it clear that you won’t be accepting editorial commentary at this time. But I’ve learned my lesson. Continue.”

You throw your arm over your eyes and laugh. You can’t help it. Even when you’re feeling at your worst, this man manages to make you laugh. But you feel guilty for laughing, because the person you can’t get out of your head, this stranger who you were unable to save, will never laugh again. You hate it.

You sigh. “I’ve always struggled with the fact that my evol seems to have only a support function. Like, I often need a partner in order to be optimally effective in battle against wanderers, because otherwise it’s just me and whatever my physical talents are. Which, though amazing,” you sniff, “are often just, not enough when dealing with the kind of creatures that I often have to deal with.” You fall silent, imagining if you could set shit on fire like Rafayel without resorting to a flamethrower, or freezing a swathe of enemies all at once like Zayne. The battles you would wage would be epic.

“And I’m obviously competent at eliminating wanderers–I can usually arrive before the damage occurs. I can actually help people. And wanderers, they’re not like human perpetrators. They have no ill intent. They’re like animals, driven by instinct. Even when I do arrive too late, it feels more like a natural disaster than a malicious injustice. Of course, it’s still awful when someone dies for something so senseless, but that’s been the case for all of humanity’s history in the face of stronger predators.” Your mind races. You’re trying so hard to articulate what has been weighing on you. “But that’s only one part of my job. The other side of it, the side that involves going after humans with ill-intent, that’s a lot more complicated. So often, I arrive after the damage has already been done. I feel like the cleanup crew, completely useless to the normal people who just are trying to get through the day who get caught up in other peoples’ cruelty. It’s not like evil assholes announce their arrival with a metaflux fluctuation like wanderers do. I’m just.. too late, too often.” You try to imagine everything you’d do if you had Sylus’s power. You’d probably turn into a supervillain too, to be honest.

You fall quiet again. Sylus props his head on his hand and runs a finger along your clavicle with his free hand. You enjoy the feel of his calloused fingertip along your skin.

“And what else? I’m sensing there’s more to this story.”

You don’t want to hurt him. But you also don’t want to lie to him. “I just can’t reconcile the fact that I spent the last month tracking down the arms smugglers that I managed to catch yesterday, and I’d have gladly killed them if given half a chance. If I could snap my fingers like you, and just fucking annihilate them. But here I am, lying here in bed, with you.” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the face as you say this.

You feel Sylus’s fingers begin to trail up your forearm and gently encircle your wrist, pulling your arm away from your eyes. You turn and look into his face. 

“I’m certainly glad you’re not in bed with them now, sweetheart,” he says drily. “I don’t think there would be room for all of us, what with your army of plushies and my impressive physique.”

You groan.

“So let me get this straight. You’re upset because you feel like your skills aren’t sufficient to protect every single person who is in need of help. You’re upset that you can’t kill with a thought. And you’re upset because you would have killed these guys, who are in the same business as me, but you refuse to do the same to me?”

It sounds so simple, succinctly listed like that, for how heavy your heart feels. For the emptiness you felt, instead of triumph, after successfully protecting a lot of people over the last month, and getting a few more petty dealers off the street so they can't contribute to hurting anyone else in the future.

The bit about Sylus being the same as those criminals, without meeting their fate, on the other hand. That doesn’t sound simple at all.

You nod. “Instead of feeling like I did well, and taking the free time I have after I’ve completed a job to enjoy myself, or do something that makes me happy, all I can do is think about all the ways I failed, or how could have done it better, or how I’m still not doing everything I should be doing to help people. That’s why I was …staring at the void, as you put it. I couldn’t imagine one thing that I wanted to do with the free evening I had.”

Sylus pokes you in the forehead. “I knew you were arrogant, and greedy. I just never realized how much until this moment,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

You jerk back from his touch. “I pour my heart out to you, and you call me arrogant and greedy?” He lifts his eyebrows at your outburst. “The fuck, Sylus?”

“Quiet, or you’ll wake Mephisto.” He drapes an arm back over you and pulls you back into his warmth.

“Oh nooo, wouldn’t want to wake your mechanical murder bird,” you bite out, but quietly. You feel like you have a new understanding with Mephisto now that he let you pet him and you shared a nap with him. It’s not his fault that his owner is an insensitive asshole.

“No, we wouldn’t,” he agrees placidly. “Would you care to know why I am rightfully pointing out that your attitude about what you 'should' be capable of is arrogant and greedy? Or do you just want to stay upset about it for a little longer? I can wait.”

You scowl at him. “Oh, I’m happy to wait if you keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

You put your palm on his face and push him away. He rolls away with a soft laugh.

“Just tell me,” you grumble. “And then go home. I’m suddenly not feeling like company anymore.”

“Hmm,” he props himself back up on his hand. “You have an incredibly powerful aether core in your heart, one that is coveted by countless people.” He rests his other hand over your heart as he speaks. “You've recently increased its power by absorbing the power of another aether core. You can heal other evolvers, resonate with them to exponentially increase their power, and probably do a lot more than you’re aware of yet. You’ve probably not even scratched the surface of what it can do for you.” 

You look away, but enjoy the press of his palm against you.

“You have extraordinary physical capabilities–I’m not just patronizing you when I said that I’d rather have you at my back than anyone else I know, even without your evol.” He reaches for your cheek, and gently tilts your head to look at him again. His wine-dark gaze drifts over your face. “And you’re not the only Hunter in the Association. If only one person were capable of doing your job, there would be no Association at all. You can’t expect to be one-hundred percent successful, one-hundred percent of the time. Not even I am greedy enough to feel like I should be able to have that kind of success rate. And I’m also not arrogant enough to expect that of myself. I can’t run Onychinus alone. I rely on many subordinates and competent people to take care of the business when my attention is elsewhere.” He looks at you pointedly, as if you’re the elsewhere slurping up all of his attention.

You blow a raspberry at him.

More quickly than you thought he could move, he snatches your tongue between his thumb and forefinger and gently wags it. His skin is salty. “Da thuck, Thylus?”

“Keep it in your mouth if you don’t want me to take it,” he wags it once more, as if to emphasize his point, and then lets go. “Next time I won’t give it back.”

You suppress the urge to just slobber all over his face in retaliation.

“So yes. I find the expectations you have for yourself to be arrogant and greedy, and entirely excessive. Do you think that your colleagues are failures, or haven't done enough, when they return from missions that went tits up, or when they failed to protect one hundred percent of those threatened?"

You scowl. Of course not. You know that they work their asses off to the best job they can. You'd never think less of them for having a bad day, or a bad mission. For people dying on their watch. But they're not you.

"Kitten, you’re doing your best, with everything you have in you. The world is cruel, and so are the people in it. You can’t control that. But you can control what you do about that cruelty. You're already fighting as hard as you can--too hard, if you want my valuable opinion."

"Trying as hard as I can with as much hardware and bodywork I can exploit. But it's just no the same as having your evol," you grumble. You might be slightly jealous of Sylus's power. Just slightly. 

Sylus huffs, sounding a little impatient. "If it's not enough for you to be a walking grenade launcher, and you're frustrated that you can’t disintegrate those you want to eliminate with a snap of your fingers, just bring me with you. You can control me, and I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”

You just stare at him, mouth hanging open a little. He lifts his hand and chucks you under your chin with his thumb to close it. “Why so shocked?”

“Aside from the fact that you just offered to murder for me?” you ask, shaking your head a little.

“I already have murdered for you. I’d do a lot more than that, for you.” He pulls you into his side again and rests his head on your shoulder. “So don’t be too greedy. You're already very talented at what you do. You have control over the most powerful person in the N109 zone. The people you work to protect every single day are lucky that you are on the Association’s side, and not anyone else’s. You can’t save the entire world from injustice. But you can continue doing your best, with your already impressive skills, to protect as many people as you can. And if anyone tries to tell you that what you’re doing isn’t enough, you can send them to me. Including yourself. I will take care of them for you.”

You turn your head and rest your cheek in his silky hair. You breathe deeply and feel your heart settle in your chest. You notice that he hasn’t addressed the fact that he’s involved in the same business as the people you took down yesterday. But you don’t care. You know, somehow, in the calm beating of your heart, that he isn’t anything like them. He isn’t anything like them at all.

Your thoughts drift to a slender wrist, to an open palm. You will never forget this person. Hopefully you can honor them, in some small way, by continuing to force yourself to look, and not surrendering to the horror of it. You will keep going. Maybe next time, you'll arrive in time. You hope it is enough. And you'll also try to hear what Sylus is telling you. All you can give is your everything. No one can ask more of you than that, even if it's you who is asking.

As you continue rubbing your cheek in his hair like a cat, he speaks again. "And as for you not arresting me... or taking advantage of your position and slitting my throat." You freeze. You thought maybe you could just pretend you hadn't expressed this worry tonight. "Have you ever considered the possibility that, in order to treat an infection, it's not sufficient to just address the symptoms?"

For a second you feel like you can hear Zayne coming out of Sylus's mouth, and you're totally weirded out. "What do you mean?" you reluctantly ask.

"Sometimes, the only way to destroy a rotten core is to work from the inside out. It's not enough to desperately amputate the affected limbs. And that kind of work requires getting your hands dirty."

You feel like he just told you something very important. But you can also sense that he won't explain anything else tonight. This is the closest the two of you have ever gotten to actually discussing the substance of his work, and you're satisfied with that. The certainty you felt before, about him being utterly different than the others, settles deeper into your bones. You relax into him again.

“And your last worry. About not knowing what to do with yourself when you’ve completed something extraordinary, and find yourself with some free time on your hands… just call me. We can figure out what to do together.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything. If you do, you might start crying and not be able to stop. He is everything you needed tonight. You just press closer into him, hoping he can hear everything you can’t say out loud yet.

“So, still not feeling like company anymore?” Sylus asks, after you’ve sat in peaceful silence for a few moments. “Or am I allowed to stay?”

“Would you go even if I asked you to?” You reach up and run your fingers through his soft hair, and he makes a pleased noise deep in his throat.

“If I thought that was what you really wanted, sweetheart.”

And you believe him.

[thezeninclan]

darling

author note: this fic contains depictions of DDLG, which may be taboo or triggering to some readers. however, there is neither sexual content nor hint of sexual content. please read at your own discretion.  

from the moment he had talked to you, nanami kento already knew what kind of day it had been. 

he had phoned a few hours earlier, when you were both on your lunch breaks— having long ago aligned your busy work schedules to free up enough time to have a quick chat over a quick sandwich or even quicker bowl of soup. you had answered on the first ring, that was already a surprise. it usually took you a few rings to answer, to save whatever documents you had been working on and wiggle out of the main room with the excuse of a bathroom break or an energy drink run, trying to get just one small bit of privacy.  trying to mask the sounds of sniffling that he could recognise a mile away. you had sounded so small, so sad, so hollow, a plastron of the woman he loved, and it had taken everything in him not to march down there and unleash a curse that would have sent your boss running. 

instead he had listened as you spoke, as you tried not to cry, gripping the leg of his pants so tightly his knuckles had blanched. he had hated hearing you like that, so sad and tired and too far to be soothed by a long hug or a kiss to the temple. you had cried for a moment, and though it had only been a soft moment of muffled cries the sound had seemed as striking as the crash of broken glass. 

nanami left work on time for once, not even a thought of overtime crossing through his mind. not today, not when it was obvious how much you needed him. he took the train to the market, where he easily gathered up the things that he’d need for dinner, having already mentally tallied up a list of ingredients. it was a short walk home from the market, the cold chill in the air making him glad to have brought a heavier coat that day.

by the time he got home, the sun was long ago set— not a trace of sunlight to brighten the blue-black sky. on a normal day a cold winter night would be your favourite. it’s likely that he’d find you sitting before a roaring fire, a pot of tea steaming beside you, a movie on the tv or a book in your hand. but tonight, your shared apartment was cold.

you were curled up on the sofa, snoozing softly under a layer of thick blankets, one of which was laid over a wrinkled cardigan he had worn the day before. nanami set down the groceries before moving to the sofa and sitting gently down beside you and laying a hand on your shoulder. the floor around the couch was littered with balled up tissues and the remnant of an old tissue box.

you moaned softly as you woke up, looking at him over the lip of the blanket with bleary, tired eyes. “kento.” you said, smiling weakly. your nose and cheeks had pinkened from crying, your hands squeezing into the fabric of his shirt as you nuzzled your face against his side. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“of course, darling.” he said. your body curled against his, like a puppy laying around a stuffed toy.

your eyebrows rose instinctively, the word instantly striking you where he knew it would. “darling?” you repeated, seeming almost breathless. your grip tightened, eyes going wide as you looked up at him, pretty and bright as a doe, looking so cute against your little pink nose.

“well?” he said, one hand lifting your chin so your lips could meet his, the other resting gently on your shoulder. his breath was so warm, his kiss so gentle, as he brushed his lips gently against yours, the ghost of a kiss. “you are my darling, aren’t you?”

“yes daddy.” you replied at once, no hesitation in your voice.

“I picked up some things for you.” said nanami.

you perked up, “a present?”

he chuckled, reaching for the bag he had set on the coffee table. “of course, darling. don’t you think you deserve it?”

you bobbed your head and he smiled. you always were such a good girl, even when you didn’t know it. “but first—“ he said, hand pausing as he reached for the bag. “why don’t you go on and get changed before dinner? your cozy pyjamas, I think.”

you nodded enthusiastically, practically running to your bedroom. while you were gone he cleared off the table and began to set out your things. a brand new colouring book and a set of unmarred crayons, a stuffed frog plush toy, a pair of fuzzy blue socks, and the mid sized jewelry box that had been in his jacket pocket all day. he moved on to the fireplace, rearranging the logs to create a ring that caught fire easily as he lit it.

you returned quickly, smiling happily as you did a little spin for him, modeling your clothes to loving eyes. you had shed your work clothes in favour of a knee length nightgown of soft pink, a pair of comfortable lounge pants, and a pair of rainbow slippers with little unicorn horns on the toes. you hadn’t been so comfortable since...well, since the last time he had called you darling and come home with a new toy for you.

you looked so pretty, but most of all you looked happy, and that’s what kento wanted most of all.

“feeling a little better?” he asked. you nodded enthusiastically, sliding into his lap and laying your arms around his neck like a wreath. you sat upon his knee and nuzzled against him, your nose cold against the column of his throat. it was such a relief to be near him at all, let alone this close to him. it was all you had ached for all day long.

“much, much better.” you agreed. “just cold.”

“this morning the weatherman said there’s a front on the way, make sure you carry your mittens with you. you know how your hands get cold.” he said, using a free hand to poke persistently at the fire with the poker, which his other hand held you around the waist, holding you steady. “we can take a bath later, if you’d like.”

you nodded hard. “w-will you wash my hair?” you asked. 

he smiled easily, “of course, darling. after dinner.”

your interest was piqued, and as if on queue your stomach rumbled loudly. “dinner?” you asked nervously, wondering what he had planned.  

kento frowned, the wrinkles between his eyebrows appearing as his brows drew tight. “have you eaten today?” you didn’t answer, already knowing what was coming. “honey...” he started.

“I...I was really busy at work.” you interrupted, cheeks flushing. “I had to work through lunch and tanaka asked me to-” 

your eyes squeezed closed tightly, remembering earlier when your boss had yelled at you, when the contractor had yelled at you, when your parents had— 

“I know, darling.” he muttered, his knee jumping gently beneath you to interrupt you gently. his hand squeezed yours, bringing you back to earth with a soft touch. it was his specialty, so strong yet so soft when it came to you. he brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear and leaning forward to bump his forehead against yours. “it’s very important that you eat every meal. I worry about you, after all. tomorrow, I’ll pack your bento for you. I’ll check it when you get home, so make sure you eat everything.” you nodded, bashful. “even your cauliflower.” he teased, knowing your distaste for the veggie. 

“now, come dear. I brought home karaage.” 

you ate dinner together at the table, your chair pulled right beside his despite the length of the table, and held hands the entire time. you could barely eat you were so happy, feeling the way his shoulder moved beneath your head as you leaned on him, the way he’d switch hands periodically so he could use his chopsticks or hold his tea. he smelled so good, his cologne just strong enough for you to smell as you leaned up against him. 

he disappeared for a moment after dinner, and you could hear the bath running and you shook your head wondering when he had switched on the boiler. soon he returned, with your bathrobe over his arm and a book in the other. he helped you undress, holding your arm as you slipped one leg out of your pants and making sure you didn’t tip over. 

kento slid the robe over your shoulders, holding your hand as he led you to the bath. that was your husband, stable, firm, trustworthy. he was someone you could trust no matter what, who you could trust to the ends of the earth. he’d never hurt you. he’d never hurt you. 

the bath was the perfect temperature as you slid in, the scent of rosewater and lavender wafting through the steam as you sat there. nanami sat at the edge of the tub, running his hand through the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot. he handed you your book, once you had made yourself comfortable, leaning against the water pillow. your eyebrows raised at the title, excited to find that he had given you the third in the harry potter series, your favorite. 

you read aloud from the book, giggling as you felt him sit behind you on the lip of the tub. he had rolled his pants up around his knees and cuffed his shirt, reaching for the bottle of shampoo from the shelf. his fingers were nimble and quick as he worked through the knots of your hair, his fingers strong yet gentle as they massage your scalp. it felt so good, the way he moved down from your head to your neck, to your shoulders and back. you weren’t sure how long had passed before the bubbles in your bath had started to pop and evaporate, the boiler switching off and leaving you chilly and pruney. 

nanami drained the water and swept you up into his strong arms, carrying you as easily as he might carry a bag. he enveloped you in the fluffy warmth of your towel, hand drying your hair after brushing it. he set you down in your bed, and you realized with a jolt that he had changed the sheets. you sighed, content. it was always a surprise how sweet your husband was, even though it shouldn’t have been. he had proved it for years, how affectionate he could be, how loving he was, how he was always willing to step into the shoes of the person you needed most. 

you curled up beside him in bed after he changed into his night clothes, your toes curling up against the leg of his pants. your day had transformed easily, from a nightmare that had your head buried in your hands, your brain nearly bursting with the ache that felt like it might split it apart. you crept closer to him, until you had nearly draped yourself across his body, tangling your fingers in his and resting your head against his chest. 

“I love you, daddy.” you sighed, eyes brimming with tears. you should feel his heart beating against your ear, the way it nearly skipped at the sound of those words. you held his hand tightly, squeezing, to try and convey the way you felt, to try to make him understand. 

kento leaned close to kiss your forehead softly as he flipped off the light on the nightstand. “I love you too, baby girl.” he said. “you have no idea how much.” 

[simstorian-blog]

Residential Floorplan Suggestions

New York City: TWO

(CC List + Links)

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Spice Market – Waterside Warble

Lot Size:  30 x 30

Capacity:

A Dive Bar

An Internet Café

A Pizzeria

A Tattoo Parlor

Bonus: 6 residential rental units floorplans completed – not assigned

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

City Living

Discover University

For Rent

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dine Out

Dream Home Decorator

Jungle Adventure

Outdoor Retreat

Parenthood

Spa Day

Star Wars: Journey to Batuu

Strangerville

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Stuff Packs

Crystal Creations

Home chef Hustle

Laundry Day

Moschino

Kits

Castle Estate

Courtyard Oasis

Cozy Bistro

Desert Luxe

Recommended Gameplay Mods

(Please read through what each mod has to offer before deciding if it fits your gameplay style or not.)

Carl’s Dine Out Reloaded

City Vibes Lot Traits

Functional Tattoo Parlor

Functional Venue Lot Traits

Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

Spawn Refresh

Use Residential Rentals shared areas as Community Lots & Create Multi-Purpose Community Lots

Build Mode

CharlyPancakes

Chalk Pt.2 (Tiles)

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 1 (Stone Foundation)

Chateau Pt. 2 (Doors, Metal Pieces, Tiles, Walls)

Colonial Pt. 3 (Fence 2, Plaster Foundation 2, Railing 2)

Florence Pt. 1 (Fresco Mural)

Grove Pt. 4 (Plaster Column, Plaster Floor)

London Interior (Dining Chair, Stool, Walls)

Paris (Cartouche Large, Corbel, Swag)

Schwerin (Terracotta Female)

SOHO Pt. 2

SOHO Pt. 3

SOHO Pt. 4

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 2 (Traditional Door Frame – Med, Traditional Door – Med, Traditional Window 2 - Med)

Coastal Pt. 2 (Column)

Klean Pt. 3 (Concrete Floor, Painted Walls)

Kwatei Pt. 1 (3x1 BiFold, Double Arch, Single Interior Door)

Mutske

Stairs Add-on

Lijoue

Louer Collection (Iron Fence, Railing, Stone Stairs)

Peacemaker

Bistro Expanded (Awning 1x1)

Graffiti Mural 01

Pierisim

Winter Garden Pt. 2 (Double Door High, High Window w Bottom x2)

Sooky88

Checkered Marble Floor

English Country Wall Set (Subway Tiles, Subway Tiles w Wallpaper)

Scandinavian Wall Set (Plain w Tiles)

Syboubou

Neighborly 1 (Ceiling Outdoor Light, Mailbox)

Neighborly 2 (Interphone)

Buy Mode

AroundTheSims4

Laundromat (Seating x3 – Metal Base)

Tattoo Parlor (First Aid Kits, Gloves, Ink, Ink Display, Light, Saddle Stool, Tattoo Gun)

Cepzid

Functional Tattoo Chair

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 1 (Curtain – Tall)

SOHO Pt. 1

Harlix

Baysic (Coffee Table, container, End Table, Kitchen Cabinet, Kitchen Counter, Kitchen Island, Kitchen Sink, Kitchen Trolley, Kitchen Accent Counter 1-3, Sofa)

Jardane (Leather Pouffe)

Kichen (Cabinet, Cups, Glasses, Plant, Shelf)

Kichen 2.0 Pt. 2 (Glasses 2 & 4)

Harrie

Shop The Look 1 (Armchair, Coffee Table)

Shop The Look 2 (Ceramic Side Table)

Shop The Look 3 (Circular Cushion)

Spoons Pt. 2 (2 Tile Glass Pedastal- Short & Tall, Counters, Espresso Bar, Island, Pastry Platter, Pizza Board, Shelving)

Kiwisims4

Blockhouse Dining (Booth Seating)

KKB

The Chilling Home (Module Bar Stool)

LittlleDica

Greasy Foods (Napkins, Salt Shaker, Stalls Door, Stalls Wall, Vents, Wet Floor Sign)

Modern Kitchen Stuff (Soft Breeze)

Rise & Grind (Décor Mural 2, Décor Syrup Bottle, Décor Wall Painting Menu, Dining Tables – All, Wastebun Counter)

Max20

Happily Ever After (Sign of Attention)

NANDO

Fashion Store (Ceiling Lamp)

Pierisim

Coldbrew Coffee Shop Pt. 3 (Menu, Paper Cup, Tea Box, Tips Jar)

MCM Pt. 1 (Simstudio Display)

MCM Pt. 4 (Kitchen Island)

Ravasheen

Shake and Shimmy Dance Floor

Shop Chef (Drink Dispenser)

Severinka

Industrial Light II

Simkoos

Clutter Dump Pt. 2  (Boba Notepad, Boba Stacked Cups V1, Cafeteria Straw Dispenser)

SimspirationBuilds

Toffee Pt. 1 (Art)

Syboubou

Catherine Sushi Restaurant (Wall Shelf 1 & 3)

Contemporary Haven (Armchair, Artworks, End Table, Sofa 3P Left)

Macaron (Counter Display)

TaurusDesign

Lilith Chilling Area Pt. 1 (Bartender Kit, All Drinks, SulSul Sign)

Tuds

Cave (Panel Light 2 x 4)

IND 01

IND 03

Turn Couch

Wondymoon

Fraxinus AIO Computer (DL on Patreon)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[literaila]

PETER PARKER ANGST????❤️🫡🛬🤭😍🗣🙀🫡😀🫡🫶😀😟🫶😟❤️ (if you dont write it ill sob violently on the floor ☹️)

we could call it even

tasm!peter x fem!reader

summary:

"peter parker," she says, "you're like a legend around here."

warnings: unspecified angst, series, no fluff, no explanation

a/n: might i introduce a playlist entitled stupid boy which i listened to while writing this (and the other parts????)

*

there's a specific time of night that is appropriate to go to the market. 

or inappropriate, depending on how old you are. 

if you're in your sixties and sometimes feel like your joints are just notches that need to be oiled, midnight probably isn't your designed time for grocery shopping. seven in the morning is typically the best time for swollen lungs and--literal--broken hearts. 

but if you're you, exhausted from running around all day, unpleasant from all of the people you've talked to, and trying to avoid anyone (everyone) you might know--and secrets you don't feel like sharing--then midnight is a perfect time. and perfectly normal, thank you very much.

you're not even sure why meyer's is open this late. there's no way the owner, jerry, is staying up until midnight to check out the lowlifes or drunk teenagers stopping by, and you know that these aren't prime business hours--evident by the crickets you can hear behind the 'fresh produce' section. maybe he forgets that it's open, and that susan--the only person willing to work here--is still on the clock. or maybe he's just taking pity on you. you don’t think he’s ever there, but maybe he hides around corners, noting the new lines on your face so he can report it back to every person in town. gossip is like a disease, and you’re never alone in a place like this. never quite at peace. 

you look around the next shelf for jerry, or a gust of wind that follows him running away. there’s only silence. the echoes of your footsteps. 

it doesn't matter why meyer’s is open. you're thankful for this time alone. or at least by yourself.

it's a welcome change to have no one judge you for your selection of deli cheese and baked goods. or the three containers of instant coffee you've hidden underneath it all. just out of habit. 

tuesday nights are yours, and the market is your chosen domain. 

usually, that is. usually, you're all alone. usually, you can run around on the carts and pick up anything you accidentally knock over. you can spill an entire bottle of wine on the floor and no one will blink an eye. jerry wouldn’t even be able to hear it from three feet away.

but tonight--on this tuesday when your feet hurt a little bit more than necessary, and your eyes are twitching at all of the lights--apparently you're not alone. 

which you wished you would have realized before you started humming 'single ladies' a bit too loudly. 

you wished you would have skipped shopping at all, really, as soon as you see his face. 

his wide eyes--surprised and silvered by age, much like yours--and his open mouth.

in a different world, you would be shocked--shocked instead of scared--and you might run to him. you might ask him why he didn't tell you he was coming? what is he doing here? in a different world, you two would be the only people in the market and it would be fine. 

it might even be great. 

this subtle shift in autonomy wouldn’t hurt the peace you’re looking for on this tuesday night.

there wouldn't be this obvious horror story standing between the two of you, this looming presence. the history of a thousand lies, bruise after bruise, and scars so red that they could burn through the ground. glass shattered around your feet.

the lights might as well start flickering. you should probably call out "hello?" even though he's right in front of you, and if he was going to murder you, he probably wouldn't answer. a door should creak. 

you should probably go. 

you should probably run away before he can take a step closer. you don't look a threat in the eye and smile at it. you don't feed a stray cat. 

it always comes back. 

why is he here? 

you take a step away. as soon as you notice him--behind, between, all over you--silence ensues. you might as well be at a loss for words. you don't have much to say to him. 

not to that look in his eyes, or his receding hairline, or that peak on his mouth. 

because peter would be here. at this time. and he would be trying to hide a smile, a smirk, when he's not even supposed to be within a five-hundred-foot vicinity of you. 

actually, maybe you forgot to mail that restraining order. 

but the words come out anyway because your body has always betrayed you when it comes to him. 

"peter?" you blurt out, and just saying the word stirs the simmering feeling inside of you. just saying his name is enough of a warning. 

"hey," he whispers and takes a step closer. you step back. he leans away like he knows his proximity is toxic. "sorry, i didn't mean to scare you." 

i didn't mean to. 

and yet. 

you breathe and forget how to blink. he might disappear. "peter," you repeat, as a form of masochism. you don't breathe at all. 

"sorry," he says, again. he doesn't say what for. there could be a million things. 

"um," you choke out, looking around--away from him and his manipulative eyes. "what?" you laugh to yourself, hand running over your face. you roll your eyes back into your head and laugh again. you shake your head. 

you look at peter, at his furrowed brow and inward stance, and you snort. look away from him before it's too late. 

you're laughing like something is funny. it's not. 

it's really not. 

"are you..." peter is swallowing. you'd like to pretend that his voice is hollow and cold, much like that cave inside your chest, but it's not. you recognize that concern, that softness in his voice that used to be just yours. "are you okay?" 

you almost giggle at him. it comes out as more of a cough. 

you wonder if you look like a ghost. some remanent of who you used to be--the person that only peter used to know.

"peter," you sigh, and step away from your cart. into the shelf you've been backing yourself into. 

you step away from him, still shaking your head. 

"i've got to--" you trip as you turn around and say to mostly yourself, "i've got to go." 

groceries, and peter, be damned, you think, as you walk out of the building and prepare yourself to never ever come back. 

it wouldn't be the first time. 

*

you are having your daily debate with mrs. brooke about the amount of calories in each pastry, in which you tell her that you only measure the amount of pleasure someone might get out of each one—which earns you a lovely sneer—and that she should try the blueberry scone. 

she always rolls her eyes at you, says something about watching her weight even though she’s looked the same since you were five years old and sneaking through her yard to catch the neighborhood cat. and then she leaves with a breakfast sandwich. 

it’s actually one of the most enjoyable parts of your day. 

here’s the thing about knowing every single person that comes into the shop: you know exactly what they’re going to order, and you know what type of conversation you’re going to have with them. 

mrs. brooke always stresses about her breakfast, her smile a tense sort of pleasant, but by the time she leaves her head is held a little higher. if she chooses the sandwich instead of the scone, then she’s started her day off right. you used to feel exasperated by her indecisive nature, but now you find it kind of adorable. 

mr. meyer—jerry—just comes in so he can complain about the surplus of options on your menu. he wants a black coffee, and he wants to complain. you always smile at him and ask if he’s sure he doesn’t want to try the raspberry green tea. he finds this less than humorous. 

every kid wants some kind of hot chocolate—which you actually have an excessive amount of—and no matter what their parents say, you sneak some extra marshmallows in. and everyone pretends otherwise. 

susan—your kindergarten teacher, now friend—asks if you’ve met anyone special lately. it doesn’t matter that the selection of single people your age is always the same. there’s got to be someone special, she says to you and leaves with a cider she tells everyone is a latte. 

there are the people who want their lattes and mochas, those who want some alternative milk that they complain about—even though you’ve tried every brand on earth—there are the people who don’t ever buy anything, and just come in to pretend they want something and talk to you. they gossip about the other people in town as if you aren’t well aware of everything that goes on.

you roll your eyes, but you appreciate the company. things get pretty boring when you can guess everyone’s schedule. 

but you like your tiny tea shop. you like the consistency. you enjoy the smiles you throw out, and the complaints you receive. it’s a routine, and nothing goes wrong. you're in control of this one thing, and that's just how you like it. 

in control, that is, of course, until you see him when mrs. brooke is walking away. 

“oh!” she says, pausing, her drink shaking in hand, her pink fingernails a smudge against the shadow suddenly coming from right in front of you. she is just a foot too close to him. “is that peter parker?” she asks, saying his voice like an omen, turning around so she can set her cup and bag down, and then hugging him so hard you can see her muscles working beneath her sleeve. 

“hey, mrs. brooke,” peter wheezes out, a strangled smile on his aged face. his same eyes.

he is just as surprised as you at her sudden outburst, the cooing noises she's making as she attempts to crumble him.

“look how handsome you’ve gotten! and so strong. what are those new yorkers doing with you?” 

“definitely not trying to squeeze me to death.” 

mrs. brooke laughs, somewhat vindictively, and she turns back around to look at you, with wide eyes. “did you know he was in town, dear? why didn’t you say anything? i almost had a heart attack.” 

peter clears his throat before you can throw any type of face on. any mask. “it’s a surprise,” he mock whispers, and his eyes dash to yours, then away, just as quick. “don’t tell anyone.” 

“it’s not like they’d believe me anyway,” she scoffs, “you’re a legend around here.” 

“i’m honored.” 

she laughs again, then grabs her cup. “oh,” she whispers, too loud. her eyes are tight, as if she’s intruded. “of course. i’ll leave and let you two talk.” 

and within a blink of an eye, she is running out of the shop, faster than you’ve ever seen anyone escape from here. 

and peter is there, standing in front of you. his face is smooth, calm, his eyes roaming over your face like he still has the privilege of knowing any of it. 

and your heart might be racing, if it was still there. 

"hi," he whispers. it is quiet enough for you to feel it in your chest. his voice and the memory of it. 

does he sound different? has he really changed that much in the last two years? is his face a bit worn? are his eyes a different color? 

but it doesn’t matter what rattles through your head—when you look at peter, you just see him. your peter. 

except that he’s completely different. 

you clear your throat, looking away and pushing off of the counter. “what can i get you?” 

peter blinks. “oh, um…” he looks at the menu above your head, back to you. “what—“ he swallows. “what would you recommend?” 

“it’s all good.” your voice is clipped. you should’ve said pure brewed black tea, no ice, no sweetener, no cup. just to get him out of here. you should've recommended the starbucks three towns over.

he swallows, again. a hand rakes through his hair. “i… just a sec.” 

there is a single second where you grant him the patience you would give every other customer—smile politely and let them know to ask if they have any questions. a single second where you treat him like anybody else. 

and then you say: “do you want a mocha, peter?” with an anger that shouldn’t—can’t—be contained inside of you. 

you wince at his name. the singe of his brand on you, going down your throat. 

peter seems to watch this on your face, because he’s even quieter when he answers, “sure, that’d be great.” 

at least some things haven’t changed.

so you grab a cup, writing his name on it, and move to grab the milk. 

you turn around and pretend like you’ve just forgotten he’s there. 

peter doesn’t take this hint. 

“so…” he says, his feet are loud as they tap on the ground. “you still work here, huh?” 

you barely grunt a response, spilling chocolate in the cup recklessly. if peter dies of a clogged artery it won’t be your fault. 

“that’s nice. felix always loved you. and you loved working here, back in highschool.” you have to face him as you steam the milk, and you try not to pointedly stare. not to roll your eyes or hiss at him. “it’s different though. the decor, i mean. but nice. i like it. did you do it?” 

“yes.” 

you grab his cup, pouring the milk and shoving the cap on it. “here,” your fingertips burn as you pass it to him, and you don’t think it’s because of the drink. 

“thank you.” 

you both stand there; peter blinks and doesn’t leave. 

he coughs. “i didn’t pay.”

“mrs. brooke would kill me if i made you pay for your first drink back home.” 

“well, she knows where you live,” his lip twitches, but he doesn’t laugh. 

and neither do you. 

“is it just you here?” he asks. “no felix?” 

“he sold me the shop a year ago.” 

his eyes widen. “oh. oh! that’s great. congrats.” 

“thank you.” 

you don’t move your eyes from his face, because it’s suddenly not fair that he’s here. that he’s allowed to intrude like this. 

“it’s good to see you,” peter relents, a fake smile playing on his lips. 

you falter. your heart turns in your chest, just so it doesn’t have to look at him anymore. “i’m working, okay?” you say, whispering. “i can't do this right now.” 

“right. yeah.” peter trips on a step back. his eyes are scanning your face again. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t—“ he blows out a breath. “i’m sorry.” 

you nod. watch the ground as he stumbles over it. 

“i mean it though,” he adds, like he hadn’t thought about it. “it’s good to see you.” 

and then peter swallows. you blink at him. 

when he turns around the bell rings as he pushes it. and peter doesn’t look back. 

he’s right about one thing, at least. it is nostalgic. 

*

"when were you going to tell me?" your mom asks, leaning against her kitchen counter--the same one you scribbled on as a kid, smiley faces still apparent. she's doing that fake smile thing. the one that makes you want to storm off and slam the door like some mistreated teenager. 

you don't, but both of you know that you think about it. for at least five seconds

"tell you what?" you ask, instead, setting the groceries you brought for her on the counter. 

"about peter." 

your eyes close. he would follow you around, wherever you go. he's probably hiding in some vent, smiling maliciously. 

there's that teasing voice in your head saying small town, small small town, but you just turn around, ignoring it, and her, and raise a brow. "peter parker?" you repeat, rhetorically. "twenty-six, new york. brown hair, brown eyes. lived here his whole life, has an aunt who lives next door, tried to steal our cat when he was nine..." you drawl off, making a point to smile. "ringing any bells?" 

she throws a dish towel at you. "you know thats not what i meant." 

"do i?" 

you wipe the counter with the towel, then fold it nicely on the counter, all the while avoiding your mother's eyes. 

but you know she won't leave it alone. the same way she hasnt left you alone once in the past four years, like she can dig your feelings up from whatever grave you buried them in.

there's a part of you that wants to crawl over to her and ask her to make you some hot chocolate, to watch some childrens movie on the couch with you. you want to be the little kid who would've depended on that knowing glance she's still giving you. the little kid who idolized her and wasn't afraid to admit the truth--even if you did steal that chocolate bar from under her sink.

but you're grown, and this doesn't matter. not in the long run, anyway. 

you look up, expectant eyes. she has your same eyes, and meets them.

"linda told nancy, who told jerry, who told me over the phone..." she shakes her head. "but may was here earlier." 

"yeah? how is she?" 

"good, busy, i'm guessing, because you know how she dotes over him." 

"yeah..." 

you fold the towel again, running your fingertips over the embrodered flowers. 

"have you seen him?" 

you swallow, and nod absentmindedly. you're not going to tell her about the grocery store. "yeah, he came into the shop yesterday." 

she taps your hand, and you let go of the rag. she hangs it back over the oven, the ebbing silence more like a threat, her hands falling to her hips. "why didn't you say anything?" 

"it's not a big deal. he came in, ordered, and then left." 

"and there were no words between the two of you?" she prods. "no wandering eyes? you just read his mind instead of taking his order?" 

you grit your teeth, rolling your eyes. "he asked for a mocha and i made it for him." 

"nothing else?" 

"he said it was nice to see me." 

she waves a hand at you. 

"and i said that i was working." you sigh, leaning against the counter. "that's all." 

"you're not freaking out?" your mom ducks her head so she can meet your eyes. her face is sullen, but her smile is genuine. 

it's like talking to a counselor. 

"why would i be freaking out? he had to come back sometime." 

she scoffs. the little necklace your dad gave her dangles from her neck, and you watch it. "i don't know," she says, using the same voice you do when she tells you not to take a tone with her. "maybe because you havent spoken to him in the last three years?" 

yeah, the same voice says, rough and patronizing, you haven't spoken to him in five years. why is that, again? 

but you snort at your mom, a defensive smile making its way to your lips as you look at her. "water under the bridge," you say, dismissing it. 

you don't want to talk about this with her. you don't want to talk about this with anyone. 

because the only person who might actually understand is the same person who left three years ago. who came back with no warning at all. 

"did may say when he got here?" you ask, voice escaping before you can stop it. 

"just a day or two ago, i think. why?" 

"is he here for the holidays?" 

"yes. she said he plans to stay until at least january. he's between jobs, i guess." 

"oh." you smack your lips and move away from her, back to the groceries, which is the reason you're here in the first place. you take out the milk jug, walking to the fridge, but a soft hand stops you. 

your mom is smiling when you turn towards her. "you don't have to talk about it," she's saying, her voice smooth and comforting. "i don't--i don't know what happened between the two of you. i just mentioned it because may said he was talking about you. it..." she drops off, wincing. 

"what?" 

"it might be good to talk to him. put the water under the bridge." 

you roll your eyes, nose twitching. you don't need to say anything, you won't. your mother is just another town gossip, and her opinion has no sway over you. 

even ask the words sink in. 

"now put the rest of those away," she says, ruffling your hair, "i know what happens when you take your 'breaks.'" 

you push her and put the milk in the fridge. 

*

you're mopping the floor when the bell rings, and a cold brush of air trails goosebumps up your skin. 

it's late enough in the season to no longer smell like the leaves falling onto the ground, or the grandesur pine needles showing off their lifespan. it's cold in the shop now, and you have three coats in the back. 

but the person who walks in is only wearing one. one you recognize from several years ago, with the holes in the sleeves from when he jumped over your fence and sprained his ankle. the stain on the front when may threw a plum soaked rag at him and you'd laughed so hard that you'd fallen to your knees on the floor and couldn't breathe. 

peter's face is wain. his eyes are cautious as they meet yours. 

you're not used to anyone coming in at 5:55. everyone knows you close at six, and the few people who'd dared to come in and order a drink a minute before you flipped your sign have learned their lesson. 

but peter hasn't learned anything. 

"i know," he says, like tracking your mind. "you close at six. may told me." 

"okay." 

you're still holding the mop, sure that his footprints would leave mud all over your floors. 

"i don't want to buy anything. or--" he breathes out, hands wringing at his sides, probably from the cold. "i will. if you want me to. but that's not why i came. i wanted to see if you..." 

he does a sweep over you, and his words fall in the air, as if he's just realized something. 

you look down at the snowflake apron your mom bought last year. it's not that dirty. 

you look back up, brows furrowed, and peter's expression matches yours. "yes?" you prod, feeling that anger simmer in the core of your chest. but you've been rude enough to him. 

your mom's words ring out in your head. 

it might be good to talk to him. 

peter swallows, whatever emotion on his face fading. "i wanted to see if you would go to dinner with me. or take a walk. or--or i'll buy you groceries, since you left yours the other night. it doesn't matter. i just want to... talk to you." 

"you want to talk to me?" 

peter nods. "i can wait outside, while you finish." he waves a hand, like an explanation. "it doesn't have to be long. just five minutes?" 

you watch peter, his face a world of feeling that you can't recognize anymore. 

and maybe that hurts the most. not him being here, not the distance or the time you've let edge you apart, but the fact that it's changed things. peter has changed and you've just let that happen. he's got a life seperate from you and there's no one to blame. he'd reached out enough, initially. months of letting his calls go to voicemail and ignoring may when you saw her in the street. 

putting yourself back together in the misshaped way you are now. peter probably doesn't even recognize you--not like this.

maybe it's your fault. 

but you find yourself nodding anyway, ignoring the guilt seeping through the cracks of you. you nod, and peter's face changes. 

it's not the first time you've noticed his eyes, or watched relief ease into him, but it's just the same. 

"yes?" peter asks, his voice rough and dry. you look at that jacket again. 

"where's your coat?" 

"my..." peter looks down with you. "oh, my coat. all of the ones aunt may kept were too small, and i thought--" he scratches his neck. "well, i forgot how cold it gets." 

you nod, slowly. 

peter nods back. 

you stare at him a moment longer, and then break away from his unfamiliar gaze. 

"just give me five minutes. i just need to put this away, and grab my stuff, and..." you swallow. 

"okay. great. do you want to me wait outside, or should i?" he gestures around, looking as uncomfortable as you've ever seen him. 

"you can sit. just--don't get any dirt on the tablebases." 

"okay. thank you." 

you nod, one last time, and look away from him. 

your heart runs circles around peter as he sits at one of your tables, his long legs not fitting beneath it. it taunts you again and again as you try not to notice him breathing, try to ignore him completely. 

you dup the mop water, spilling it on your shoes. you wipe down the last counter, the syrup sticking to your hands like a scar. you walk around the shop trying to find something else to do so you can avoid this as long as possible. your feet are cold and your hands feel abnormally dry. maybe you need to go home and shower. maybe you shouldn't be doing this at all. 

you sit in the office for a moment, wishing you could watch peter without him knowing. scope him out before you hear what he has to say. 

and--

okay, maybe there's a part of you that's been waiting three years for this. 

that dream where he's there even though you don't want him; that moment when he apologizes and you forgive him automatically, because your heart has always been small and fragile around him; that fantasy where peter comes home and he's the same teenager you used to walk around town with at two in the morning, the same brown eyes laughing as you both slipped on ice and fell on top of eachother. 

you won't deny that you've thought about this before. what you might say to him if you got the chance. 

but as you grab your bag and hang your apron around the chair in the office, the words have gone some place else. what could you say to him to make any of this make sense? 

still, you clear your throat when you walk out, feet aching from standing all day. you blink at him as he struggles to get up, pushing your chair in, the legs scratching on the floor the only sound between the two of you. 

[asteroidzzzn]

timeless

summary: no matter the decade, you and ellie seem to always find each other

word count: 4.3k

a/n: this ones for all my swifties that also have timeless (the best vault track btw) on repeat

a bustling crowd carried you downtown, where you roamed aimlessly. you tossed a quick few cents to a paperboy in exchange for the daily paper, Evening Standard, 1945.

Now, it is 50 miles to Warshaw, where the—

an unexpected object slammed against your forehead, while you were distracted reading. you stumbled away from the pole, your gaze drawn to the flickering lights of a nearby shop. a quaint little place, seemingly cozy.

something in your head said stop, so you walked in.

the place was a cluttered mess full of memories from countless lives. a cardboard box with a sign read photos, 25 cents each.

your hand reached in, revealing a photo of a woman in a wedding dress, smile bright while her husband next to her gazed at her as if she hung the stars. newlyweds stood proudly in front of their new house.

aged writing on the bottom of the photo stated that the couple, betty and james, bought their first house together in 1934, just a decade prior to present day.

although you had never seen the two before, you could tell one thing about them. their love was a rare kind, the love you were lucky to find just once in your life, for a fleeting second.

you saw yourself and ellie in that photo, in some alternate universe. it was a perfect world, where you could find a farmhouse on a hill, raise animals together, and no one would bat an eye at the fact you were two women in love.

you recalled ten minutes ago, reading the paper which regarded the war, praying to whatever god out there that she would come home safe.

with all the care in the world, you returned the photo to the counter, keeping your head low as the bell rung on your way out.

when you returned to your home, you quickly found your way to your room, lighting a candle and sinking down to the floor. your emotions overtook you, letting out a soft sob.

ellie was one of the few people you cared about. during the harsh conditions of the war, you found comfort with each other. you had a connection that you shared with no other.

the day she got sent across the world, you were devastated. at first, you visited her bakery, left abandoned with dust and broken glass. she assured you she would keep safe, simply serving soldiers their meals, but she could not console you.

your hand found its way under the bed, pulling out a shoebox. it contained letters from the past year.

tears trickled down your cheeks as you gripped the envelopes, reminders of her love and wellbeing.

a sudden warmth washed over you. a calm sense of sureness. you lingered on the beautiful memory of meeting ellie, that one winter day in 1944.

"oh dear, i'm so sorry, ma'am," you had apologized and brushed off the mysterious woman's apron.

"it-it's no worry," she told you, offering a smile.

if it were any other day, you would have figured out something equally as polite to say and be on your way.

but something seemed different today.

if it was any other person, you would have bowed your head in apology once more, and continued your trip to the market.

but you simply could never forget about this woman, let alone leave her for just a couple of tomatoes your mother had beckoned you to retrieve.

the woman adjusted her chef hat, pushing a strand of hair from her face, revealing her eyes, into which you shamelessly admired for probably a moment too long.

a soft chuckle fell from your lips as she struggled to straighten out the hat.

"who do you cook for?" you prompted, curious to know more about her.

"oh, i actually own my own bakery, down on seventh street." she lifted the paper bag in her hand. "i just went to pick up ingredients."

your eyes widened, "that's incredible, i'll have to go there someday!"

she bit her lip, seemingly lost in thought. "i'm heading there right now. would you like to come?"

nodding enthusiastically, you linked your arm with hers, glancing to the side to see the faintest blush dash across her freckled cheeks.

"lead the way," you told her. and she did.

you wiped your tears on the sheets hanging off the side of your bed, you dug through the box to find the most recent envelope you hadn't opened yet.

you read about her past week, a smile creeping up on your face as you saw the way she signed of her name.

yours, for all time, ellie

and you believed it. your love truly would be timeless.

"this is taking forever," you groaned out to yourself, ripping tape of and sealing yet another box shut. it was a gorgeous sunny day during the summer of 1981. however, you were stuck in a dark, hot garage, while all your friends spent the day at the beach.

the door creaked loudly, welcoming a person into the room. you did not look up from the box, assuming the shadow in the corner of your eye was your father, telling you to hurry up.

your family was moving to a new town for his work, and since your parents were extremely busy all day, you were burdened with the task of packing the entire garage.

a familiar, unexpected voice spoke out.

"need some help?" the smile was evident through her words, causing you to turn around swiftly.

"ellie? what are you doing here? how'd you get in? did my parents see—"

she hushed your worries with a kiss, pulling you behind a large shelf, shielding the two of you from the door leading into the house.

"came in through the window in the kitchen," she whispered on your lips, pulling a giggle out of you. "had to see you today," she whispered again, except with a hint of sadness, now.

you pulled yourself closer to her, eyes closed, memorizing the way her hands slipped under your flannel, holding you just as tight. a silent goodbye.

she felt your frame quiver against her and quickly moved her hold from your waist to your face, wiping any evidence of sorrow with her thumbs as you sniffled.

"sorry it's stupid that i'm crying it's just i'll...i'll miss you. a lot," you explained.

"it's okay...we'll be okay," she attempted. her words were as unsure as yours. "i'll write to you, and call you, and i'll visit when your parents are out of town," she promised.

you nodded, stepping away from her and toward the piles upon piles of unboxed items. she came up next to you, sorting through old pictures.

"what's this one?" she asked, holding up a photo, which you judged was very old from the way it had faded brown and had multiple tears along the edges.

in the photo, dated 1958, were your mother and father, when they were your age. they held hands, walking down your sidewalk. her in a dress, and him in a suit, just before their senior prom.

you chuckled, "those are my parents, but i've never seen that one before," grabbing the photo from her to study it, you recalled the night at prom you met ellie.

"we're gonna be late!" your friend, dina, had called upstairs where you were slipping on your shoes. it was the first school dance you had ever been to, making you extremely nervous.

"coming!" you shouted in return.

when you arrived at her mothers' car, you lifted up your dress to step inside. ms. woodward made small conversation with you, which dina suddenly interrupted with a sharp gasp.

"oh my god, i just remembered i heard leon ross asked you to prom! where is he? are you meeting him there?"

"oh, um, i'm not going with him," you replied with hesitance.

dina's eyebrows raised, "why not? he's super hot, nice, and he's the best player on the football team."

you shrugged, turning your head to gaze out the window.

"not my type."

you shortly arrived at school, and stepped into the gym, dina's arm linked with yours so you wouldn't lose each other in the bustling crowd.

the two of you met up with some friends and made your way to the center where everyone danced. at some point, dina nudged you to inform you she was heading to the bathroom. when she returned, she held up a blunt, wiggling her eyebrows.

you made your way outside, the cool air a refreshing contrast from the uncomfortable humidity of the windowless gym. you found a secluded space, yet there was a person leading against a wall who hadn't noticed you.

"who's that?" you asked dina, pointing at the person in a suit who was by themself.

"oh, that's ellie williams. she's the one that's gay, remember?"

"oh, yeah. okay."

you passed the blunt back and forth, chatting with dina. it was a beautiful and quiet night where you laid on your back, giggling and pointing out shapes strung out by the stars.

eventually, dina sighed and stood, noticing how people were exiting the gym in large groups.

"i should probably head home now, it's getting late."

you nodded, glancing at ellie, who was still alone, now sitting and gazing at the night sky.

"you need a ride?"

you glanced one more time. you couldn't let yourself go home without saying something.

"no, i'm fine, my dad should be here soon."

she hugged you, saying goodbye a final time before disappearing behind a building towards the parking lot.

you took a deep breath and headed towards ellie, having a spur of confidence from the weed.

you sat beside her. her eyes were on you, and time was standing still, waiting for one of you to speak up.

"hey," she said. hushed. confused. "do i know you?"

suddenly, this was a very very bad idea.

"oh, uh, no. you don't. i just wanted to say hi. you don't have any of your friends sitting with you," you pointed out, tearing your gaze away from her face to watch the groups of people leaving. soon, it would be just the two of you.

she scoffed at that, bringing her hands into her lap to spin her rings.

"don't have many of those."

"oh," you didn't know what to say. you assumed it was because she was outed as a lesbian just a few months ago. you heard the rumors, the words she was called, and saw the stares she received in the hallway.

you felt horrible for her, but figured she wouldn't want to talk about it anymore.

"i like your rings," you gestured to them. a small, kind compliment, but it didn't get the reaction you were hoping for.

"why are you here?" she lifted her gaze. was staring into you, searching for intention.

"my friend dina kinda forced me to go, so she—"

"no, why are you sitting with me right now? i don't need your sympathy. i know you know, everyone does."

your lips fell apart. you contemplated. it was absolutely ridiculous to tell someone you just met something to personal about yourself, but you felt the need to let her know. it would have helped you to know you have a friend that accepted you. someone who was just like you.

"i'm...i like girls too," a quiet whisper, only for her ears. "oh also, my names y/n," you added with a nervous chuckle. it was freeing to finally be able to tell someone, who you somehow knew would keep your secret safe.

she blinked. "oh."

you nodded, lips pursed. "you're the only one who knows. i can't imagine how it would be to have everyone at school know. especially if i didn't want them to. i just...i think you're brave, honestly, ellie. it's cool you can wear a suit to a dance. i wish i could do that," you rambled, watching as her lips twitched up into a shy smile.

"how'd you know my name?" was her only response.

the dark masked your blush, but the nervousness was still evident in your voice. "dina told me."

she hummed. "well, nice to meet you."

"yeah, you too."

it was a precious, innocent, memory. the start of something unexpected and beautiful, that swept you up like a sudden whirlwind.

in the deepest parts of your mind, there were some days you wished you had never went up to her. the thought that one day you would have to go your separate ways haunted you.

with one final look at the photograph of your parents, young and joyful, you placed it down. upon a shelf, was a photo of them on their wedding day, wearing the same giddy smiles as the day of prom.

one day, you wished, that could be you. finding ellie despite how long you would be apart on separate sides of the country, never letting your love die.

you glanced behind you at the girl who snuck past your parents to help you pack instead of doing anything else. she wanted to spend time with you.

that was all it took. you knew you would find each other again someday. against all odds. and everything would be okay.

you spent your afternoon in the castle's library, the one and only place you could find solitude. where no responsibilities weighed down on your shoulders. it was a peaceful, quiet moment until the doors swung open.

"darling? are you in here?" your father, the king, boomed out, his voice bouncing off the countless towering shelves.

you slammed the book shut, hastily slipping it into its rightful place and standing up, straightening out your dress as you stepped out from your comfortable place on the floor.

"yes, father?" you clasped your hands behind your back, forcing your posture up straight.

he rubbed his eyebrows with his thumb and pointer, as if he knew he could find you in the library off in your own world.

"you cannot continue to do this, dear. you will have responsibilities now."

you tilted your head with furrowed eyebrows, prompting him to explain.

he sent away his two loyal guards to have a private conversation with you.

"you know i would not have agreed to this if it did not depend on the fate of our kingdom," he began.

"father? what do you mean?"

he refused to look you in the eyes as he spoke. "you are to be wed to prince hill, the soon to be king of aragon. they threatened war, and this is the only solution to protect our nation and keep peace.

your eyes welled up with tears. you were left speechless. you swallowed your pride, nodding and wordlessly retreating to your room.

the days were dwindling away to when you would have to leave your home. just the night before you were destined to leave, your father knocked on the door to your room, where you had spent the majority of your days the past week.

you couldn't find any words for him besides politely asking him to let you get a good night's sleep.

your mouth remained sealed in the carriage, passing by endless terrains. you arrived at night, forming excuses so you wouldn't have to see the king. just not yet, i am not ready, you thought.

you slept in a massive room, tossing and turning on your new large mattress, yet you had no one to share it with.

the next day, you slipped past the guards into town. later that day, you figured you would tell them you merely wanted to greet the townspeople you would soon be ruling.

in common clothes, you perfectly blended in. the lack of attention on your presence was new. you could have gotten used to it.

you strolled past shops, observing and taking in the surroundings. the rush of breaking the rules, being where you weren't meant to be, caused you to roam the streets of the kingdom daily, until one morning, guards were stationed outside your room.

"oh, good morning," you greeted him. you couldn't see his face, covered by his helmet, and he stood so perfectly still, you wondered for a moment if he were just a statue.

the knight removed his—her helmet.

fear was not a feeling you experienced often. this was slightly different from fear, however. it was something you could never describe, even if you knew each word in the dictionary.

she was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen. she couldn't have been much older than you, but you could tell her adventures had aged her. you imagined what she had been through in her life, wondering if maybe, one day, she would tell you all about it.

her green eyes shimmered for a fleeting moment, when the sun and the reflection of her helmet met and agreed to place a shine on her.

"good morning, princess. i am knight williams. i have been placed at your service for the next month up to the wedding, and to prevent you from exiting the castle during the day."

"i—but—what? why?" your words failed you, tumbling out in an unorganized mess.

knight williams cleared her throat. "i am to accompany you to breakfast shortly to meet with the prince. i will wait outside until you are ready, princess lowe."

you grimaced, "you do not need to address me so formally. just y/n will do."

her mouth opened to reply, but you swiftly shut the door to prevent a response. when you emerged from your room, the knight gestured for you to follow her.

"i assume you have recently been too busy sneaking away to explore the castle, so allow me to lead the way, princess."

you chuckled at her remark. "that is true, however, i did tell you there is no need to call me princess."

she let out an exasperated sigh, "if that is your wish, y/n."

"and what is your name?" you queried, as you made your way down a winding set of stairs.

her jaw tensed. "it would not be professional to be on a first name basis with each other."

you hummed, finding excitement in challenging her, "it would not be fun if you acted so uptight all the time. it would be nice to have a friend."

"i am your personal guard, not a friend."

discouraged, you remained quiet during the remaining walk to the dining hall. knight williams settled into the seat beside you, while the prince sat in front of you.

he was a handsome man, but there was something that just wasn't there. you remembered when you were a child, when your mother told you love stories. she told you what love felt like. it made you nervous, giddy, and excited, among many other wonderful things.

it was quite a dreadful realization that you did not love the man sitting in front of you, who you would be wed to within the next month.

as the prince bragged of his accomplishments, you smiled and nodded when appropriate. your eyes often found knight williams.

stoic and mysterious, you wanted her facade of being forbearing to crumble away.

through the following days, you tested her patience. you had absolutely no interest in the prince, dreading the wedding day. but even if it was for just a moment, simply the presence knight williams eased your nerves.

you could tell her wall was slipping away, she was slowly letting you in, becoming more comfortable around you. you told her stories of your fathers' battles, your kingdom's drama, and how you wished you were not royalty at all.

"why is that?" she prompted.

you squeezed the pillow in your lap. a ball was scheduled later that night, but opposed to tending to your duties as a soon to be queen, you were laying on your couch with knight williams, chatting on a rainy day.

"sometimes...i wish i were you. you are so brave and strong, and you have been out in the world. been in danger. just once in my life, i want to protect myself, and have a story of an adventure to tell."

she remained silent.

"i suppose that is quite ignorant though. i wish to go through suffering and pain, just to get a taste of it."

she cleared her throat. "i understand. to be honest, i wish that i were you, sometimes. along with everyone in the kingdom," her chuckle following her words was a sound you could have gotten drunk on every night of your life.

your lips lifted into a smile, which she returned, after a moment of hesitance. time slowed, pausing so all there was, and all you hoped would be, was you and knight williams sitting on that couch on that rainy day.

her gaze fell, her shoulders tensing, slicing the frozen moment and returning to reality.

"you should prepare for the ball."

you swallowed, "yes, i should."

it was a horrible night. you shook hands with, curtsied to, and danced with men and women of importance for hours on end.

"sir, i apologize deeply, but i must head outside for a quick moment of fresh air," you bowed without waiting for response from a king of a kingdom you did not care about, and wove your way through the crowd until you pushed the gates to the garden open.

your hand traced the petals of pink flowers on a bush as you strolled through the garden.

the grass behind you rustled.

"it is just me, y/n," knight williams spoke.

you continued to wander in the garden, eventually coming upon a clearing where you fell to the ground, settling on your back.

"you may want to find somewhere else to sit, your dress will be stained—"

"i do not care. come lay with me. please."

the knight removed her helmet. then followed each piece of armor, leaving her in a crinkled white top and brown trousers.

"the stars are beautiful tonight," you told her. "i have seen drawings of constellations in my books, yet i have never been able to recognize them in the sky."

in a swift moment, knight williams took hold of your hand with herrs, pointing up to the sky in a pattern, which helped you to see a constellation which resembled a scorpion.

"wow..." you breathed. "show me more."

the two of you talked of astronomy, which you both had an interest in since you were children.

you giggled and pointed up at the sky, "that one looks like the prince. the star over there is his abnormally large chin jutting out."

you felt accomplished when knight williams let out a loud laugh. you wanted to know what she thought about the prince. did she see what you did? that something was missing from him, that you couldn't quite place?

"have you ever been in love?"

she nearly choked at your words.

"i—i have. why do you wonder?"

"i want to know what it is like. i think i am not in love with prince hills."

"i think you are not either," she whispered. her body adjusted to face yours. you mirrored her action.

"so? what is love like?" you repeated.

"it is...well...you want to spend all your time with that person. and they might make your stomach hurt. and make you very nervous. you may even think they are perfect."

her gaze did not falter, stuck on your curious eyes.

she chewed on her bottom lip. "do you feel that for the prince?"

"i do not," you replied, a chill rushing over your body. it could have been the autumn chill, yet you believed it was something different.

"i would rather spend all my time with you, knight william—"

"my name is ellie."

your heart raced. "and it is you, ellie, who makes me nervous. and i think you are as close to perfect a human could—"

your words died on your tongue, as she inched closer to you, the only noise being the grass which moved under her and your heavy breathing.

when her lips pressed against yours, you suddenly knew what love was. in hidden corridors, nights by the fireplace, away from the sight of prince hills, your love for ellie grew.

on the fateful day when stood in a white gown in a chapel, telling the prince you vowed to marry him, ellie sat with her head down.

you blinked a single tear from your eye.

in the castle, you made a simple excuse that you were exhausted to avoid spending the night with your husband. ellie stood outside your bedroom door, unsure whether or not to enter.

as soon as she heard your sobs, the door was flung open.

"y/n..." she whispered your name, stripping herself of her armor to pull you into her chest.

"can we run away from it all, ellie? i want to leave it all behind."

she held your face, grounding you with her sturdy touch.

"you have a kingdom to rule. i will always be here, though. i will never leave your side."

you nodded. "i know. i will always be yours."

the two of you drifted off to sleep, comforted by promises, trusting, because you just knew.

you blinked awake when the bright sun trickled through your blinds, the book on your chest unfinished. your wife beside you stirred awake.

"mornin'," she rasped, then gestured to the book. "whatcha got there?"

you had found the book with cobwebs and dust, a fairytale of a young couple destined to never be together by fate.

"it's an old romance book. hundreds of years ago they fell in love, despite all odds."

ellie smiled, "just like we did."

you scoffed, playfully hitting her arm. "you're such a sap."

a/n: omg im clinically insane

taglist: @skylerwhitwyo @ximtiredx @ohitsjordynn @gold-dustwomxn @elliesinterlude @fireflyels @trulygnomed @deluluwh-0-re @elliewilliamsmissingfingerss @emluvselandabs @ariianelle @jokerpokimoon @lonelyfooryouonly @lil-elliesgf @yuaaa05 @ourautumn86 @ucannotcompare @lunarpretty @cassharass @uberyellowsheep @444na0m1

[thatonebirdwrites]

Embers

AO3 Link (Continuation from Dress)

Kara sights her adversary on the wall just above one of the displays for artifacts from Indigenous tribes of North America. Despite the red cloak and ridiculously large hat, Kara knows it's Lena hanging there. Lena has carefully cut a hole in the glass enclosure, somehow turned off the alarm, and has the artifact in her gloved hand.

"Halt," Kara calls. She whips out her stun gun. "Don't make me shoot."

Lena raises a beautifully sculpted eyebrow. "Ah, I wondered when my favorite agent would arrive. Quite a dashing appearance I would say."

Kara tries not to preen at the compliment. She wears a suit and tie, mostly to blend in with the gala on the other side of the museum. Her team had been on high alert due to yet another invitation by LKW. Her boss, Alex, had been certain it was the jewels LKW sought, but Kara knows better.

Lena's past thefts had been highly specific cultural items from various Indigenous tribes throughout the world. Despite several of Kara's best contacts scouring the black market discreetly and preparing to buy any of the stolen artifacts, nothing Lena steals ever shows up in the auctions. Nor in private sales, at least the ones Kara's friends Nia and J'onn can access.

So where does Lena take them? It's haunted Kara for quite awhile.

"Why that artifact?" Kara asks. "It's just an old firestarter. Best you can get with that is embers."

Lena tucks the artifact into a pocket in the interior of her cloak. "Come now, agent, surely you have more imagination than that?" She swings to the next display. This one holds a set of fabrics, many intricately woven with dyed strands. She carefully cuts another circle and the embers of her torch sends sparks across the top of the glass.

"Are you seriously just going to continue?" Kara can't believe it. "I'm literally pointing a gun at you."

"You won't shoot it." Lena smiles and removes the circle with a flick of her finger. It flips over onto the other half of the glass top. "You never do. So instead of that tiresome posturing, play a game with me." She grins and reaches in to nab the next artifact. "Guess why I take these."

Kara frowns. "Toying with me now?"

"Oh I know you love it," Lena teases. She winks. "And I bet our last kiss has haunted your dreams."

Kara's face reddens. She will never admit it, but that kiss does indeed haunt her dreams and waking moments. In fact, she's half-thinking of it right now. Both of them dangling by rope as they make out-- "Dammit, stop that." Her face turns a darker shade of red when she realizes she said it out loud.

Lena laughs, and it's a gorgeous ripple of gold that sparks embers deep in Kara's gut. God, she wants to hear that laugh again and again.

"So the truth has been revealed." She tugs her bag to her side and carefully tucks the fabrics into it. "Now, our game? Or are you too flustered to think?" Another wink has Kara wishing she'd stuck to the other side of the gala.

Her gun lowers, while she struggles to regain an upper hand. "You poisoned me with that kiss." As much as it stings that the kiss had been merely to distract, Kara finds herself far more forgiving of Lena than she ought to be.

"Hardly," Lena scoffs. "My lipstick contained a trace amount of a phenylpropanoid derived from nutmeg, which can be hallucinogenic at certain doses, but it also has antimicrobial and anti-inflammatory properties. It's used in medicinal tonics in Southern Asia." She swings to the last display case in this exhibit. "I believe it important to the health of my favorite agent to occasionally loosen you up."

That's followed up with a wink.

Which only makes Kara want to kiss her even more.

"Well, I certainly did let loose," Kara says, her cheeks likely burning so red that she might as well be on fire. How does Lena stoke her so creepily well? Kara fights a spell of arousal after every conversation they share. It's maddening.

"Fine, I'll play your game. But after, I'm bringing you in. You're in a very disadvantageous position, Ms. Walsh, hanging from the ceiling."

"Am I? Oh, whatever shall I do?" Lena feigns a dramatic faint with one hand to her forehead. "My big bad agent will surely have to rescue me from this dreadful predicament."

Kara's face burns. "Big bad agent? Come now, I'm not that big."

"Tell that to your deltoids and biceps," Lena shoots back.

Which is a valid point. Kara does work out enough to have decently defined muscles, but she's not that beefy, is she? She flexes one arm, and to her amusement, Lena stares at her, her cutting momentarily distracted. The flame sizzles in the air above the glass.

"Oh, a muscle lover?" Kara teased. She flexes her other arm, and Lena bites her lip and quickly looks down at her torch.

The sparks glint blue as she completes her circular cut. "You have two guesses. I will reply with the truth for one guess and a lie for the other."

"One truth and one lie?" Kara puts her hands on her hips. "You don't make it easy, do you?"

Lena chuckles and slides the cut glass to one side. "And miss out on your famous detective skills? I think not. Dazzle me, agent."

She reaches inside to take out a clay vessel that has the shape of a frog with a tall snout sticking out of its back. To Kara's surprise, Lena takes her time gently wrapping the vessel in a massive amount of cloth from her bag.

"The items you steal never show up on the black market, so either someone commissions you to steal them or you have private dealers to avoid detection." It's been Kara's best guess for awhile now.

Lena raises an eyebrow. "Interesting guess. What evidence do you have that I'm selling them at all?"

Kara frowns. "It's the typical reason for theft. Usually those who frequent museums and university antique libraries like you sell on the black market or were commissioned by a wealthy collector."

"Wealthy." Lena laughs, but it's different than the whimsical laugh earlier. This one is darker, more dangerous, and her green eyes glint with an intensity that leaves Kara feeling incredibly parched. "Indeed, I expected a bit more imagination, Kara."

It's the first time Lena used Kara's first name only, and her intense gaze has Kara squirming.

She feels suddenly inadequate, simply because it never occurred to her that Lena might not be selling the artifacts at all. "The other possibility is you seek to gather an illegal collection for your own amusement."

Lena sighs, and that alone fills Kara with shame, as if she'd failed a test she hadn't known she was taking. "Kara, look at what I'm holding." She holds up the heavily wrapped vessel. "This is an extremely rare frog vessel from the Anasazi tribe in Southern United States. Descendants of the Anasazi live in reservations, forced off their lands, and often considered an extinct tribe."

"Okay, so you know your history, but why steal it?" Kara asks.

"Let me ask you this," Lena says, her voice suddenly serious. "If your agency raided an illegal black market auction that had thousands of stolen artifacts, what would be the fate of those artifacts?"

Kara frowns. "Hey, I thought I was the one to ask questions here."

"Answer the question, agent." The sharpness in Lena's voice takes Kara by surprise. This doesn't feel much like a game anymore.

"We put them in evidence bags and that goes to the department that handles artifact storage and analysis..." she trails off, her mind spinning at the implications.

"And once that department analyzes them, where do they go?"

"Often to museums..." A sick feeling curls through Kara's stomach.

"And where are we currently?"

"A museum in San Francisco..." Kara meets Lena's gaze, and for the first time, doubt curdles through her. "You're not taking these to sell them, are you? You're taking them to return them."

Lena smiles and tucks the frog vessel into her pack. "Perhaps you have a brain after all."

"But why do this? If you're caught, no one is going to care that you are returning cultural artifacts to their respective tribes." Kara frowns and crosses her arms. "The risk feels too high for the relative value--"

Lena loosens the carabiner on her rope and drops to the ground in front of Kara. The movement startles her, and Kara breaks off midsentence.

Tenderly, Lena reaches out to touch Kara's face, her glove warm. "And if I ever let love go, / because the hatred and the whisperings / of a phantom dictate I obey," Lena whispers, her eyes searching Kara's as if Kara herself held the artifacts she sought. She leans closer, her breath warm against Kara's skin.

Her words ignite a fire so deep, that Kara feels like she's burning from the inside out. Her right hand disobeys her and lightly touches Lena's waist.

"... then let love freeze me out," Lena continues, "I must, I must become a menace to my enemies."

The last line hits Kara like punch to her gut. "That's by June Jordan," she says, stunned. "My Aunt Astra loved that poem."

"Astra El, a brilliant strategist and freedom fighter in the Kaznia war against Russia." Lena's heterochromatic eyes pierced Kara's like daggers. "A war they lost brutally, their country pillaged and left in severe poverty. A great many refugees lay scattered throughout Western Nations."

"How do you know all that?" Kara says, her eyes wide. She's never talked about her past before with anyone. Not even Alex, Nia, or J'onn. Her and Kal-el survived only because Aunt Astra smuggled them out when Kara was ten years old and Kal only three.

"I seek what is lost and restore it." An answer that tells Kara next to nothing. Lena smiles, sadly, her thumb rubbing against Kara's cheek. "We must become a menace to our enemies, Kara."

Kara takes in a sharp breath. Her hand moves to her belt. "I should handcuff you right now and drag you in."

Lena steps back and holds out her wrists. "Then do it."

Kara's hands shake as she pulls out the bulky handcuffs. They dangle from her right hand, but she can't bring herself to do it. Lena's words, the poetry, and most of all knowledge of Kara's beloved Aunt? Too many questions dance in her head.

Lena drops her hands to her side with a smile. "I thought so." She leans in close and kisses Kara's cheek. "Now as much as I enjoyed our chat, I really must be going."

Kara knows this is her last chance. Sure, maybe she can't bring herself to handcuff Lena Kieran Walsh, but she can flip an alarm by hitting the signal on her walkie-talkie. The rest of the agents will flood the room and secure their adversary finally. Kara will be heralded a hero instead of yelled at for failing yet again.

But their conversation unnerves her so much that Kara does nothing.

Instead, she watches as Lena climbs up the wall, walking as if it's a floor, her hands on the rope. At the ceiling, she proceeds to push a tile to one side. Darkness looms in the resulting hole.

Lena glances down at her with a sad smile, and her right eye glints a bit more blue than the other. "There's a cozy, Vietnamese restaurant in San Diego that has an excellent view of the Pacific Ocean. I hear the potstickers are to die for."

"Oh?" Kara wonders why Lena is telling her this.

"Think about it, Kara," Lena says softly, and her gaze holds Kara's with an intimacy that takes her breath away. Framed by the ceiling lights around her escape hatch, Lena looks almost like an ethereal angel. "Don't hush," she recites a poem that tickles Kara's memory, but not enough to identify it, "don't throw away, / the most persistent truth, / as our hard-headed brethren / sometimes do."

Kara raises her hand in response, but words fail to form on her lips. With one last lingering glance, Lena slips into the ceiling and the tile is replaced as if she'd never been there.

A silence descends on the room, and a heaviness wraps around Kara's heart.

She looks up at the cameras in the room, and wonders what they captured. Turning, she walks back the way she came, but instead of joining the gala again, she turns toward the security office.

Inside, she finds two men, one of them half-asleep, and the other typing into a computer. They look up at her entrance.

"Agent Kara Zorel of Interpol," she says and flashes her badge. "May I review your footage for the last fifteen minutes?"

"Don't see why not." The man at the computer gestures to the wall of screens. He taps out a command, and Kara watches each of them carefully.

But none show her and Lena talking. The room Lena had burglarized looks as if no one had stepped in it for ages.

Which means Lena either works with someone, who aids in altering security footage, or she set this up days in advance to disguise her tracks. It makes sense considering how useless past security footage always proved to be. The drones they set to fly the perimeter sometimes catches glimpses of her get-away vehicle, but each one turns into a dead-end, the name on the rental a nonexistent person.

"Thank you. My superior may be by again to review further footage." Kara nods to the men and exits back toward the gala. She sights several agents spread out discreetly throughout the large ballroom, and her boss, Alex, lingers near the stage, where the artifact sits. The one her team had been certain was LKW's target.

She wonders what Aunt Astra would think of her working for Interpol. Kara thought she did this in her Aunt's honor, but Lena's words darken her thoughts and litter them with a gnawing doubt.

Alex corners her only five minutes later at the drink table. "And where have you been for the last twenty minutes?"

Kara sighs. "Bathroom and a check with the security feeds." This is technically the truth since she did go to the bathroom after the visit with security, but it leaves her with a mounting guilt and confusion.

Why is she protecting Lena Kieran Walsh? Sure, she enjoys their conversations, the flirting, and definitely that kiss, but she's a thief, and a dangerous one at that. What does she owe Lena? And yet, she'd somehow known of her Aunt, and spoken of her with reverence. Why?

"And you've seen nothing?" Alex searches Kara's face as if trying to read her mind. "No parting diatribes with our darling thief?" A hint of sarcasm filters into Alex's tone.

"No, nothing." Kara picks up a glass of water and drinks it, her eyes on the stage, where a band plays and the newest piece for the museum sits on display. Some sort of silver calf with carved symbols that mean nothing to Kara.

But they likely meant something to the culture from which that calf came.

"I think this might have been a diversion," she says. "Send us here while she goes elsewhere."

"I hope not, but I'll put in feelers for any suspicious activity within the region." Alex places a hand on Kara's shoulder. "I know this case has been hard for you. Just remember, as charming as Ms. Walsh is, she's also a dangerous fugitive. We must bring her to justice."

Kara nods and manages a smile. She drinks her water instead of replying. Is what she's doing justice?

Or is Lena Kieran Walsh's thefts a truer justice?

An unanswerable question.

Disturbed, she finds a quiet corner to watch the gala attendees. But her attention lays scattered like the petals on the red carpet stage.

Lena's last worlds pulse in her head, and she can't help herself. Kara performs a search on her phone for a specific restaurant in San Diego that serves potstickers.

When the theft is discovered two hours later, she aids the others in the investigation, but Lena Kieran Walsh, as usual, left no fingerprints, and no clues other than the three precisely cut holes in the glass enclosures.

[jades-typurriter]

Hello, all!

I wanted to share this here because when I'm not writing indulgent furry stuff, I'm making tabletop systems with a couple good friends :)

Agents of Fate is a system we designed to emulate the snappy, back-and-forth action of a choreographed fight scene, as well as the out-of-order, suspense-filled storytelling of movies like Bullet Train and Glass Onion. Another inspiration we wear on our sleeve is The World Ends With You: we thought the urban fantasy aesthetic was perfect for the kinds of stories we wanted players to be able to tell!

We geared it toward one-shot sessions and self-contained storytelling, so if you want to make a new, hyper-niche, gimmicky character for every mission, if you want to introduce new players to something rules-light, or even if you want to treat the system more like a party game, we hope it'll be a good match for you.

It only ever asks you to roll 2d4, so turns go by quick and there are plenty of opportunities to interfere with the other players at the table without it turning into a slow mess of simultaneous interactions. Plus, you can get narrative bonus points for MacGyvering environmental or circumstantial details into your actions!

Please check out the Kickstarter page!

We do a much better job explaining the system's highlights in the properly-scripted video than I did here with my little attempt at marketing, lmao

We hope you enjoy it!

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Ask and You Shall Receive

This came to me at 3:15AM and half of this was typed on my phone in a haze of insomnia. Enjoy! This takes place in an AU where Graves is a good guy and works with the 141. This is my first time writing for Graves so comments would be very much appreciated.

Contains: Fluff, smut (consent, kink negotiation, bondage, Dom Phillip Graves, finger, oral sex (f receiving), praise kink, P in V, aftercare.This is pure smut.

Masterlist

3.2K words

You want to try something new and Graves is more than happy to oblige.

Anxious isn't the right word, you weren't anxious about talking to your boyfriend about your idea, shy was more like it.

Everything about your love life had happened organically, his desire to praise you was matched by your need to hear you were doing well, and his need to feel like he was looking after you was matched by your appreciation of his efforts.

You knew he would take it well, he was the kind of man to take everything in his stride, you just had to find the right words to bring it up. So you'd spent your day off baking his favourite cookies in between mountains of research so you could come to the table prepared.

The moment you had been waiting for came right on five, once the sun had just begun to think about setting, when Graves key turned in the door and he walking into your shared home.

"Are those your famous cookies I smell?" His tone was light, with just a hint of arrogance that told you he had a good day.

"Yes it is, they're waiting for you at the table." You were already halfway there with two glasses of milk, and he made a detour via the kitchen to wash his hands before sitting down with a grin.

He looked you over, clearly picking up on something, before sitting down and gesturing to the treats in front of him. "What's all this about Darlin'?"

You smiled. "I wanted to ask you something, nothing bad don't worry, but I'm a bit nervous so I baked some cookies."

He picked up a cookie and gave you a slight nod. "Ask away, I'm all ears."

You took a deep breath and remembered that the worst that could happen was him saying no. "Iwantyoutotiemeup."

"Pardon?" By the grin on his face, he had clearly heard you, but he wanted to make sure.

You took another deep breath. "I would like it if you would please tie me up." You paused, this wasn't something you were asking him to do to you, this was something you were asking to do with him. "I would like to try bondage with you."

He reached out and wrapped his hand around your wrist, his thumb rubbing the skin softly. "I'd like that too." You breathed an audible sigh of relief, and he chuckled. "I'm proud of you for asking me, and for what it's worth, I think you'll enjoy it as much I as will."

"Have you done it before?" The question came from a pure curiosity, there was no jealousy in it.

He nodded. "I have." He paused, and his smile grew an edge. "And before you ask, I fucking loved it. Can I ask what's got you wanting to give it a go?"

The air was changing, it was getting easier and easier to speak and the end result was looking more and more like a fun night. "I guess I've always been curious about it but I've never felt.." It was hard to find the words to articulate your feelings. "I've never felt safe enough to ask for it until now."

He nodded then tapped your hand in the same way you had seen him tap a desk before he headed out on an op, all power and self-assuredness. "Well Darlin', you're in the right hands."

For the next hour you went over everything, exchanging back and forth ideas and thoughts. He was very impressed with what you had learned in only one day, and before you knew it, there was a plan in place. You would spend the day together tomorrow, an easy day at the farmers' market and sitting by the pond on the property watching the ducks go by, and when night came, the real fun would start.

****

You walked into the bedroom with his hand on your lower back, the warmth bleeding through his old shirt that you had thrown on after your shower. He had already laid out the lengths of silk you had retrieved from your fabric drawer, quickly hemmed today while he watched to make them ready for this very moment.

He led you to the end of the bed, where he sat down next to you, his long fingers almost engulfing your cheek as he held it. "Now you remember what I said about you letting me know what's going on with you when I ask?"

You nodded. "I have to tell you how I'm feeling or it stops. If I don't feel like I can speak, then I've got to tap the headboard."

He smiled, clearly happy with your answer. "Good, and what's that going to look like?"

You reached down and taped the edge of the bed, once before pausing, then twice. "Once for pause, twice for all good. Other than that, nothing's changed, if I want to tell you to stop, that's all I have to say." His eyebrows went up slightly like he wanted you to keep going. "And you won't be mad at me, even though I know you're going to be putting in a lot of effort."

His cheeks rounded with a smile as his eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's right." He took both your hands in his as he stood up and led you further up the bed, sitting you up by the pillows as he picked up the silk.

"Arms out please." You did as he asked, and he took one wrist in his hand before bringing it up to his lips and placing kisses on the skin. "I'm going to wrap each one separately before tying them together so your joints don't dig into anything, ok?"

You nodded. "Ok, thank you." You watched as he wrapped each wrist with care, his attention focused on every loop and knot until you had a length of fabric hanging from each wrist.

He ran his fingers around the borders of the fabric, then to your fingers as he looked over the ties. "Anything hurt Darlin'?"

You shook your head. "No, nothing hurts or tingles. It's comfortable. I'll tell you if that changes."

He smiled wide and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Wonderful. You're being so good for me." He kissed each one of your fingertips before sliding up your arms to your torso and then down until they gripped the edges of the old Marine Corp PT shirt you were wearing. "Can I take this off?"

"Of course." You lifted your arms, giggling as the fabric came with you and Graves lifted the shit over your head. His lips found yours as he took your face in his palms. The kiss was soft and filled with affection as he slowly made his way back to your wrists.

He took one length in each hand and looked over your forearms before crossing your wrists over each other. "Anything rubbing?"

You shook your head. "No, it kinda feels like I've got a pillow between my wrists."

"That was my plan all along." His accent came out more when he was turned on, and you could clearly see a bulge growing in his sweats as he tied your wrists together. He quit dip when he was home but he still ground his jaw like he was chewing when he was trying to slow himself down. "Get comfortable."

You did as he asked, resting on the pillows as he reached over to tie you to the headboard. "Comfortable?"

Your wrists were crisscrossed with your elbows bent and sticking out as the plush pillows took the weight off your arms, you were more than comfortable. "Yes, very."

He sucked on his tongue and looked you up and down before grinning. "Well, aren't you as pretty as a picture?" He looked over you one last time before rushing to remove his clothes. When he had stripped down to his tight black boxers, he was climbing on top of you with a grin before finally pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss was filled with passion, and your inability to hold onto him meant he was able to take over with ease, his teeth grazing your lower lip as one of his hands slid down to remove your sleep shorts and panties in one go. He broke the kiss so his lips could move down to your neck, and even though you tried to follow him, you couldn't close the distance since the silks kept you still.

His stubble scratched your skin as he made his way down you to your breast, but he paused to pull off his boxers and free his cock, groaning as the pressure finally lifted, and it jumped up to hit his stomach, all hard, red and leaking. He returned to his journey, his lips brushing your skin as the hand that wasn't holding him up made its way down your body to your core. "Fucking hell, Darlin', you're so fucking wet."

You expected him to touch you more, to feel his fingers on your clit so he could bring you to orgasm with his usual speed and ego. But his fingers only grazed your skin before pulling away, and you blinked in confusion as he smiled. "I want you to get the most out of tonight, and that means not getting what you want right away, you gotta savour some things."

You wanted to roll your eyes, no matter what, he was still so sure of himself that sometimes it made you angry. "Ok my love, whatever you want."

He had shifted backwards, resting on his knees so his eyes could take you in greedily. "Oh Darlin', don't tell me that, I'm liable to keep you here all night." His fingers had started to run from your collarbone to your hip, up and down as he spoke while his eyes raked your body. He shook off his stooper and smiled. "Now, where was I?"

"You were kissing me." You could kiss him all day and all night if there was time, you think Phillip would agree.

He clicked his fingers and nodded quickly. "That's right." He was back hovering over you, his lips on yours as he kissed you with the same passion as before, and just like before, he was pulling away far too soon to kiss his way to your breasts.

But once again, he didn't do what you expected, and rather than focusing on your chest, he started kissing over the rest of your torso. It was slow, each kiss deliberate, hitting a sensitive spot, or a freckle or the odd scar, it was like he mapping all the parts of your body that he could reach. By the time he finally made it to your breasts, you were wound so tight that the touch of his lips on your nipple made you jump.

He chuckled against your skin, and you sighed as the warmth of his mouth spread across your chest. You moved to run your fingers through his hair but the binds on your wrists stopped you, forcing you to relax into the feeling as one of his hands came up to play with your other nipple, his callous fingertip grazing your skin gently.

Everything felt so much stronger with the reduced ability to move, and you were getting desperate to feel him elsewhere. He seemed to pick up on it because he popped off your breast and slowly kissed his way down his body until his lips were brushing your mound. "You good for me to go further?"

"Please." He smiled against your skin as he kissed your inner thigh, then he was lifting your legs over his shoulders, stopping to run his hands up and down them before finally settling between your legs. He started with soft kisses, his lips barely grazing your skin as he made his way across your flesh, but his mouth was watering, and Graves was not a man to deny himself for long, so he spread you open and finally drove in like a man starved.

He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked softly as the hand that was on your breast made its way down your body, two of this long, thick fingers circling your entrance before he was pulled away to meet your eyes. "Can I Darlin'?"

You took in a shuddering breath; his fingers had taken the place of his tongue and were rubbing your clit in those precise circles he knew would have you aching off the bed. "Yes please."

He grinned and pecked your lower stomach before his mouth returned to your flesh, and he slid two fingers inside you. He wasted no time in running his fingertips along your walls to find your G-spot, and you swore you could feel the callous on his trigger finger as he pressed it. With his mouth back on your clit, he was moaning against you like he was the one getting off.

You pulled on your wrists again, needing to run your fingers through his soft hair or push him closer to you, but they didn't budge, and the vibrations of his laugh sent shockwaves up your spine. It didn't take long to grow close to the peak, and your attempts to warn him that you were close were stolen by moans as he doubled his efforts.

Your chest heaved, and his forearm went over your hips to keep them still, and you started to twitch. You managed to mutter what sounded like a please, and he moaned an affirmative against you, and that was all you needed to topple over the edge, your vision going white and your body becoming ridge as the pleasure overcame you.

It felt like it went on for hours, the edges of your consciousness going grey as it went on and on, and then the valley you were falling into rose into another peak before you could think, and you were vaguely aware of your own moans filling the air. Mercifully, he seemed to take pity on you when you started to twitch away from him and stopped, pulling his fingers free before slowly kissing back up your body.

You could taste yourself on his lips when he kissed you, and when he pulled back to suck his fingers clean, you could see that his chin was shiny with you. He wiped it with the back of his hand, then used your leftover wetness to slick up his cock as he moved to hover over you. "You wanna keep going Darlin'? Or do you need a minute?"

Your eyes drifted to his cock, he looked painfully hard, and despite the fact that it still felt like his mouth was on you, there was no way you were going to make him wait any longer. "Yes, yes I want to keep going."

He smiled and dropped on top of you, helping you lift your shaking legs around his waist as he ran his cock up your slit, chuckling softly when you twitched. "I'll go slow." He wasn't lying, when he finally slid inside you, it was at a snail's pace, and you were grateful for the slow push as your brain grew fuzzier. You could feel every ridge and vein, and when he was fully seated, his head dropped against your shoulder as his chest rose and fell with laboured breaths. "You good?"

The urge to touch him was once again thwarted by your tied wrists, but you still responded for fear that he would still stop. "Yes, please move." He started slowly, grinding his hips into you as he angled them to brush your G-spot. It didn't take long for him to pick up speed, and you could see the look of concentration as he shifted his weight onto one elbow so he could rub your clit.

He faltered slightly, his voice shaking as his hips picked up force. "I'm not going to last Darlin'." He grunted and his muscles tensed. "I fucking love you so much y/n."

That was all fine with you, you were fast huddling towards another orgasm and you didn't think you could take much more. "I love you too Phill." His lips found yours and the kiss was rough, it felt like he was trying to eat you alive as the fingers on your clit moved to push you into another orgasm. It was violent when it happened, forcing out every other thought as it took over every sense. The groans in your ear turned animalistic and then his hips were stuttering as your clenching gave him the final push to follow you into bliss.

Once his hips had stilled, he collapsed onto you, rubbing his cheek with yours as he caught his breath. He reached up and untied you, bringing your wrists to his lips and kissing the skin before he turned you both on your sides as he slipped out of you. You buried your face in his chest and he brushed your sweat stuck hair out of your face on his way to run your back up and down to soothe your racing heart.

"How are you feeling Darlin?" You tapped his chest twice, unsure of your words and he chuckled softly. "Like that, is it? Well that means I've done my job right."

He brought you back to earth with patience, rubbing your back while he pressed kisses to your skin at random. When the world faded back in, he smiled at you and brushed your cheek with his fingertips. "You back with me?"

You nodded. "I am. Thank you for tonight."

He smiled softly and kissed you once again. "No need to thank me Darlin', it was my pleasure. Anything hurt? Are your wrists and shoulders ok?"

You nodded. "Everything's fine."

He smiled and sat up, taking you with him before spinning slightly to open his top drawer. He had a bottle of water in one and your favourite bag of potato chips in the other and he placed them down as his hand moved to rub your legs. "Have those, you need to get something in you. Once you're all fed and watered, I'll run you a bath and clean you up, then we can get a good night's rest."

You yawned, suddenly hungry, thirsty and tired. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Like I said, it's my pleasure."

****

Between the bath and another small meal that Phillip had raced off to grab you and the clean sheets, you were completely exhausted by the time he had cleaned up and climbed into bed next to you. You nuzzled into his embrace, and he wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your hair as he breathed in the smell of your shampoo. "I'd like to repeat tonight if that's something you want."

You gathered enough energy to reply, pressing a kiss to his chest before speaking. "I'd like that too."

"Good, that's real good." You could hear the smile in his voice and his hand found your cheek. "Thank you for being so good for me, I really enjoyed myself."

You smiled softly. "So did I, and thank you for being so sweet, and looking after me, I really appreciate it."

"No need to thank me Darlin'. That's what I'm meant to do." He pulled the blankets further up your body and reached over to turn the light off. "Goodnight Darlin'. I love you."

You settled into his arms and managed to reply before sleep took you. "Goodnight Phill, I love you too."

Fin

@chaos-4baby

[lightwise]

TBB S3 E10 Reaction

Life has been a bit busier the last few weeks so I am finally catching up on my episode reactions (I’m determined to do all of them this season!) And I apologize y’all, this episode made me very snarky apparently.

I’ll be honest. When this episode first came out I was nowhere near as surprised by it or horrified by it as reviewers seemed to be. Nothing about Palpatine hunting down force sensitive children as experiments and using Cad Bane to do it is a surprise, and the Vault feels so much like Andor. But even on a rewatch this episode holds up so well and honestly just starts to give a cold chill under the skin as the quiet horror of it sinks in.

- Cute kid. And the Batch nowhere to be seen. This is going to be a different episode isn’t it

- Oh no. He’s force sensitive 😫😫😫 hmmm how could that possibly go wrong

- This is giving Andor vibes 👀

- It’s always interesting seeing “regular people” in Star Wars and little markets and how they’re just trying to go about their daily lives.

- Don’t go around snitching people! Nothing good ever comes of it!!!

- Yeah this guy is worse than Timm from Andor. Wtf dude. You’re turning in a baby!!

- Also is it just me or typical Star Wars “houses” end up being pretty dark and depressing?

- Wait okay okay. So this is the CX chamber. Why can’t we see any of them yet 😩😩 what is this red fog? What are these weird conditioning pods? What kind of armor is on this datapad?? *trying to crawl inside my screen* I NEED ANSWERS JENNIFER!!

- “Do you trust me?” Ooooh why do I think that’s going to come back around

- But also, babygirl, I don’t think you actually know what you’re signing up for

- “I could be more useful” “you wish to be the new chief scientist Dr. Karr?” “I believe I’ve earned it.” Alright. This. This is interesting. This fully encapsulates the dynamic that these two have shared. Emerie knows that Hemlock only values things that are useful, and probably only sees her own value in the light of what she can contribute, due to how she was raised and the circumstances she has been trapped in. Hemlock’s tone of voice implies that he has never considered her as being the new chief scientist, and yet he acquiesces quite quickly, almost as though he’s just too busy to think about it and if it means things are brought back up to production standard then he’s fine with it. His utter disregard for Emerie as an actual human and someone with merit is disgusting though.

- But I get it, the man’s busy, he’s got a lot of evil shit he’s trying to do all at the same time 🙄

- So we have “the assets”, which is the area that Hemlock took Palpatine in the first episodes, where the orange containment pods are and the zillo beast is being kept. We still don’t know what those assets are. The Vault is something different.

- Well. Shit. It’s Andor and Narkina 5 for kids. Lovely 😳💀

- “There are few adults left with such characteristics” I WONDER IN THE NAME OF ONE EMPEROR PALPATINE WHY

- Okay so this entire exchange is awful. The kids are so cute! Hemlock is so cold. “Specimens. Assets” ughhh Emerie what are you getting yourself into!!

- Is this the first time we’ve heard the word glasses in Star Wars?

- Oh no. So THIS is why Cad Bane was brought back 🥺🥺

- The score in this episode is perfectly eerie

- Lol Todo is not good with kids huh 🤣

- That poor mama when she wakes up and finds her baby is gone

- I hope that dude has his entire life flash before his eyes as he’s trying to pick all of those credits up

- “My name’s Eva” 🥹🥹🥹 Emerie has no idea how to handle this 😂

- I still wanna know what’s happened with these commandos. No way a clone of Jango Fett is able to look a child in the eyes, call them a “specimen” and not have even an ounce of remorse as they stun them point blank.

- “Jax?” And Eva just points. The power in knowing someone’s name vs a dehumanizing number

- It’s also interesting that these kids are species that are red, blue, and green, and when they get Bayrn in, he’s white. RGB colors make up white light when put together.

- The little peeks of Emerie’s backstory we keep getting are so interesting. She was abandoned by Nala Se. She knows that these children don’t belong here, the same way that Omega told both her and Crosshair that they didn’t belong here either. Nala Se says that the Empire will hold these kids to control them. Emerie feels like she has no power to do anything differently. So much to unpack here.

- Why is Tarkin’s holo so large?

- Lol I honestly love getting to see the backbiting politics of how the Empire functions. It’s so bad and so funny

- Also love that Project Necromancer is so secret that even Tarkin doesn’t know what it is. He’s so nosy

- Okay why does he bring up the CX schematic again and why is it so different than the one we saw earlier??

- Whoa Cid was tortured???

- “The other operatives aren’t ready to join you in the field” why????

- We’re visiting a lot of space stations this season

- Man I wish Emerie had fudged this test

- Nooo let the poor baby go home 🥺

- Oh and now we’re putting kids in solitary confinement. Great.

- C’mon Emerie. Keep clicking that moral compass until it points north

- She kept the straw Lula. She’s giving it to Eva 😭. There’s hope for her yet

[goatsandgangsters]

had a very interesting day out where I saved a hypothetical dog's life, aesthetically read in the park, and got in the middle of Strangers Arguing in my temporary new job as Patron Saint of Slackliners

first of all, gorgeous day, low 60s, bright blue sky, warm in the sun but with a refreshingly cool breeze, the trees finally have leaves again, peak Late Spring moment

I stopped at the farmer's market and didn't end up buying anything, but someone at a booth gave me a little sprig of lavender (this is a surprise tool that will help us later!)

passed by a guy squatting on the sidewalk picking up the entire contents of a dropped container of grapes, right as his friend was like "it's fine, just leave it, some dog will come by and take care of it" and I whipped around and went "GRAPES ARE SUPER TOXIC TO DOGS!!!" this is an urban area, people don't have yards, there are So Many dogs on the sidewalks, so my first task set by the universe today was sharing Dog Facts so that none of them die

I arrive at the park. I find a lovely tree to sit under. it is the most vibrantly blue-and-green day imaginable. I have my travel mug of hot tea that is only getting hotter sitting in direct sunlight. I have a sprig of lavender in my pocket. I am wearing—this is important scene setting information—high waisted secondhand wool trousers that definitely once belonged to an old man, a button down, tortoise shell glasses, and (again) a sprig of lavender. I am reading a book of oscar wilde plays. I am a parody of myself, but it's fine because I'm having a great time

and then—The Slackline Drama Begins. two people show up and start setting up a slackline near me and these other two girls who're sitting on the grass. the two girls are in the trajectory of the slackline, so the slackliners ask if they could scoot back a couple feet (or maybe they didn't even, the grass girls were like a little off to the side, so they might've just taken issue with the slacklining happening right next to them—not sure, I hadn't fully clocked into the drama yet)

in either case, the girls refuse to move and take issue with the slackliners, who explain that they're really sorry but they need a certain distance between trees and this is one of the few spots that's good for them to set up. the grass girls are like "well then maybe you should have gotten here earlier :))))))))"

important context: this park is 500 acres. it is not a small park. there is no shortage of grass to sit on. I have gotten lost in this park multiple times. it's vast.

there is a lot of back-and-forth between the slackliners and the grass girls. the one slackliner is getting very upset and angry that the grass girls won't just scoot. slackline girl has been having a rough time and hasn't been able to get outside recently and this is very clearly the final shitty-thing straw. the grass girls are immune to this and using that like...... faux-nice "girl who bullied you in middle school" Meanly Chirpy voice to keep being like "well we were here first so this is Our Spot :))))))) you can't ask people to move in public :)))))"

it has gone on long enough that's impossible to ignore, but my mental math says that jumping in and trying to mediate won't go over well, so instead I just look at upset slackline girl and say—loudly—"I'm on your side." bc I felt like if grass girls with their Faux Polite Tones knew other people were paying attention and were siding with Swearing Slackliner, that would help more

Grass Girls do, finally, get up and leave entirely (instead of just...... scooting over five feet) and they make some snide parting remarks. slackline girl calls them assholes, I loudly agree. Slackline Girl is now sobbing, her friend is comforting her, it's kinda clear she's not gonna be able to have a good time even with grass girls leaving

I go over and I'm like "hey I know you don't know me, but do you want a hug?" and the girl says yes, clings onto me crying, she's being very apologetic about the whole thing and trying to explain, and I'm like "no they were literally just sitting on the grass and there is...... So Much Grass. you are not the asshole. there's so much other grass!" I keep this up with her and the friend until she stops crying, bc like sometimes you do need an outside perspective

I go "hey.......... do you want a sprig of lavender?" and she very tearfully nods and goes "I love lavender"

again, I AM DRESSED LIKE A SNAZZY GRANDFATHER, joining this beef between strangers and doling out random sprigs of lavender

anyway, she's cheering up, so I go back to reading, they get slacklining, they end up needing to tie a line to my tree I'm reading under, I don't have a problem with this because I'm not a dick and we can share the tree, the afternoon passes, eventually it's getting a little chilly so I decide to leave and I'm thinking "okay how can I quickly grab their attention to say goodbye"

but the SECOND they see me stand up and grab my things, they're like BYE THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!! and I'm like "I hope you have a good day!" and she's like "you kinda saved it" I'm full of gooey feelings about it, I genuinely want good things to happen for this person so much, and I'm glad the universe appointed me and my sprig of lavender as her cheerer-upper

in conclusion: I'm enjoying Lady Windermere's Fan so far

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 12

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

What initially appeared as a tedious and bothersome obstacle at work, turned out to be something far more sinister and perilous. Fortunately, Morpheus was there to safeguard you. Or rather, the essence of him that resided within your pendant.

Chapter 12

Upon awakening the next morning, it came as no surprise to find the necklace still securely adorning your neck, having traversed realms during the night. The touch of the stone against your skin evoked a sense of comforting warmth, tranquility, and security.

Your attention became completely absorbed as you gazed at the crystal's reflection in the mirror, almost losing track of time. Although the blue glow was no longer animated with a life of its own, it continued to radiate stunningly whenever the natural light illuminated the stone’s surface from various angles. It almost appeared to emit a gentle luminescence in the darkness, reminiscent of a magical Fairy amulet.

During your younger years, you cultivated a keen fascination for healing crystals and their diverse properties. Your interest was so deep that one Christmas Eve, your father gifted you a meticulously detailed book containing the names and descriptions of various crystals. From what you could recall, the Rainbow Moonstone held the distinction of being one of the most coveted and priciest stones available in the market, standing out from other minerals due to its iridescent color.

While you had never possessed one before, you held an unwavering conviction that no other Moonstone could come close to the enchantment and beauty of the jewel you had received from Morpheus. The pendant was far more than a mere decorative accessory, containing a fragment of his essence with the primary function of safeguarding you in his absence.

While you were uncertain about the specific intricacies, accepting the gift had brought immeasurable joy to your boyfriend, and ultimately, that was the most important thing to you.

Ella was absolutely thrilled to hear that her suggestion had been incredibly successful. Upon learning that you had formalized your relationship with Morpheus, she was overwhelmed with excitement and let out a joyous scream right in your ear. She eagerly asked to be introduced to your boyfriend, complimenting you on the captivating necklace that caught everyone's attention at work.

Furthermore, your colleagues were quick to observe a striking transformation in your appearance and couldn't resist praising your radiant and youthful look. The women in the office were curious about your skincare routine and makeup products, initially skeptical when you explained that you hadn't made any changes to your habits. However, after a while, they decided to let it go and returned to their tasks.

As they continued to describe you so highly, you couldn't help but question whether there was a correlation between their perception of you and the pendant you were wearing. Considering the fact that both Alex and Paul had experienced prolonged lifespans due to The Endless' presence in their basement, you started to entertain the possibility that the fragment of power infused into the stone might be having a similar effect on you.

Unfortunately, that seemed to further exacerbate the situation at work, with Maya's growing hostility causing trouble with a supplier. Despite her supposed competence in managing things, Maya failed to inform you about an important delivery of fabrics and materials scheduled for your day off. As a consequence, the supplier discovered that your team was ill-prepared and expressed his frustration, interpreting it as a lack of professionalism on your part. Luckily, you were able to resolve the issue by explaining that you were not informed about his arrival. After apologizing multiple times, he eventually calmed down and decided to let the matter go.

You confronted Maya about the situation, only for her to feign ignorance and insist that she had left a post-it note on your desk. While Ella dismissed the incident and speculated that the note had been lost accidentally, you couldn't shake the feeling that something much more malicious was happening against you.

Despite your suspicions, you made the choice to withhold any further complaints, aiming to deprive Maya of the satisfaction she sought. Instead, you channeled your energy into excelling at your job, and the rewarding outcome of your hard work was so satisfying that you didn't want to waste any more thoughts on Maya and her envy.

Your eyes filled with emotion as you witnessed your latest creation showcased on one of the massive LED screens in Piccadilly Circus. A wave of people expressed their admiration for the clothing designs and digital editing skills to such an extent that they were driven to scour local stores in pursuit of the coveted Corbyn&Jones brand.

Oliver reported that the sales were soaring in a manner unprecedented even with Isaac on their team. This only heightened the anticipation for the upcoming fashion show, bolstering the confidence that you had been lacking for quite some time.

Your father was overjoyed, taking a stroll every day just to marvel at your company's advertisements scattered throughout the city and boast about his daughter to anyone he encountered. Making him proud had always been your ultimate life goal, and now you could finally release the weight of anxiously fearing that you might disappoint him.

And yet, for some unknown reason, you had observed a sudden shift in his mood. On random occasions when you visited, you noticed him drifting off and appearing melancholic. Concerned, you felt the need to ensure that he wasn't concealing any physical decline, but you were relieved to hear that he was in better health than ever. Nevertheless, you still felt compelled to delve deeper and probe further to uncover the underlying issue.

Eventually, he disclosed that he was going through a post-traumatic episode, plagued by nightly nightmares stemming from the fear of falling ill again. Despite harboring a lingering uncertainty about the truthfulness of his words, you decided to confide in Morpheus and seek his aid. Your boyfriend reassured you that he would visit your father in his dreams to alleviate his distress and ease the man’s anxieties, earning a radiant smile and a tender kiss from you.

One night, Morpheus planned a delightful surprise that filled you with sheer happiness. He awaited you at the dream beach, wearing a charming little smile with his hands crossed in front of him. Instead of embarking on a typical adventure through enchanted realms or historical eras, Morpheus presented you with a formal invitation to his castle. He expressed his desire to give you a proper tour of his abode and to introduce you to Lucienne in a dignified way.

The moment Morpheus mentioned his librarian, your memory instantly conjured up the recollection of your encounter with her during a previous dream. While you had always regarded the entire realm of the Dreaming as Morpheus' home, the fact that he specifically invited you to his palace served to strengthen the love and trust he had for you.

With gentle guidance, Morpheus led you on a serene walk across a curved bridge that evoked a strong sense of familiarity, appearing to be the very same you had crossed on the day you reconciled. However, this time, there was no trace of fog or haziness to obstruct your view, allowing you to completely immerse yourself in the breathtaking scenery that unfolded before your eyes. Below, an expansive body of water stretched out, while two majestic stone hands supported the bridge, seemingly reaching towards the vast blue sky adorned with fluffy white clouds. Surrounding you, lush green hills extended as far as the eye could behold. To your astonishment, there appeared to be a woman intricately carved into the rocks, reclining and appearing at peace.

What captivated you the most was the sight of a grand palace that awaited you at the end of the path. It radiated enchantment, reminiscent of the Disney castle, the opulence of the Sultan's home from Aladdin, and the majestic landmarks found in RPG games. It’s towering pillars and soaring, pointed towers, were adorned with intricate domes that added to its grandeur.

Hovering just above the main doors were three mystical creatures: a Wyvern, a Griffin, and a Hippogriff, which you recognized from your readings. Contrary to its name, the Hippogriff did not possess the frontquarters of an eagle, but rather resembled a majestic winged horse. They shifted their positions, looking down at the two of you and adding an undeniable sense of fascination to the scene.

"You know, when I was a child, I always wished I could go to Disneyland. But now I realize that it would pale in comparison to this. Your realm is beyond anything I could have ever dreamed of.”

Morpheus leaned in close, whispering intimately in your ear. “My love, you are asleep.”

You suppressed the shiver that traveled down your spine, aware that his closeness elicited a physical response in your body. You didn't want to let those vibrations escalate into something more. Yet.

You chuckled softly, unable to contain your amusement. "Point taken," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You let your fingers glide down his elbow, until your hand reached his wrist, where your fingers naturally intertwined with his.

Morpheus remained almost motionless, but you could sense his touch growing stronger against you. The doors at the entrance opened autonomously, offering a warm welcome to the King and his esteemed guest.

In your previous dreams, you were only able to catch glimpses of the castle, primarily making your way to the Throne room without the opportunity to explore any other areas in detail. Now, with Morpheus at your side, your dream was incredibly vivid and stable, allowing you to fully experience everything exactly as it was.

The dark floor gleamed with a flawless polish and reflected the ambient light, while the walls showcased an intricate and captivating Gothic architectural design. On either side, numerous column torches illuminated the surroundings with their flickering flames, casting a warm glow throughout the space.

Morpheus gracefully accompanied you as you traversed the crimson red carpet that extended along the main hall and gracefully ascended the grand staircase. As you made your way, you inspected the aged portraits and glass windows above you.

As you entered a new room, the architecture underwent a complete transformation, presenting a structure crafted entirely from wood. The yellow curtains were all drawn back, allowing the vibrant natural light to fill the space with its radiance.

At the far end of the room, someone stood before a printed wallpaper that showcased a remarkably realistic image of a library. Clad in what appeared to be a janitor uniform, the figure held a paint roller in their hand as they inspected the wall with a sense of contentment.

After a moment, you realized that it wasn't a person at all, but rather an eerie scarecrow-like creature with a massive pumpkin head in a typical Jack O’Lantern style.

Noticing your presence, the pumpkin man nervously cleared its throat and greeted its lord. "It’s finished, boss.”

You smiled as you observed the creature, noting that it had the voice of a grumpy middle-aged man.

"Thank you, Mervyn," Morpheus replied, releasing your hand and placing his fingers on your back. "Y/N, Mervyn is the caretaker of my castle, responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of the Dreaming.”

Mervyn's gaze narrowed as he locked eyes with you.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mervyn. You are doing a wonderful job," you said with genuine kindness.

Introducing yourself to such a fantastical character felt both peculiar and mesmerizing at the same time.

"Oh, I… well," he replied, visibly savoring your unexpected compliment. "Welcome to the castle.”

His statement lacked any hint of enthusiasm, but you surmised that it was simply a characteristic of his worn-out, wayward personality.

"I'll be nearby if you need me, boss.”

As you observed Mervyn walking away out of the corner of your eye, Morpheus gently encouraged you to move forward. He came to a stop in front of the wallpaper, and you couldn't help but admire its flawless integration with the wall, as if it were an intrinsic part of the structure itself. Gazing upon the image, you perceived a certain depth to it, creating the illusion of a genuine passage leading to the library.

To your surprise, you soon confirmed that the wallpaper was indeed as tangible as it seemed to be. Morpheus took a step forward, effortlessly passing through it and seamlessly crossing the threshold.

"Come," he beckoned, turning to you with a smug expression. "It poses no harm to you.”

You couldn't contain your laughter as you followed him, walking through the wallpaper and being instantly transported into a real, physical library. The sight of numerous shelves brimming with books enveloped you, creating a mesmerizing and immersive atmosphere that fueled the elation within you.

It was evident that Morpheus had deliberately chosen a longer route, leading you to a higher floor before descending along the metallic stairs. He found your reactions entertaining to observe, delighting in your wonder as you expressed admiration for everything before you.

The castle was far from ordinary, with its abundance of shortcuts that efficiently transitioned to Morpheus’ intended destinations. The Dreaming was something that defied description, unlike any amusement park one could find in the Waking World. It was a realm of constant metamorphosis, unpredictable and boundless, imbued with endless magic and mystery.

And yet, humans could only ever glimpse a small fragment of its vastness.

The height of the ceiling was unfathomable, stretching far beyond what you could imagine. The sight of the long spiraling stairs made you question if anyone would ever dare to climb them, as they seemed to ascend in such a way that even watching them felt terrifying.

Comparing yourself to Belle from Beauty and the Beast felt like an understatement, as every aspect of your adventure reflected elements from the known fairytale. The grand castle, the magnificent library, the dress you wore, the mystical characters in the halls, and the presence of the godly creature beside you, who had often been depicted as a monster by many.

He was the King of Dreams and Nightmares. But above all, he was your enchanting boyfriend, your savior, and the hero of your childhood. Anything but a monster.

When you locked eyes with him, he raised an eyebrow inquisitively, but you didn't give him the chance to speak. Bringing your hands to either side of his face, you leaned in and pressed a passionate, joyful kiss against his lips, savoring every moment in a lingering embrace. Time seemed to stand still as you cherished the connection between you.

As you slowly pulled away, the sound of your lips parting from his reverberated through the air. He tenderly grasped one of your wrists, softly stroking it up and down with his cool hand. "What was that?" he questioned, The glint of satisfaction in his eyes indicated that he was by no means annoyed by it.

"I'm just so incredibly happy to be here that I couldn't resist expressing it,” you replied. “Thank you for this.”

"No need. You will always be welcome to my realm, and my castle.”

As your smile widened, you gently smoothed out his coat and affectionately adjusted his collar, even though there was nothing noticeably amiss with it. Stepping back, you gently ran your fingers along the wooden surface of one of the prominent tables at the center, feeling the cold texture as if you were touching it in the Waking World. There was no lack of contact with the surface, and your fingers didn't sink into it or appear strange to the eye.

The table was nearly swallowed by a collection of scrolls, bulky tomes, and various vintage boxes. Your curiosity enticed you to delve deeper into the contents, but you restrained yourself, choosing not to pry.

The sound of approaching footsteps grabbed your attention, prompting you to lift your head from the sea of objects. Emerging from behind a shelf, Lucienne appeared, clutching a book that dwarfed all the other volumes on the expansive desk.

She looked exactly as you remembered, sporting the same pair of round glasses perched on her nose and her distinctive pointy ears. Her jacket had been cast aside, giving her a more casual appearance with the dark purple vest and long-sleeved white shirt.

As she glanced up, she spotted you and Morpheus standing before her, hastily setting the weighty book aside.

"Oh, my apologies, sir. I didn't hear you coming," she said politely. "I see you've brought a special guest.”

"Lucienne, I am certain you remember Y/N.”

Morpheus' voice was deep and low, resonating through your entire being as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Of course, my Lord.”

Lucienne’s gentle eyes sparkled in the dim library light, and a soft smile graced her face as she drew nearer. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Y/N.”

Overwhelmed by the magnitude of the moment, you allowed your boldness to take over. Without hesitation, you embraced Lucienne, wrapping your arms around her neck and giving her a gentle squeeze.

"Oh dear," she exclaimed, her voice filled with surprise as she stood frozen in shock.

Inexplicably, you had a sense of familiarity with her that extended beyond the very brief interaction you had with the woman once. Perhaps it was because of the deep attachment you had formed to the Dreaming, and subsequently, to everything that was a part of it.

"The pleasure is mine, Lucienne.”

As you slowly disentangled from the embrace and released her, she quickly regained her composure, straightening her posture and gesturing towards the bookshelves around her.

"Welcome to the Library. Here, we have every book ever written, as well as those yet unwritten,” she explained.

"This place is absolutely incredible," you said in amazement. "I wouldn't even know where to begin.”

Morpheus regarded you with a hint of pride, but then, he had to interject. "It is here that I take my leave of you. You are in good hands with Lucienne.”

As his touch left your skin, a pang of disappointment tugged at your heart. "Do you have to leave?" you asked, almost hoping for a different answer.

"Yes, for the moment," he answered. "I will return.”

While you had hoped that he would remain by your side throughout the entirety of your dream, you realized that being his girlfriend didn't automatically entitle you to have him all to yourself. Given the multitude of dreamers in the realm, it came as no surprise that the King of Dreams had important matters to attend to. While you held a special place in his heart, there were occasions when Morpheus’ priorities took precedence over your personal desires.

And so you nodded, holding back from showing any affectionate gestures in front of his librarian. Morpheus acknowledged your understanding with a silent but complicit look as he walked away.

Alone with Lucienne, she wasted no time in asking about your literary preferences and offering to give you a comprehensive tour of the entire place. The idea was enticing, and you found yourself eagerly following her around. Her speeches were remarkably smooth and detailed, showcasing her formal yet clear manner of explaining things.

Upon returning to the main table, she graciously invited you to take a seat on the most luxurious armchair positioned behind it. In your hands, you held the largest and grandest book you had ever laid eyes on. It was a novel that had yet to be published, a carefully guarded fantasy reading that she graciously allowed you to glimpse into.

After some time had passed, Matthew swooped through the library and landed gracefully in front of you, greeting you warmly with his usual cheerful demeanor. With your excitement still running high, you gently cradled the raven in your hands, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

If birds were capable of blushing, you were certain that Matthew would have turned crimson red.

"Oh, wow. That was unexpected," he blurted out.

His comment earned a soft chuckle from you, while Lucienne simply broke into an amused grin.

It felt as though your dream could have lasted forever. You remained there for what seemed like hours, although it was likely that time flowed differently in that realm compared to your own. With Lucienne's permission, you wandered amidst the countless shelves, gazing at the myriad of books they held as you relished in the scent of paper and old leather.

Eventually, you became completely absorbed in the books, taking one after another and running your fingertips or nails along the pages before carefully placing them back. The Library was overflowing with knowledge, and the wealth of history and literature you discovered there was more inspiring than anything you had ever come across in the Waking World.

The Dreaming was a true treasure, something that needed to be safeguarded at all costs. The mere thought of it being destroyed, reduced to rubble and dust by the hands of one man driven by greed, only intensified your contempt for humanity.

As you carefully set the last book onto its designated shelf, you were taken by surprise when Morpheus' voice resonated in your ear, causing you to nearly jump in startlement.

"Hello.”

When you turned around, you found him standing magnificently close to you, his gaze filled with love as he looked upon your face.

"Hi," you responded. “I thought you were busy.”

"I was.”

You noticed that he was gradually moving closer, gently pressing you against the shelf behind you.

"I was hoping to see you again before waking up,” you muttered.

“Here I am.”

“Here you are.”

As your back made contact with the wooden structure, a soft gasp escaped your lips. He remained silent, his fingers indulging as they traced along the fabric of your dress.

With a mixture of apprehension and a sudden, growing arousal in the pit of your stomach, you whispered to him, “We’re not alone.”

"We are," he stated firmly. "I have used my power to isolate this part of the library. It is just you and me.”

His lips slightly parted, and in the presence of his aura, the Moonstone necklace reacted, emanating a vibrant blue glow that grew in intensity as if it were dancing.

Unconsciously, you darted the tip of your tongue out to moisten your lower lip. "Oh.”

"Are you disappointed?" he asked, his voice filled with a hint of concern.

You shook your head. "Why would I be?”

"Perhaps you had something else in mind," he clarified, taking a handful of fabric into his hands.

Your heart began to race even faster. "Morpheus, you can't be serious.”

“About what?”

Your breath was trembling, and you could feel the anticipation building as he skillfully worked along your dress, gradually lifting the gown up, bit by bit.

"You know the effect you have on me," you replied.

Hearing that, a corner of his lips lifted in a subtle smile. "Do I?”

As he raised your skirt to the desired height, he slipped one of his hands beneath it. His fingers delicately lingered on the hem of your underwear, playfully toying with the lacy fabric.

"You do," you remarked with a mixture of confidence and desire. "Very well, in fact.”

He brought his mouth tantalizingly close to yours, his lips hovering just a breath away. "You speak truly, my love.”

Before you could utter a response, your voice was cut off as his index and middle fingers brushed against your covered clit, descending just below it to confirm your need. As he continued to touch you, you could feel the wetness building and spreading with each stroke, moving back and forth in a steady, delicate rhythm.

“Morpheus-”

“I know.”

As his mouth eagerly melded with yours, you responded with equal hunger, your arms encircling his shoulders as you pulled him closer. Your tongues entwined in a passionate waltz, while his fingers ventured delicately, exploring your entrance through the fabric of your undergarment.

In the Waking World, you repeatedly tossed and turned in your bed, tightly clutching the sheets as your dream exerted its influence on you.

The last time you had a night out was during your college days. When Ella invited you to join the team for a dinner and drinks, you were initially tempted to decline. However, your friend was insistent and wouldn't take no for an answer.

Ella arrived at 7 PM to pick you up, with Oliver at the wheel of their Volkswagen Golf. If she already looked stunning in her office attire, she now radiated with the glamour of a Hollywood diva. Her green eyes and blond hair, elegantly styled in a bun, were enhanced by a captivating mossy tube dress. Oliver couldn't resist showering Ella with loving and appreciative comments, expressing his admiration for her beauty. However, he also took the time to respectfully compliment your appearance, a sentiment that Ella readily endorsed.

You spent an unreasonable amount of time in front of the closet, and your indecisiveness put you at risk of being late. Ultimately, you opted for a classy dress that struck a perfect balance, neither too short nor overly long.

If you were already feeling nervous before, the news that Maya would also be present only intensified your uneasiness. No matter how hard you tried to treat her kindly and show that you welcomed her presence at work, every attempt resulted in her spewing venom at you. You repeatedly cautioned both Ella and Oliver about the negative impression she was making on you, but they consistently ignored your concerns, convinced that she would eventually warm up.

You knew better than anyone else that your gut feeling was never wrong.

Regrettably, there was little you could do to improve the situation. Maya had worked for the company much longer than you had, and despite the importance of your role, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were seen as a paranoid newcomer. Although you cherished your relationship with Ella and wouldn't trade your job for anything else, you yearned for the ability to go to the office without the constant fear of the havoc that Maya's malignant plans could unleash.

Upon arriving at the designated location, Oliver expertly parked the car across the street. He then walked alongside Ella, embodying the persona of a perfect gentleman as he offered his arm to her. Deep down, you felt a longing to include Morpheus in these social gatherings, but you were aware that he preferred not to partake in such human events. After all, the King of Dreams and Nightmares wouldn't exactly fit in at a casual pizza night.

Maya, along with a few other colleagues, had already made her presence known, clad in a black leather jacket and a form-fitting red dress. Her long, dark curls had always been the feature you admired most about her. They were wild and full, yet smooth and shiny. Her lips were consistently adorned with her signature coral tint, and the dark makeup she wore accentuated her brown eyes, making them stand out even more.

There was no denying that she was absolutely gorgeous, but there was an unsettling energy about her that didn't sit well with you.

Contrary to your expectations, the dinner turned out to be a delightful experience. Your colleagues were just as enjoyable outside of work as they were within the office, and you discovered that you shared many common interests with most of them. Laughter filled the air as you engaged in lively conversations, relishing in the taste of one of the most delicious pizza you had ever ordered. As you let your mind wander and unwind, you found yourself truly able to relax.

While the unique connection you had with Morpheus and his realm was incomparable, the company of your new friends brought more comfort and enrichment to your waking life.

All of them, except for one person.

Maya remained silent throughout the entire dinner, only offering brief responses to occasional questions. You couldn't shake off the feeling that her intense gaze was aimed at you like daggers, but for the sake of your sanity, you chose to pretend not to notice.

Around midnight, Ella proposed the idea of heading to a nearby club for one last drink and a dance, aiming to give that perfect night an unforgettable ending.

Although you were not typically one to enjoy wild parties, the unanimous agreement made you hesitant to go home alone. While clubs were not your preferred choice, you didn't want to dampen the mood of such a fantastic night with a complaint. Reluctantly, you accepted to join them, despite your reservations.

The music wasn't terrible, but it happened to be excessively loud for your liking. Every time you wanted to say something, you had to shout in someone's ear, only to be asked to repeat it. Due to the limited space available, you had no choice but to occupy a small table with a round couch that left you all crumpled and tightly squeezed together. Additionally, your cocktail was so strong that you had no choice but to leave most of it untouched.

Ella had always been fond of clubs, a passion that had developed since her teenage years. Apart from you, the only person who seemed to feel out of place was Oliver, but he still wore a charming smile for the sake of his wife. For the next hour or so, he lovingly watched her revel in the joy of the dance floor, spinning and leaping to the rhythm. Whenever someone ventured too close, he swiftly stepped in, encircling her in a protective embrace.

As your throat grew parched and you couldn't bear to take another sip of your dreadful drink, you stood up from the couch and headed to the bar for a refreshing soda. From there, you continued to gaze at the married couple, smiling and admiring the beautiful way they complemented each other in everything they did.

But then, your thoughts took a sharp turn when you heard a male voice, unfamiliar and filled with flirtation, right beside you.

"Hey beautiful, are you here alone?”

When you turned to look at the stranger, you noticed that he was standing uncomfortably close to you, emanating a strong scent reminiscent of a beer barrel.

"I'm not," you replied, attempting to move away from his sweaty presence.

"Oh really? I don't see anyone else," he retorted.

You let out a grunt. "My friends are over there," you pointed with your head. "And I'm waiting for my boyfriend.”

Unfortunately, the man was unfazed by your response. "Yeah, sure. That's quite an old excuse."

Getting away from him proved to be quite a challenge, as the more you distanced yourself, the more persistently he pursued you.

"It's not an excuse," you falsely claimed. "And I genuinely want you to respect my boundaries and leave me alone.”

The man erupted into laughter, throwing his head back and slamming his hand against the counter. "Oh, I do love a woman who can challenge me," he exclaimed.

"Good for you.”

You moved away from the counter, determined to walk past him without any further obstacles. However, once again, the man intercepted you, blocking your path and forcefully gripping your upper arm. Panic surged through you as your eyes darted around, realizing that you were completely isolated. None of your friends seemed to notice your distress from their positions, and the growing crowd only served to hinder any potential assistance.

You tugged at your arm, but the grip around it refused to loosen.

"Come on, dance with me. How bad could it be?" he insisted, trying to persuade you.

You gritted your teeth, furrowed your eyebrows, and shot him one of the most menacing looks you could muster. As you did so, you failed to notice that the necklace was beginning to glow amidst the flashing, colorful lights of the club.

To your surprise, just as you anticipated him to persist and attempt to drag you away, the man's gaze abruptly shifted upwards. His face turned pale, and his eyes widened in sheer terror, as if they were on the verge of popping out of their sockets.

For a moment, you considered the possibility that he might have consumed some illicit substance that induced hallucinations, given his startled expression resembling someone who had just encountered a ghost.

His grip loosened, releasing your arm as his hand slowly withdrew. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't know... I mean... I didn't think..." he stammered.

As a familiar black figure emerged from behind you, everything fell into place, and all became clear.

"I am quite certain that she has requested for you to keep your distance," Morpheus stated, locking eyes with the man, his hands tucked into his pockets, and a sinister aura surrounding him. All the sounds in the dancing hall became muffled, and all you could hear now was his voice alone.

“Y-Yes, she did, I-”

“I strongly suggest that you comply," Morpheus warned with an authoritative tone. "Unless you wish to face the consequences for your impertinence.”

The man was shaking so violently now that you thought he might faint right then and there. In an instant, he turned on his wobbling legs and sprinted away, crashing into a few people as he made his exit.

Everything around you regained its clarity, and the music resumed the loud thumping in the air. As Morpheus's gaze met yours, you couldn't resist the urge to take a step forward, filled with eagerness for physical contact. "What are you doing here?" you asked.

He hesitated, his eyes lowering to the pendant around your neck. "I needed to speak with you.”

Although you were confident that you could have found a way to extricate yourself from that situation, you were more than grateful for his intervention.

You were about to respond, but before you could even open your mouth, Ella and Oliver appeared beside you. "Y/N? Is everything okay?”

Ella's focus immediately shifted to Morpheus, who reciprocated by looking directly at her without any visible reaction.

"Yes, just a drunken idiot who tried to force himself on me. But he's gone now," you explained.

Immediately, Ella's countenance brightened as she pieced everything together, giving you that familiar knowing look. But before she could ask any more questions or address Morpheus directly, the Endless leaned slightly closer to you.

"Follow me."

And with that, he turned away, disappearing into the crowd as he made his way towards the exit.

You realized that Morpheus didn't seem inclined to be part of your friendly exchange. As much as you wanted to introduce him to them, you also wished to respect his need for privacy.

"Sorry about that," you said apologetically. "He's reserved and not particularly fond of crowded places.”

At that, Ella emitted a soft hum of comprehension. "So he's your boyfriend?" she asked over the music.

"Yes, that's him."

"Damn, girl. I can see why you're so into him," Ella remarked with a playful grin.

"Oh, come on! You can't say that in front of your husband," you exclaimed, playfully scolding your friend for her customary daring.

"You know how she is," Oliver chimed in, completely at ease and unaffected. "And I must confess, even as a man, I can understand her perspective.”

"See? That's why I married him!”

Seeing them so close-knit was rejuvenating, as they were the perfect embodiment of true love that had weathered many obstacles to fully blossom. With a final, warm smile, you wrapped an arm around Ella's shoulder to speak into her ear, your throat burning for the exertion. "I have to go, he's waiting for me.”

"Don't let me hold you back, then. Enjoy the rest of your night!”

With a playful wink, she hinted at a deeper meaning behind her words, causing you to shake your head in amusement. Oliver nodded politely, bidding you a final farewell, to which you responded with a light pat on his arm. "See you at work, guys."

And so, you deftly wove through the throng of people, their bodies pressed together as they danced and celebrated like there was no tomorrow. When you finally reached the door, you pushed the bar to open it, taking a moment to adjust your jacket and shield yourself from the chilly night air.

Standing in front of the entrance, Morpheus had his feet slightly apart and his hands once again tucked into the pockets of his coat. Unconcerned by his solemn demeanor, you planted a kiss on his cheek.

When he didn't reciprocate your gesture and instead remained motionless, gazing downwards, your smile faded away. “What’s wrong?”

He took a moment to reply, his lips parting, but no words emerged right away.

"I disapprove of your choice of clothing.”

That was definitely not the answer you were expecting.

"Why...? Does this dress not look good on me?" you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

"No, quite the opposite," he said, his voice softening. "These mortals should not have the audacity to lay their hands on you.”

The relief and warmth you felt were incomparable, causing your grip around his coat to weaken. He averted his gaze from you, his attention moving to the ground as if finding it suddenly more interesting.

"In other words, you're jealous," you concluded with a smile.

“No.”

“You’re not?”

"Not exactly," he clarified. "But I do have concerns about other men touching you.”

You laughed, brushing your nose against his. "Which means you are, indeed, jealous," you teased.

He swallowed, struggling to find the right words to explain himself, but ultimately coming up empty-handed.

In the end, he sighed in resignation. "Very well. If it makes you feel better," he conceded.

You pressed your lips against his, savoring their softness and fullness. "You have no idea."

He relaxed at your touch, finally letting his hands leave their safe haven and wrap around your waist. "I do not want anyone else to claim what is rightfully mine," he declared with possessiveness.

If anything, his words only intensified your euphoria.

"As if anyone could ever succeed at that. I am yours and yours alone," you declared with unwavering conviction.

Morpheus let out a long breath, closing his eyes as he lightly traced his lips along your forehead, leaving a trail of tender pecks on your skin.

How long had you longed for a man who would exhibit such a profound level of care for you? Someone who would take action for your well-being and hold you in such high regard, considering you an indispensable part of his life.

At that point, the number of years had become immeasurable. That feeling had been ingrained for so long that it had become an integral part of your being, woven into the very fabric of your existence.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "There is an important matter I need to apprise you of.”

You locked eyes with him, curiosity and apprehension filling your gaze. "Right, you mentioned that you wanted to talk to me. What is it?"

You could sense his nervousness, as if he were apprehensive about divulging the contents of what he had been keeping inside.

"It is about Calliope," he revealed. "She was captured by a human 60 years ago.”

You were overcome with a sense of dread, feeling your chest constricting with pain. "What...?”

"She turned to me for help, calling my name," he explained, his voice tinged with remorse. "But my realm was not in a suitable condition for me to intervene, and my powers needed to be restored.”

You nodded, signaling for him to continue.

“She is bound by the law, I cannot help her. Not directly.”

You pinched your nose in frustration, feeling exasperated. "What is wrong with humans imprisoning gods? This is absolutely ridiculous.”

His fingers tightened their grip on your back, pulling you closer to him.

"Is there anything you can do?" you asked with desperation. "I saw what they did to you when you were trapped in that sphere. I can only imagine the suffering she is enduring right now.”

Morpheus nodded, his expression determined. "There is," he affirmed.

Under normal circumstances, the knowledge that his ex-wife had summoned him would have been cause for concern. However, this time, the urgency to seek justice was undeniable. After what happened to Morpheus, it was impossible to ignore that someone else was exploiting a deity, subjecting her to unimaginable torture.

“Then you must go,” you asserted.

"I seek an extensive favor of you," he uttered, "Yet, is there a prospect for you to wait for my return?”

Was he truly contemplating the idea that you would terminate your recently formed relationship? Was he sincerely afraid of losing you solely because he intended to help his former partner with a situation he had gone through himself?

"Morpheus, I won't stand in your way. Calliope was once your wife and the mother of your son, so I shouldn't expect you to abandon her now that she has no other means of escape. And please know that I would never want that either.”

Morpheus smiled, albeit subtly, but you could still catch a glimpse of it.

“I'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

"You, Y/N Y/L, are the most extraordinary creature which I have ever encountered throughout my entire existence.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and a blush spread across your cheeks, impossible to hide. "That can't be true, I'm just a mere human.”

"You are far greater than you believe yourself to be, my sweet love.”

That was the ultimate reassurance you needed, erasing any remnants of doubt. Your love and trust for Morpheus encompassed every aspect of your being, and in your heart, you stood firm, unencumbered by even the slightest fear of never being reunited with him.

As the two of you strolled across the street, leaving the club behind, Maya eyed you with an intense, fiery fixation. She attempted to quell her anger by biting her nails, but the escalating blaze within her had already consumed the final shreds of her tolerance.

That night, she made a solemn vow to herself that she would make what you had her own, regardless of the consequences.

While you undeniably had complete faith in Morpheus, a part of you couldn't help but think about the potential outcomes of him meeting his wife again. You were completely supportive of him offering her his help; you knew she was in trouble, and the last thing you wanted was for Calliope to endure another 60 years of imprisonment.

Despite the tremendous tragedy they both had faced, you couldn't dismiss the possibility of them somehow reconciling. You knew that he loved you, and he made it clear on more than one occasion. But if things were to take a different turn, would he still choose you above anything and anyone else?

You felt so confident and resolute when you assured him that you were completely okay with what needed to be done. So why couldn't you shake off this newfound sense of anxiety now?

Throughout the entire following day, you made a conscious effort not to dwell on it. You worked overtime without even realizing that you were supposed to be home an hour earlier, to the point that Ella had to physically pull you away from your computer.

When you arrived home, your stomach was in knots, and you didn't have much of an appetite. You tried to text Hob about the idea of grabbing a drink at the New Inn, but unfortunately, he was already engrossed in a post-dinner briefing with the teaching staff.

And so, you settled on the couch with a cozy blanket draped over your legs and a steaming mug of tea in your hands. You flipped through TV channels in search of a captivating movie, documentary, or reality show to distract and exhaust you. The empty plate from the small dinner you had eaten sat on the coffee table, and you stared at it for a while before deciding that you had absolutely no motivation to wash it.

The coziness of the living room, the plush cushions beneath you, and the cocooning warmth of your blanket were so comforting that you started to drift off to sleep, placing the half-empty mug next to the neglected plate.

Your mind started to explore various destinations you could visit. However, considering Morpheus's preoccupation with his ex-wife's predicament, the dream beach was not a suitable option to choose. You felt like visiting Lucienne once again and explore more of the library, but then your thoughts changed as you were reminded of Abel and Cain, along with their beautiful Gargoyle companion, Gregory.

For a moment, you had forgotten about it all until Morpheus freed himself from the basement and resumed his position as the King of Dreams. You reminisced about their kindness and the joy they exuded in the presence of a dreamer, in a realm that had been disconnected from humanity. The tea they served was delightful, and their companionship felt like being with a family you would cherish spending Christmas with.

As you tried to vividly recollect their land, your head found solace against the plush pillows on the couch. Gradually, you felt yourself becoming weightless, floating in the air and twirling like a leaf gracefully dancing in the wind.

It took some time for your full lucidity to return in your dream. As you walked through a beautiful, verdant forest that seemed to glow and transform with each step, a few brilliant fireflies encircled you, emitting a soft and enchanting sound. Your consciousness heightened as you found yourself standing in front of a bridge at the edge of the woodland, with two familiar houses proudly standing at the end of it.

Feeling exhilarated, you sprinted towards the shared garden, which seemed to radiate even more vibrancy and meticulous maintenance compared to your first visit.

“Cain! Able! Are you there?”

Without hesitation, you called out their names, and as if in response, the doors swung open simultaneously. Standing before you were the two hosts, their expressions filled with surprise upon seeing you.

“Oh! It’s Y/N!!”

As Abel hurried towards you, you eagerly grasped his hands, giving them a firm squeeze and shaking them with excitement. “Hello, Able. It’s so nice to see you again.”

Cain also joined the gathering, and after you released Abel's hands, he delicately took hold of one of yours. With a graceful bow, he displayed a gesture of chivalry towards you. “Y/N, Welcome back to our land.”

"Thank you, Cain. I apologize for abruptly waking up during my visit here.”

"Oh, there's no need to worry," replied Abel. "It happens quite often.”

You smiled brightly, marveling at the elegance and virtue of their garden, which had been fully restored to its former glory. But as you quickly surveyed the area, you immediately sensed that something, or rather someone, was absent from the scene. “Where’s Gregory?”

Suddenly, your question cast a somber mood, causing Cain and Abel to lower their heads in a gesture of mourning.

Cain scoffed and turned away, while Abel let out a heavy sigh and looked at you with tear-filled eyes. "Gregory is no longer with us, I’m afraid," he said.

"Oh no... What happened...?”

You remembered how the Gargoyle had startled you by descending at full speed, only to greet you with the most adorable big snout you had ever seen.

"Well, you see," Able explained, "Lord Morpheus needed his power restored, and at that time, Gregory was the only thing that still contained a fragment of it.”

"I understand," you replied.

"But you know," he continued, his smile returning. "I believe he left something else in return.”

As you tilted your head, about to ask what it was, the actual answer materialized right before your eyes. To your surprise, what appeared to be a baby Gargoyle climbed up onto Abel's shoulder, settling itself comfortably on it. It resembled a miniature version of Gregory, complete with a pair of large, curious red eyes that stared intensely at you.

Able gently scooped up the little creature in his hands, offering you a chance to hold it. "Y/N, this is Goldie. Isn't he the cutest little Gargoyle?”

As Goldie opened his mouth in what appeared to be a wide, innocent smile, your heart melted. The moment Abel gently placed him in your hands, an overwhelming desire to hold him forever flooded over you.

"Are you kidding me? He's the cutest thing I've ever laid eyes on," you expressed, delighting in the way Goldie clung to your thumbs for support.

As you looked up, you noticed Cain watching the two of you with a silent adoration, cherishing the sight of how well you and Goldie harmonized together. When your eyes met, Cain cleared his throat, attempting to mask his moment of vulnerability with a gruff comment. "Please, come inside. Tea is almost ready.”

He straightened his vest and turned around, walking briskly and crossing the threshold of his house. Abel leaned closer to you, lowering his voice so that his brother couldn't overhear. "Cain is angry about what Lord Morpheus did to Gregory, but I believe he left the egg with Goldie as a way to apologize."

Knowing Morpheus, you knew that he had no intention of taking Gregory away. Therefore, it came as no surprise to you that he felt compelled to repay them for the loss he had been forced to inflict.

“I’m sure that was the case,” you told him with a nod. “Can I keep him for a while?”

You felt a sense of peace as Goldie nestled into your hands. You instinctively cradled him against your chest, as if he were a precious human child in need of comfort.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, extending his arm for you to hold. "Would you care for some tea, my friend?”

With another warm smile, you grasped his arm with enthusiasm. "Absolutely!"

Once again, the tea was exquisite. Cain and Abel engaged in their banter over trivial matters, and you found their interactions highly entertaining to watch. They treated you with gentleness and kindness, offering their utmost respect, as if you were a princess to be revered and celebrated.

Goldie settled in your lap, stretching his tiny limbs and finding solace on your legs. Slowly, he drifted into slumber, his little body and tiny wings rising and falling with each peaceful breath, accompanied by the sweet and endearing sounds he made. With one hand, you lovingly stroked his warm head, letting your fingertips glide over his velvety skin.

Fortunately, your tea time was not interrupted by any sudden awakenings. The brothers captivated you with enthralling tales about the Dreaming, and they even accompanied you on a wonderful walk through their seemingly boundless garden, where every step unveiled new marvels and splendors. Goldie seemed to have developed a deep affection for you, staying perched on your shoulder and playfully tugging at your hair as you walked along.

It was only when the alarm on your phone resonated through the living room that the familiar haziness of the REM phase enveloped you. Reluctantly, you felt yourself being pulled back to the Waking World, leaving your Dreaming friends behind a second time.

As you woke up, you gently rubbed your tired eyes, slowly rising from the couch and reaching to turn off the TV. Despite feeling relaxed and content after such a beautiful dream, there was a lingering sense of contemplation in your heart. Thoughts of Morpheus and Calliope persistently occupied your mind, and you attempted to dismiss any notions that arose.

That day at work was incredibly chaotic, with an overwhelming influx of tasks vying for attention all at once. With the Fashion Show looming closer, the weight of creating and designing numerous new products pressed heavily on your shoulders, leaving little room for respite or even a moment to catch your breath.

Glued to your computer from morning until evening, you finally reached the end of your work, saving your files and stretching your arms in relief. A smile spread across your face as you gazed at the clothes hanging in front of you, freshly sewn and poised to be captured in photographs. As you turned off the lights and closed the door of the studio, you gently cracked your aching neck and let out a weary sigh.

A peculiar sound from behind captured your attention, causing you to abruptly stop and pivot on your heels. As you glanced down the corridor, everything appeared to be normal, with no one in sight and nothing out of the ordinary. Dismissing it as nothing, you continued on your way.

With most of the team already gone, you made a detour to Ella's office to share your new sketches and discuss the upcoming plans before calling it a day and heading home. Things were going so seamlessly that you were able to fit in more than originally discussed, expanding the collection and outlining the presentation for the Show. Since you joined the team, the Corbyn&Jones brand had gained significant recognition, and Ella couldn't help but boast about how fortunate she was to have you as a friend.

If it weren't for Ella and the enduring friendship that kept you connected, truth be told, you might not have reached a similar milestone in your life. While your skills and creativity undoubtedly played a crucial role, it was the call she gave you that served as the perfect catalyst to help you fully blossom.

You had everything you had ever wanted and then some.

But as we all know, the most beautiful rainbows often emerge after the fiercest storms. And while you had encountered your fair share of challenges in the past, here was an imminent threat of something potentially catastrophic happening that evening.

Ella stood up from her desk, gathering her belongings and placing them back into her bag. She switched off the table light before preparing to leave, but a strange smell filled the air, causing you to instinctively sniff a few times to confirm that you weren't mistaken.

It was rather faint, seemingly insignificant and perhaps not worth worrying about, but it undeniably seemed like something had been overcooked.

"Ella? Is it just me, or do you also smell something burning?”

She halted, furrowing her eyebrows and taking a deep breath to investigate. She inhaled, then exhaled slowly, repeating the process two more times consecutively.

"No, wait. It’s not just you.”

Confused, you both stared at each other in silence, until the fire alarm in the office abruptly blared to life. Your heart leaped into your chest as the door swung open, and a panting Amelia rushed in, her face turning pale.

"Girls, we have a problem," she declared. "I believe there is a fire coming from the studio.”

You gasped. "What?! But I was just there a few minutes ago!”

"I don't know, I saw smoke coming out. I didn't dare open the door.”

Ella let out a frustrated curse, nervously scratching her arm as she began to pace back and forth. "Is anyone else still here besides us?" she asked anxiously.

Amelia shook her head. "Harry left 10 minutes ago. It's just the three of us.”

A thought crossed your mind, and in an instant, a wave of dread surged through your stomach. “Shit, Ella. The studio. Everything we have is in there.”

"What about the USB drive?”

Your breath became shallow. "It's in my desk drawer. In the studio.”

“…Fuck me sideways.”

As the smell of burning intensified, you also noticed a trail of smoke beginning to fill the corridor.

"I'll get the fire extinguisher," Ella said. "Amy, call 999 immediately. We don't know what we're up against here.”

“Right away!”

A wave of nervousness climbed over you, and the fear of potentially losing everything you had worked so hard for twisted your gut, leaving you feeling unsettled. The backup of all your work since you joined the company, the meticulously crafted clothes reserved for the Fashion Show, and even the catalog of the latest collection, yet to be published in the monthly magazine. All of it was now at risk, if not already reduced to ashes.

Without giving it much thought and disregarding caution, you sprinted out of the office as fast as you could.

“Y/N, wait!!”

The path to the studio was shrouded in darkness and thick fog, causing you to struggle for breath and cough violently. Through the crack under the door, you could see an ominous orange glow, accompanied by puffs of smoke billowing out.

Opening the door was the last thing you should have done, but driven by your instinct and worries, you reached for the handle and pushed it down. As soon as you stepped into the room, you were met with a growing fire, fierce flames consuming part of the apparel and spreading along the cables connecting the computers to the electrical panel.

One of the monitors had been damaged, emitting sparks, while another one was dangerously close to overheating.

“What the-!?”

Ella stood right behind you, holding the fire extinguisher in her hands, paralyzed by the sight before her. The temperature in the studio had become almost unbearable, as if you were stepping directly into the depths of Hell.

Holding your ground, you ran to your desk and opened the drawer, retrieving the USB drive that had fortunately remained safely away from the approaching flames. The catalog was also within your reach, and with a quick motion, you extended your arm to secure it.

Ella started using the extinguisher to spray a section of the fire, successfully keeping it partially under control. However, despite her efforts, the other side of the room continued to deteriorate, with the flames intensifying by the second and spreading at an alarming rate.

"Y/N, Amy just went down. We need to leave as well, now!" Ella shouted urgently.

You knew that she was right, but you couldn't bring yourself to abandon everything as it was. Spotting a section of clothing that was still untouched by the fire, you hurriedly gathered as many pieces as you could and tossed them over your shoulder, disregarding the scattered hangers on the floor.

“Y/N, just leave it!”

Ignoring the imminent danger, you persisted in removing the clothes from their hangers. You persevered until you had taken off the very last garment, even though the other half had already been irreversibly ruined.

“Watch out!!”

Everything happened in such a blur that it was difficult for you to process and make sense of it all. The electrical panel on your right exploded as soon as the flames reached the main circuits, and you found yourself engulfed in a colossal tongue of fire that transformed everything around you into a fiery red inferno.

You struggled to catch your breath, battling against the overpowering heat that enveloped you. However, despite the circumstances, an inexplicable calmness replaced fear within you. Despite the high risk of being consumed by the flames or suffering severe injuries because of it, you felt an indescribable calmness settling in your chest. As your pendant began to emit a vibrant blue light, the ferocious flames were swept away by its glow. You felt a protective aura expand around your entire being, shielding you from the fire right where you stood.

As the flames diminished, you emerged from them completely unharmed, not a single mark blemishing your skin. Ella, astounded and wide-eyed with disbelief, hurried towards you, reaching out to touch your face, needing to confirm for herself that you had truly emerged unscathed.

“You... how…?”

Realizing there was no time to spare, you jolted Ella out of her stupor by placing a few articles of clothing into her arms. "Let's go."

With her mouth agape, she nodded in compliance and used the remaining power in the extinguisher to douse a few more flames in front of you. Yet, as the fire expanded and reached the entrance, creating an intensified wall of dense smoke, the extinguisher ran out of its capacity, leaving you without any means to overcome the blockage.

"Stay by my side," you instructed, encircling an arm around Ella's waist as the two of you navigated through it.

“Wait, there is no way out…”

The necklace continued to emit a brilliant blaze of light, and with a firm clench of your jaw, you tightened your grip around Ella. Fueled by unwavering determination, you pressed on, forging ahead.

“Y/N, we’re walking right into it!”

“Trust me,” you told her. “Just keep moving!”

And so she did, with no other option remaining as the room was nearly consumed.

The empty extinguisher fell to the floor with a resounding thud as Ella tightly gripped your shirt, desperately clinging to you for support. The energy from the pendant now encompassed both of you, creating an imperceptible barrier that repelled the flames, causing them to bounce against it.

As you continued walking towards the elevator, Ella's gaze remained transfixed on your necklace, her eyes darting between the gemstone and your face, uncertain of what she was truly witnessing.

Morpheus looked at Calliope with a heavy heart, acknowledging her statement that in the past, he would have left her to suffer without turning a hair.

What intensified his feelings of guilt was the undeniable truth in her words. He had often let himself be blinded by resentment and pride, causing him to act thoughtlessly on numerous occasions.

Without looking up, Calliope asked, “Do you still hate me for leaving you? For blaming you for what happened-”

“No.”

His response was quick, coming so naturally that he didn't even need to ponder over it.

“I’ve learnt much in recent times and…”

Calliope appeared expectant, even surprised by the manner in which he spoke.

In the end, he struggled to find the right words to convey what he truly meant. “No matter. I do not hate you.”

At least, he answered with complete honesty. All the animosity he once held for her, the wounds she had caused him, had completely vanished.

In a fleeting moment, Calliope's lips curved into a smile, suggesting her satisfaction with the response she had received.

“I think you should release the mortal now. He has set me free, and without forgiveness wounds will never heal.”

“You would forgive him for what he has done?” He asked, his contempt for the human named Richard Madoc still smoldering inside him.

“I would not forgive what he has done, but I must forgive the man. Not for him, for me.”

They locked eyes in a silent exchange, and through her gaze, she implored him. “Will you free him?”

“If that is what you wish, it shall be done,” he said, resigned to her request.

Calliope silently acknowledged her desires to him with a nod. Consequently, he acquiesced, leaving the writer to face the excruciating realization that there were no more stories to be told without his muse.

As they made their way towards the front door, Calliope posed an unexpected question, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “May I… visit you in the Dream Realm sometime, so that we may finally talk about our son?”

Morpheus parted his lips, but he discovered himself incapable of uttering a response.

She continued. “And… grieve him properly?”

A part of him longed to say yes, but as he reflected on the fate that had befallen Orpheus, he was faced with his own lack of fortitude and emotional strength to confront it.

“One day perhaps, but…”

Calliope's expression hardened as she replied, "I understand.”

Unable to meet her gaze any longer, he quickly turned his head away. Holding the door open for her, he positioned himself beside it, his posture tense, as a deluge of painful memories from the past crashed over him like a chilling shower.

Anticipating her departure without another word, he was taken aback when she stopped, standing just inches away from his face. “Thank you Oneiros. I will not forget this.”

Morpheus felt his heart shatter in his chest, and he steadfastly kept his eyes ahead.

“Fare you well,” she whispered, her forehead gently brushing against the side of his face. “Fortune be with you.”

Finally, he summoned the courage to look at her once more. "Goodbye, Calliope."

With those words, he aimed to bring closure to their unresolved situation, in a way that had eluded them when she had walked away from his side. There was no lingering anger or unfinished business, only the faint traces of a love that had once thrived but had now reached its conclusion, leaving an indelible imprint on both their hearts.

Calliope offered one last smile, radiating acceptance and tranquility. With grace, she stepped out into the world, embracing the freedom she had finally earned. He watched her depart, her white dress trailing behind her, gently brushing against the ground.

Morpheus found himself gripped by a mix of sorrow and relief, their tendrils entwining. And in that very moment, he detected a potent presence—an intense energy emanating from another part of the Waking World. It felt familiar, a connection to his very being and essence. Soon, with a sudden flash of recognition, he realized that it emanated from you.

“Y/N…”

Something felt amiss, an undercurrent of danger that left him on high alert.

In a heartbeat, a swirling wave of sand erupted from the ground, whisking him away to where he could find you.

The local firefighters arrived promptly, containing the flames and preventing them from spreading to other parts of the building. They skillfully extinguished the fire, limiting the damage to the studio. and managing to salvage two out of the four computers, including the one you used for your work.

Although this was a positive outcome, the devastating reality remained that the most important room suffered severe damage, resulting in the loss of a portion of the completed apparel and part of the expensive equipment.

Ella was in such a state of shock that she found it difficult to respond adequately to the inquiries. Consequently, you took charge and spoke on her behalf. The authorities were actively investigating the incident to ascertain the cause of the fire, whether it was an unintentional electrical malfunction or something else entirely.

You were immediately struck by the recollection of a particular sound you had heard upon leaving the studio, something that eluded your identification. It made you wonder if there was a possibility for you to have averted the whole thing, rather than simply walking away without any attentive investigation.

Ella's tight grip on your hand immediately dissuaded any feelings of guilt, causing your knuckles to ache. It was clear that she had something of great importance to discuss with you, but with so many people around, it seemed difficult for her to find the appropriate moment to speak.

To you, deciphering her thoughts wasn't a difficult task, and now that the adrenaline had faded and you were both out of harm's way, you genuinely didn't know how to approach the subject.

After half an hour, Oliver arrived, forcefully navigated through the growing crowd on the street. His complexion turned ashen as he finally laid eyes on his wife. Overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, he instantly enveloped her in a tight embrace, teetering on the brink of tears as he observed her disheveled state.

In truth, both of you appeared slightly worn out, with smudges of soot on your cheeks and hair. Oliver meticulously examined Ella, anxiously relieved when he found no signs of injury on her.

In the end, Ella revealed to her husband that she owed her safe escape entirely to you. She disclosed that you had selflessly protected her from the encroaching flames, ensuring that they never posed a serious threat. You attempted to deny it, but she adamantly refused to perceive it in any other way.

You found yourself in Oliver's firm grasp, his hold so powerful that it felt as though your lungs might burst from your chest. While he had already demonstrated himself to be distinct and notably more relaxed than any previous boss you had encountered, the last thing you expected was for him to exhibit such a tender gesture of affection towards you. He expressed his gratitude repeatedly, to the extent that you were uncertain how to respond, stating that he would go to any extent to repay you.

You wanted none of that. After all, the sole reason Ella had placed herself in jeopardy was your obstinacy, disregarding her warnings. Without the necklace given to you by Morpheus, would you have acted on the same impulse?

Perhaps not, but you couldn't dismiss the possibility entirely.

Exhaustion seeped into your body, and as Oliver held Ella close, affectionately cradling her against his shoulder, she lifted her head and seemed to notice something in the distance. “Y/N, isn’t that your boyfriend?”

It felt as though a switch had been flipped, infusing you with renewed energy. Turning to look in the direction she pointed, you allowed your eyes to roam until they landed on Morpheus, who was standing just a few feet away.

He observed you with concern, but at the same time, he hesitated to approach you because you were not alone. For how long had he been there, looking at you from afar?

Your feet seemed to move of their own accord, starting off slowly before you found yourself running towards him with an urgent pace.

Morpheus withdrew his hands from the pockets of his coat, opening his arms to embrace you as you collided against him.

You had expected him to take much longer to reappear, but you couldn't be happier about it. "You're here.”

"I am.”

You grasped a handful of his coat between your fingers, keeping your arms firmly around his neck. "When did you arrive?"

"A few moments ago," he replied. "I did not want to disturb you.”

"Disturb me? I would do anything to be in your embrace," you confessed.

“You are now.”

“Indeed. Please, just keep holding me. I need it.”

You didn't want to release him, burying your face in the hollow of his neck and savoring his intoxicating, exotic scent.

On the other hand, Morpheus could distinctly smell ashes and burnt remnants on you. In contrast to your request, he withdrew slightly to examine you closely, delicately caressing your face with his hands. The coolness of his palms brought a soothing and grounding sensation, filled with love and adoration.

“My love, are you hurt?"

"Not at all," you responded assuredly. "I don't know what happened. One of the rooms in our office suddenly erupted in flames. I... I was there, right in the midst of the fire. But nothing happened to me.”

As you explained the situation, you brought your hand to the pendant and gently grazed your fingers against it. Morpheus glanced at your nails as they brushed against the stone, and you could see the fear of what might have occurred distorting his features.

"You saved me, Morpheus," you declared with gratitude. “And my friend, too.”

As you turned to look at Ella, you noticed her pressing herself against Oliver, her legs weakening as the built-up tension started to ebb away.

But what you caught sight of in that split second, among the group of people on the sidewalk, made your blood run cold through your veins. Right there, far enough to be mistaken for one of the bystanders, stood Maya. She seemed nervous and hesitant, taking a few tentative steps back before vanishing from your sight.

You might have been tired and still shaken from what you had gone through, but you were absolutely certain that you saw was not a figment of your imagination. What was she doing there? Didn't she leave with the rest of the team long before the fire broke out?

Suddenly, realization hit you like a swollen river, so hard that it took your breath away. When you turned to look at your boyfriend, your distressed expression caught his attention. He frowned, waiting for you to reveal what was running through your mind.

"Morpheus," your voice was hushed, wary, and filled with fractures. "I don't believe it was an accident.”

The seed of doubt was now implanted, inciting a tempest inside him. From the anger manifesting on his face and his eyes growing darker, you knew that he had no intention of treating the matter lightly, not if it meant that someone had done such a thing to you, whether it was intended to harm you directly or not.

“I need to prove it," you asserted.

He didn't need to say a single word, for the way he looked at you expressed his question with utmost clarity. You understood exactly what he was asking.

Maya Davies was about to incur the wrath of the king of nightmares, and you were fully supportive of it. With a single nod, you gave him your approval.

"I will assist you, my love. But not tonight. Please, let me give you a good rest.”

You smiled, taking his right hand between yours and softly pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

"What would I ever do without you?”

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 13 ->

[alexagirlie]

At the Touch of You

A/N: This is one of the absolute favourite fics I've written for the Duneverse. Just 8.4k of Paul having orgasms lol. Header by me, divider by @cafekitsune

Fandom: Dune

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Duncan Idaho. Paul Atreides x Others

Rating: E

Wordcount: 8.4k

Summary: Paul attends a spice orgy at Sietch Tabr. He has much to learn.

CWs: Smut. Lots and lots of smut. Orgies. Spice use. Drug use (spice). Oral sex. Blow Jobs. Cunnilingus. Anal Fingering. Anal Sex. Rough Sex. Group Sex. Voyeurism. Pinning. Possessive Thoughts. Possessive Behaviour. Minor breathplay.

Taglist (pls let me know if you wish to be added/removed: @softhecreator @gatoenlaciudad @almostg

Paul looks down at the small innocent looking vial in his hand, rolling it back and forth across his palm. It was made of glass and contained a thick clear liquid with just a glimmer of red-orange powder. Spice.

He had been given the vial a few minutes prior by a young woman. She had been shy but insistent that he take it. The young woman, who introduced herself as Jarameen, explained that the oil was used for religious and ritual practices. Either in the privacy of your own yali with your chosen partner or during group rituals. One such ritual was taking place in two nights time if he was interested in attending.

At that point Paul's face had been bright pink and burning hot. Spice orgies, she was referring to Spice orgies and was inviting Paul to attend. He couldn't look Jarameen in the eyes. She said a quick goodbye and took off towards the market, disappearing into the crowd.

He had read little regarding the Spice orgies prior to coming to Arrakis as the filmbooks did not have a lot of information on the practice. He knew it involved the ritual consumption of Spice and making an offering to the gods of the water of one's body.

Paul was desperate to learn as much of the Fremen culture as he could so decided that he would attend, if only to satisfy his curiousity. However under no circumstances would his Mother or Duncan ever find out.

A few nights later finds Paul dressed in a loose pale coloured shirt and a simple pair of dark pants. He leaves his Yali and makes his way quietly through the winding tunnels and caverns of the sietch. He could hear the faint pounding of drums, the rhythmic sound getting louder as he got closer to the ritual chamber. It was situated deep within the sietch, passed where the living quarters were situated and the market. Paul figured it was so the noises from the ritual did not disturb others who were not in attendance.

When Paul arrives he sees a large crowd already gathered. Men and women of varying ages and states of undress. He tries not to stare too obviously at the naked flesh all around him but several bodies of particular attractiveness catch his attention as he makes his way into the room.

The chamber was crafted much the same way as the yali's, just on a much larger scale. The walls and ceiling were draped in moisture traps and decorative fabrics hiding the stone and hanging down creating little rooms and alcoves. These spaces were filled with cushions and the Fremens reclamation fabrics. Even water shared to honour the gods was reclaimed for use by the sietch.

Paul finds a spot on the outskirts, leaning back against the wall and settling in as the ceremony gets started. The beat of the drumming reaches a crescendo then stops, silencing ringing out as everyone falls quiet.

Paul watches with rapt attention as a man and woman step up onto a raised platform of rock in the middle of the chamber. They were scarcely dressed in loose translucent fabric, symbols drawing across their skin in dark ink. Face, hands, chest, it was unlike anything Paul had seen among the Fremen to this point. He made a mental note to ask Chani about the symbols the next time he saw her.

They raised their hands above their heads and tilted their heads to look up at the ceiling. They began speaking in harmony, a prayer in the Fremen tongue. Paul does not understand all the words but he understands enough to know that they are asking for the blessing of the gods, a blessing of Shai-Hulud. That they were offering a gift of their bodies water to honour the gods.

As they are speaking, an earthenware bowl is being passed around the room, from person to person. The bowl is large, and painted with a scene of the desert sunset and the Shai-Hulud moving through the dunes. Reds, Orange and Yellows. It was quite detailed and very beautiful.

Everyone participating in the ritual takes a sip of the thick liquid inside before handing it to the next in line. When the bowl reaches Paul he takes a moment to inspect the contents. The liquid is thick, almost the consistency of mud if Paul was to be honest and shimmered with the Spice contained within. Flakes of dried herbs floated across the surface.

He took a hesitant sip and the flavour burst across his tongue. There was the sharp tang of spice melange, burnt cinnamon and ginger. Comforting and strong. Paul also thought he could recognize the taste of clove and cardamom. He could not place the taste of the herbs but assumed they held significant ritual purpose since they were included in the mixture.

He let the flavour sit on his tongue another moment then swallowed thickly. The liquid slid down his throat with a strange warmth, a warmth that spread out through his body once it hit his stomach. It spread into his limbs, making them tingle and burn with sensitivity. The warmth centered on his groin and he could feel his cock begin to fill. It was achingly hard in seconds and pressed up against the fabric of his pants, leaking, the first small offering of water to the gods.

As the spice continues to work through Paul's body his head spins and he begins to sweat. The second small offering of water to honour the gods. His mind gets foggy and he has to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths to gather himself. When he opens them there is a woman standing in front of him, she smiles and Paul spots a flash of tongue as she licks her lips. It was the Priestess who was facilitating today's ritual.

"My name is Yasmin. May I assist you in getting undressed Usul?" She asked, waiting for his slow nod before reaching out to help him undo the top couple of buttons on his shirt. "The first time can be overwhelming, the Spice mixture will be potent. But I can assure you it will all be done with consent, you tell someone no and they will listen".

She gestures off to the side where a number of Fremen warriors stood on guard. They had not partaken of the ritual drug and were present to ensure all the rules were followed.

As she pulls it up over his head another set of hands come around from behind him and undoes his pants. Fingers pressed teasingly against the hardness found there. Paul's eyes fall shut and he lets his head fall back against the warm body behind him with a small moan. The feeling of a firm chest telling him it was another man. Opening his eyes he looks over and sees the face of the Priest. It seems the two work as a unit in all aspects.

Between the two they had him stripped down to nothing in just under a minute. The Priestess lowers herself to her knees at his feet, looking up at Paul through dark sooty lashes, her blue on blue eyes dark and heated.

"May we be your first full offering, Usul? May I take your water into myself as a vassal of the gods?"

Paul's body managed to find enough blood to flood his cheeks with red, arousal and embarrassment equal. He knew that sex was the point of this ritual but wasn't expecting to be asked so blatantly.

"I'm… I've never…" Paul couldn't quite get the words out, to bring himself to say out loud that he had never been touched by another before but the Priestess seems to understand.

She smiles up at him, "Then I would be doubly honoured Usul, to be your first".

Paul was not completely ignorant of what to expect next. He had snuck a few more explicit filmbooks and his imagination was vivid late at night when he would take himself in hand. Though in his heart of hearts he wished for the body touching his to be familiar, tall and broad and warm. A body he knew from sparring and companionship. A body he knew he would never be able to touch.

The first kiss of her mouth to his cock sent sparks up Paul's spine and made him weak in the knees. The only thing holding him was the strong grip of the Priest's arms around him. He was a solid, warm weight at Paul's back. Paul had a vice grip on the Priest's wrists as Paul was unsure what to do with his hands and hoped that was an okay place to leave them.

Yasmin's tongue snuck out from between her lips and just touched the tip of his cock, collecting the fluid gathered there before disappearing back into her mouth. He couldn't look away from her, as she let out a small hum of pleasure. It was as if the taste of him was everything she had imagined.

Paul's cock throbbed and they watched as it gave a visible twitch in the air. Yasmin's mouth twisted into a mischievous smirk before she leaned in again. Mouth open and wet, sinking down on his cock, inch by wonderful inch. Paul's brain whited out as her nose met his body and she sucked hard as she pulled back up to the tip of him.

Paul couldn't help the sounds he made, desperate and loud. Her mouth was hot and wet, sliding up and down his cock obscenely. Paul knew this would not last long, his orgasm was building fast, faster than it ever had when he was alone. He could feel her throat tighten around his cock and barely had enough restraint to not thrust, to not chase the sensation to his completion. He wanted this to last.

The arms around him tightened and Paul was pressed back into the body behind him. The feeling of the Priest's hard cock pushed along the crease of his ass only serving to push him closer to his end.

Paul felt a hot breath on the shell of his ear as the Priest spoke to him.

"Don't try and hold back Usul, let the pleasure sing through you and release it to the gods."

Paul felt warm calloused fingers travel up his stomach, chest, until one hand slid over his pectoral, taking a nipple between thumb and forefinger giving it a sharp pull. Paul's mouth falls open, keening as each pull sends a burning hot jolt of pleasure up his spine. The other hand joins the first, both nipples now being pinched and twisted leaving Paul a panting whining mess.

This was the last push and Paul was done for, coming with teeth clenched around a scream, his whole body tensed up and shivering through the release. Yasmin's mouth and throat worked steadily to draw in every drop, swallowing it down.

Paul didn't know this but several of the gathered people had stopped to observe the would-be messiah experiencing his first offering. Not just because of his pale skin and strange green eyes that captivated so many. But also because they were eager to see how the off world duke would take to one of their most sacred rituals. As it turns out, he took to it as if he were born to it. A truly perfect offering.

After the Priestess had finished sucking Paul's brain out through his cock she rose gracefully to her feet and took Paul's face between her palms. She slid her fingers up into his hair and used the hold to pull his mouth down to her in a kiss. It was closed-mouthed and chaste at first but she gently coached Paul into making it dirtier. Coaxing his lips open and his tongue out to play against her own.

Paul could taste the lingering saltiness of his spend mixed with the burnt cinnamon of Spice on her tongue. It was strangely intoxicating and Paul chased the flavour hungrily until it was gone from inside her mouth.

Yasmin pulled away with a laugh, placing a firm hand in the middle of Paul's chest when he made to follow.

"Go Usul, go and enjoy everything tonight has to offer".

Paul hesitated, shooting a glance over to the Priest, whom Paul could see was still hard. His cock was purple at the tip and leaking beads of pearlescent fluid in a steady stream. His mouth watered.

The Priest caught Paul's glance and was quick to assure Paul. "I appreciate the interest Usul, but I only share my water with one". His gaze locks onto Yasmin and Paul can see them share a smile full of love and adoration. He looked back at Paul, "Go, I'm sure plenty of others would love to show you all the pleasures the night has to offer".

With a smile of his own and a nod Paul did just that.

By now the drug had kicked in at full force. His cock was hard again, his mind was foggy with arousal and Spice. He felt loose and relaxed and couldn't keep the large smile off his face. The Priest had been right and it did not take Paul long to find another that was willing to bring him to orgasm.

Paul floats from person to person, taking pleasure from whoever shows an interest. Men, women, he didn't care and found pleasure in both. They used their hands, their mouths, and one memorable moment where a handsome man had pulled Paul down into his lap. He used firm hands on Paul's waist to push and pull him against his body, hips gyrating, grinding down until Paul couldn't take it and splattered their stomachs with his release.

Paul had lost track of the number of partners he had that night but by the end his orgasms produced no more water. They left him spasming and making vocal high pitched whines, eyes wet with tears. Another small offering to the gods.

Paul doesn't remember the walk back to his Yali, but he awoke several hours later with a groan. His whole body ached, his balls in particular throbbed, and he was sticky with a mix of his and his various partners' release. He rolled onto his back and raised his arms above his head trying to stretch out the kinks. Back arching he groaned again when the door to his Yali opened, the large form of his swordmaster, Duncan Idaho, filled the doorway.

"Time to get up Paul, your mother is waiting for you".

With a jaw cracking yawn Paul rolled out of bed and to his feet, padding across the room to the reclamation chamber, needing to freshen up before getting dressed. He thought nothing of his state of undress, it wasn't anything Duncan hadn't seen before in the years as Paul's combat teacher. He did however miss the look Duncan gives him as he walks past. As Duncan takes in the sheen of dried cum on Paul's body and the faint finger shaped bruises along his hips.

If Paul had been paying attention he would have seen Duncan's face twist into a look of desire and jealousy. Eyes racking over his body with clenched fists. But he wasn't and by the time he had exited the reclamation chamber Duncan had wrestled his emotions back under control and nothing showed on his face.

A few weeks later Paul receives the invitation to attend another Spice orgy. This time from the Priestess Yasmin herself, and he does not hesitate to agree to attend.

Paul had learned many things about the orgies since he attended the last. He learned that the herbs added to the Spice mixture were used to heighten sexual arousal allowing those that consumed it to reach their climax more often. There was also a contraceptive mixed in making the ritual safe from unplanned pregnancies.

He also learned that being selected to lead the ceremony was a huge honour. That Yasmin and her partner, Vishneer, had only just been elected to their positions before the last ritual. Each pair would lead the tribe through the ritual for one year then a new pair would be selected.

They painted their bodies with symbols reflecting their desires for the tribe in that year. Plentiful harvest, lots of children, courage in battle. Chani had thought the line of questions amusing but had not hesitated to answer them all until Paul was satisfied.

He couldn't wait for the night in question and a chance to learn even more.

A week later finds Paul sneaking out of his Yali again, only this time he has acquired himself a shadow. A shadow in the form of his swordmaster.

Duncan is not a stupid man, he had put two and two together and determined that Paul's state that fateful morning had coincided with a Spice Orgy the night before. It would make sense that the Priestess and Priest would invite the possible Madhi and Paul, being the knowledge seeking young man he was would attend. And it would stand to reason that attendance would mean participation.

He knew Paul had never had the opportunity to explore his sexuality back on Caladan and did not blame him for trying things now. It didn't stop the surge of jealousy over the thought of others touching Paul but that was his problem, not Paul's.

His choice to follow Paul this time was simply so Duncan could keep an eye on him. To make sure no one was trying to take advantage of his Duke while he was high from the Spice and vulnerable. It had nothing to do with wanting to catch a glimpse of Paul undone, lost in pleasure, nothing at all. Duncan had gotten very good at lying to himself.

As the ritual began Paul was determined to expand his experiences this time and learn how to give pleasure to his partners. Not just receive it as he had the last time. It was quick and easy to find someone willing to teach him what he was desperate to learn.

Soon Paul found himself on his knees, head between the thighs of a woman slightly older than himself. Her hands were in his hair, guiding his head, guiding his mouth over her core. She was so, so wet, his mouth and chin covered in it, a mix of saliva and her body's water.

She was giving him instructions, telling him what to do to make it good for her. When to rub his tongue across her clit or give it a hard suck. When to slide fingers into her, to curl them up towards her pelvis searching out the spot that makes her throw her head back on a moan. Makes her hips start to rock down against him.

Her fingers tightened in his hair to the point of pain and pulled a moan from Paul's mouth. The sensation traveling down his spine and lighting a fire in his groin. Cock throbbing between his legs, he couldn't help but to reach down with his unoccupied hand and grip tight around the base. Another moan escaping his mouth, this one echoed back to him from above.

His partner's hips began moving against his face more insistently and Paul intuited that she was approaching her climax. He doubled his efforts, fingers moving in her smoothly at just the angle she had instructed him. Sucking firming on the nub of nerves, a gentle application of teeth and her body went tense. Gasping, moaning sounds falling from her mouth and a flood of fluid spilled over his fingers and down his wrist. Her grip on his head not loosening for several minutes as she rides out her orgasm.

Once she releases him Paul leans back on his heels and wipes his clean hand over his mouth. Biting his lip he hesitates before asking the question he wanted to ask.

"Did I… did I do okay?"

His partner, Sahila lets out a breathless giggle and reaches out to run a gentle hand through Paul's hair. "Darling you were perfect".

A flood of warmth pools in Paul's gut at the words and his cock twitches where it sits still hard against his thigh.

"Would you like to continue being good for me, Usul? You said you wanted to learn how to give pleasure?" When Paul nods, she reaches out a slender arm and becomes over a man who had been hovering just out of Paul's line of sight. "Bakula. Come here my love".

The man who walked forward was massive, the largest Fremen Paul had ever seen. He was almost as tall as Duncan and he even looked a few inches broader in the shoulders. He carried himself like a warrior, even while nude.

Surprisingly it was only then that Paul noticed It. His cock. It was huge, much like Bakula himself and Paul felt a mixture of arousal and not a little amount of trepidation at the sight. As he got closer and Paul got a good look the arousal started to outweigh any other feeling he had. It was big, yes, long and thick, and the thought of getting his mouth on it made his head swim and his cock leak onto the ground.

Bakula stops at Sahila's side, taking her hand and bending down to lay a kiss across her fingers. "Yes Mistress?"

"Usul would like to learn how to give pleasure with his mouth, be a dear and lend us a hand"

She directs Bahula to take her place seated in front of Paul and then kneels down beside him. Her fingers find their way back into Paul's hair and with her voice in his ear she guides his head down.

It took a bit more work for Paul to get the hang of sucking cock, but he was soon able to get control over his gag reflex and take Bakula all the way into his throat. It was messy and made his head swim with lack of air and Paul loved every second of it.

After his crash course Sahila and Bakula sent Paul off to practice his new found skills. Over the course of the next several partners he showed how quick a learner he was. He was so focused on pleasing his partners his own need was left unfulfilled. Eventually Paul allows one of his partners to change the plan, offering to show Paul the potential of a good fuck.

Paul allows himself to be pulled away from the crowd and into a more secluded corner of the ritual chamber. Says his name is Rajani and he lays Paul out on his back and crawls between his spread thighs. The man uses his mouth and hands, first paying lavish attention to Paul's weeping cock before moving lower. Hands pushing Paul's legs up and out so he can place a wet open mouthed kiss to Paul's hole.

Paul's whole body spasms and he tries to push back against the sensation mindlessly. He is unsuccessful but it doesn't stop the trying. One of his hands flew up to his mouth to stifle the noises that tried to escape. It was wet and wonderful and as his body loosened up and relaxed around his tongue his partner slid a finger in beside. The finger was wet and from the tingling sensation Paul recognized the ritual oil from his own explorations of the substance on himself. One quickly became two then three, thrusting in and out of Paul's body stretching him open.

His cock was red and leaking against his stomach, twitching with each push when it happened. A twist of the wrist and those fingers brush up against his prostate and send him hurtling over the edge. His cock shooting spurts and spurts of cum across his chest and stomach.

It took several minutes for Paul's brain to restart. His partner waits patiently, Paul's legs wrapped around his waist and one hand is rubbing firmly up and down the length of Paul's thigh. His own hard cock a hot brand across Paul's skin, wet with oil.

"You alright to continue Usul?" He asks and Paul nods. The man spreads Paul's thighs out further and slots himself in between. Lining his cock up with one hand he pushes in, slow and steady until he bottoms out inside of Paul. Paul can't breathe. It feels so very fucking good. He thought the fingers felt amazing but this was even better and as his partner begins to thrust his cock is quick to fill with blood once again. Unbelievably fast, even with the help from the ritual drug.

Soon Rajani is thrusting in at a punishing pace, Paul moaning non stop. He doesn't see his next orgasm coming and within minutes he is once again shooting across his stomach. His mouth opens on a soundless scream as his prostate is milked through to the end before his partner slows down to a stop.

Rajani checks in again, getting consent to continue and so pulls out and manhandles Paul over onto his hands and knees, chest pressed to the ground. Paul's head swims with the rough handling, keening high in his throat.

"Good?"

He nodded frantically and pushed his hips back to meet Rajani's as he thrust back inside Paul. This angle was even better than before, each thrust hitting his prostate dead on, sending sparks of over sensitivity up Paul's spine. Strong hands gripped his hips and pulled him back hard onto the cock inside him, fucking him relentlessly. And Paul just takes it.

Unknowingly to Paul, Duncan is watching him from the perimeter of the ritual chamber, taking steps to stay out of Paul's line of sight. He is seething with jealousy, growing stronger and stronger as Paul moves from partner to partner. The other men in particular, make his blood boil.

He had almost stepped in after getting a look at the first man Paul was presented with that night. He had been tall and thickly muscled, big enough to make Duncan second guess his chances in a fight. He had only relaxed after seeing the gentle way the man handled Paul, constantly checking before increasing his intensity. The woman with them a guiding hand, instructing Paul on how to please him with his mouth.

Duncan knows he has no right to feel this way, Paul wasn't his to covet and yet he couldn't stop himself. Couldn't stop himself from imagining walking forward, ripping the man who was now fucking Paul away and taking Paul for himself.

Duncan feels a flood of shame following his disrespectful thoughts and he forces himself to look away. Paul was not his, Paul would never be his and he needed to leave before he did something he would regret.

His feet did not move and his gaze found its way back to watch as Paul came for a third time. Watches the man fucking him reach around with one hand and jerk Paul off in time with his cock thrusting inside him. Can see Paul bite down on his own fingers to try and stifle the sounds coming out of his mouth. He failed, Duncan could hear them clear across the chamber. His cock throbbed. He finally steps back, turns his back on his view of Paul and heads back to his Yali.

If he shoves a hand down his pants as soon as the door is closed and spills over his fingers in a few short strokes to the image of Paul getting fucked then no one else needed to know.

Paul enjoyed his second Spice orgy even more than he had his first. As he made his way back to his Yali he took stock of everything he had learned about himself that night. He learned that he liked to be given instructions, being told exactly what to do to bring his partners pleasure. Hands in his hair pulling tight until his eyes watered, the sting of teeth or nails in his skin. Of being held in place and used.

He also learned that while he was attracted to men and women he definitely preferred sex with men. Especially oral sex with men. The feeling of a hard cock sliding across his tongue and into his throat. Of being on his knees. The saltiness of cum.

It wasn't something he had ever thought he would like but the proof was in the constant hardness between his legs all night. And the mind blowing orgasms at the end.

As he was settling in bed his last thought was how much better it could be with a very specific partner.

Paul did not expect how sore he would be the next day as he was getting ready for training. Today he was training with both Chani and Duncan and knew he was going to die by the end. He couldn't hide the limp and Chani proceeded to tease him mercilessly. Duncan was strangely quiet about the whole thing, which Paul thought odd, normally the big man would be the first to poke fun at Paul about anything

He shrugged it off, one of them teasing him was enough, and refocused back on his training.

Paul begins taking lovers outside the orgies, experimenting with all sorts of acts and positions. His favourite encounter so far was with a man named Xand, who had Paul begging by the end with each thrust of his hips. Paul was on his knees, face down in the bed, his arms pulled behind his back, forearm to forearm and secured with a length of rope that had been as soft and smooth as silk. Xand had been using Paul tied arms as leverage, pulling Paul back onto his cock, driving it relentlessly into his prostate.

A litany of please, please, please falling from Paul's lips, getting louder and louder the closer he got to the edge. His eyes were wet with un-shed tears and all he could think about was spilling helplessly across the sheets. But he knew he wasn't allowed yet, hadn't been given permission.

Soon Paul lost the ability to form words, shapeless sounds spilling from his open panting mouth. He was so close, he just needed a little nudge to finally go hurtling over the edge. He was desperately holding on to that last little shred of his control, wanting to be good and not come before he was told he could. In the back of his mind he registers the heat of Xands body leaning over his back and a wash of warm breath hits the back of his neck.

"Go on then Usul, cum!" And Paul did, screaming and body shaking as his cock soaked the sheets below him. He lay there panting and spent as Xand pulled his cock from Paul's hole and finished himself off with a hand. Coating Paul's lower back in his cum.

Needless to say the vial of Spice oil he had been given needed replacing several times over.

Paul's new found venture into casual sex was a little bit of a well kept secret. Well kept as in everyone knew but no one brought it up, especially around Lady Jessica or Duncan Idaho.

Jessica had awkwardly tried to bring up the situation, wanting to make sure Paul understood that a Fremen bastard should be avoided. When Paul mentioned that unless it was somehow possible for Paul himself to get pregnant, she really had nothing to worry about. She never brought it up again.

As for Duncan, every time he observed someone sneaking in or out of Paul quarters just made him more and more jealous. Each day it became harder to keep his distance, harder to remember why he couldn't, why he shouldn't.

It all came to a head one day when Duncan had entered Paul's yali to retrieve him for that day's training. He expected to find Paul running late but what he found was Paul on his knees. On his knees, hands clasped behind his back and a tall, broad Fremen man driving his cock down Paul's throat.

Duncan saw red and before he could stop himself he was striding forward to rip the man away from Paul with a growl. Ignoring both their protests he drags the man over the threshold of Paul's room and shoves him out. Closing the curtain in his face cutting off the sound of him cursing Duncan out.

Turning back into the room he plants a palm in the center of Paul's chest and gives him a firm shove backwards. Making Paul stumble back until he hits stone and Duncan is crowding him against the wall. Paul's breath escapes him in a gasp and Duncan doesn't even give him time to recover before leaning in and taking Paul's mouth in a possessive kiss. His tongue diving past Paul's lips and sliding against into his mouth.

Paul's hands reach up and grab two fistfuls of his shirt. For a second Duncan thought Paul was about to shove him away but he uses the grip to pull Duncan even closer. Hitching a leg up across the back of Duncan's thigh he grinds up against him, drawing a groan out of Duncan's mouth.

Upping the game Duncan picks Paul up and pins him against the wall, Paul's legs moving to wrap around his waist. He had one arm under Paul's ass holding his weight, the other was behind Paul's head. Equal parts protecting it from the hard stone and wanting to get his fingers into Paul's curls giving a tug and drawing the most delicious sounds from Paul's throat.

Duncan chases those sounds pressing their hips together causing Paul to throw his head back on a gasp of Duncan's name. Taking advantage of the newly presented skin Duncan begins laying biting kisses down the length of Paul's neck. He picks a spot just above Paul's collarbone and latches on, sucking and biting until the skin turns purple. He sucks several bruises into the skin above Paul's shirt collar, each one darker as Paul urges him on. Harder harder harder.

He slots a knee between Paul's legs, pressing it against the wall and using it to take Paul's weight so he can free the hand that was holding him up. He starts to unbutton Paul's shirt, mouth moving over the newly exposed skin. Latching onto a pink nipple once he gets enough of the shirt open. Paul's fingers tangle in his hair, pressing his mouth harder against his chest.

"Teeth, please Duncan use your teeth" Duncan grinned against Paul's chest before giving Paul what he asked for. This time.

Soon he has Paul so worked up he is grinding down against Duncan's thigh. He alternates between both nubs until they are red and puffy before removing his mouth. He moves both hands under Paul's ass, getting a firm handful of both cheeks before pulling Paul away from the wall. His weight felt like nothing in Duncan's hold.

He walks Paul across the Yali and tosses him on the bed. Duncan takes a quick minute to tie his long hair back before kneeling on the edge of the bed. Reaching out and grabbing Paul around the hips he manhandles him up the bed until his head rests on the cushions. Paul's hair is a riot of messy curls across the fabric.

Once Duncan has Paul where he wants him his hands move up under the edge of Paul's shirt, pushing it up his chest. Kneeling between Paul's spread thighs Duncan presses his lips to each inch of skin as he unveils it. He uses tongue and teeth, leaving little red marks across Paul's chest.

Paul was making the most delicious noises and Duncan thought he deserved a small reward. Pushing the shirt the rest of the way off his lips met Paul's. His hands moved up to Paul's shoulders, up his arms lifting them above Paul's head and pinning them down. Paul offers no resistance, in fact the move seems to excite him even further, his hips bucking up into Duncan's stomach.

Duncan pulls away from Paul's mouth with one more sweep of his tongue "Keep your hands here, can you do that my boy?"

He waits for Paul's breathy yes before trailing kisses down Paul's jaw and neck. Working his way down Paul's chest and stomach, by passing his nipples even with Paul arching into the touch of his mouth as he moves past.

Once he got down to the hem of Paul's pants he sat back up and took a moment to look at the young man under him. Paul was a vision, he had kept his arms above his head and Duncan could see the grip he had on the pillows. Hard enough for his knuckles to have turned white.

He was watching Duncan back with eyes that were heavy lidded and dark with desire. His gaze was appreciative, traveling down from Duncan's face, over his broad chest and finally down to his groin where his cock was tenting the front of his pants obscenely.

Duncan soaked up the attention, Paul's obvious attraction settling something inside him. He decided to tease Paul, just a little.

"Like what you see my boy?" Paul's eyes snapped back up to Duncan's face and he blushed. Duncan took pleasure from the knowledge that Paul's blush did in fact extend down his chest. Something he had wondered about the young man for a few years now.

That pink hue only darkened as Duncan pulled his own shirt over his head, the muscles in his shoulders and chest rippling. He then made quick work of Paul's pants and undergarments, eager to see Paul fully nude once again. This time up close and not from across a crowded chamber.

He was even more beautiful and Duncan made sure to take it all in. His long, long legs which framed Duncan's hips so perfectly. His cock was longer than Duncan thought, slender like Paul and was already leaking against Paul's stomach. Duncan's mouth watered and he wanted to get that cock in his mouth but he wasn't done torturing Paul yet.

Without breaking eye contact he leans down and places a gentle kiss on one sharp hip, then the other. Brushing his nose along the crease between groin and thigh, Paul's legs spreading wider in response but he keeps his hips on the bed. Duncan spared a brief thought towards whomever taught Paul how to behave so well but shoved the jealousy aside. Paul was under him now and he intended to keep him.

It's Paul who finally breaks eye contact as he throws his head back on a moan as Duncan continues the path of his mouth down the inside of Paul's thighs. Down to his knees, his calves even the soles of his feet before making his way back up. Back past Paul's twitching cock, a quick nip at one nipple pulling a whine from Paul's throat before he takes Paul's mouth once again.

Paul had never felt so seen, so cherished by a partner and it made sense that the first time he was made to feel that way would be with Duncan. His oldest and most dear friend, the man he had been pining over since he was only 16 years old.

He opens his mouth to Duncan's tongue and utilizes all the tricks he had learned from his partners over the last few weeks. They spend several minutes kissing, Duncan's hands moving over Paul's body, his weight pressing Paul down into the bed. Things were heating up and Paul couldn't stay still any longer, his hips starting to grind up when Duncan pulled himself away.

Paul watches as Duncan gets up from the bed and with rough hands he spins Paul around and pulls him down until his head is hanging off the edge of the bed.

"Stay"

Duncan then moves to stand in front of Paul's face and starts unbuckling his belt, dropping it to the floor. Paul had a feeling he knew what was coming and was already dropping his mouth open and waited for Duncan cock.

This drew a chuckle from Duncan, "bit of a cock slut these days eh my boy?" Paul just opens his mouth wider and extends his tongue in response. He loved sucking cock and wasn't ashamed of the fact.

Paul watches as Duncan unbuttons his pants and pulls them down just enough to get his hard cock out before reaching out to grasp Paul's head between his large palms. Paul's cock leaked at the site, Duncan was huge, bigger even then Bakula.

Duncan adjusts the angle of Paul's head so his cock slides in nice and easy, right to the back of Paul's throat. Duncan pauses there and Paul moans as the salty taste of him explodes across his tongue.

Paul can tell that Duncan was struggling to stay in control, to not just start thrusting and he was having none of it. Reaching out he wraps both hands around the back of Duncan's muscular thighs and uses the hold to pull Duncan even deeper into his mouth. He fights his gag reflex and swallows around the thick length.

Duncan seems to get the hint and gives a few slow thrusts before pulling back so only the head of his cock was in Paul's mouth. "Pinch my thigh hard if you need me to stop”

It takes a couple of minutes for them to find a rhythm that worked for both of them but soon Duncan was sliding smoothly in and out of Paul's mouth. He loses track of time and just lets himself be used, floating in the pleasure he was feeling until he could no longer ignore his own arousal.

Paul was so hard, the feeling of Duncan's cock hitting the back of his throat over and over making him throb against his stomach. He removes one hand from Duncan's thigh and reaches down towards his cock, intending on getting a hand on himself to relieve some of the pressure.

Duncan was faster. He snatched Paul's wrist out of the air, "None of that my boy, you cum when I tell you, not a minute sooner". He places Paul hand back on its place gripping his thighs and begins picking up the pace.

Duncan can feel himself getting close, Paul's mouth wet and warm and so open for him. But he doesn't want to cum like this, he wants to cum inside Paul, so he pulls his cock out of Paul's mouth, pausing to admire the saliva drooling out of the corners. The flush spread across his face and down his neck. His cock looked painful, leaking and red.

Next he helps Paul sit up, steadying him as he sways from the blood rushing out of his head. Duncan gets them resettled the correct way around in the bed. Paul's head back on the pillows and himself kneeling between Paul's legs. He runs his hands up Paul's smooth thighs, knee to groin, thumbs digging in until he can push Paul's legs up to his chest.

"Hold these up for me"

Paul was quick to obey hooking his knees over his elbows and holding them spread. Duncan groans at the site, Paul was deliciously flexible and he looks so good spread open for Duncan. His rim was pink and slick?

Duncan feels a growl rumbling up his throat and he reaches out to touch, thumb rubbing against Paul rim and coming away glistening with oil. "Did you let him fuck you Paul?"

He was sinking two fingers into Paul before he had even gotten a response, sliding all the way to the knuckles with no resistance. Paul moaned out a breathy yes, prompting Duncan to follow up with a hard bite to Paul's ass cheek. The little slut was going to get wrecked and never look at anyone else again.

Paul loves the possessive move, the pain from Duncan's teeth making him jerk and keen. He isn't sure what comes over him next, all he knows is he wants more and so tells Duncan all the details from last night's partner. How the man had bent over for Paul, screaming his name. How thick his fingers felt as he slid them inside Paul, how his cock felt as he brought Paul to orgasm. How Paul was attempting to return the favour when Duncan had interrupted them. How good he tasted. Any piece of information Paul could think of to drive Duncan wild with jealousy.

Duncan knows what Paul is doing but takes the bait anyway and sets out to wreck Paul. The two fingers he has in Paul's ass quickly work up to 4 before he finally gets his mouth of Paul's pretty cock. He sucks him in until it hits the back of his throat and then applies strong suction on his way back up. Greatly enjoying the sounds he is pulling from Paul's mouth as he sets up a quick pace, angling his fingers so it brushes against Paul's prostate every third or fourth thrust.

Soon he had Paul begging, "Duncan, Duncan please! Fuck me!" He was moving between Duncan's mouth and his fingers as best as the position allows and Duncan felt deeply satisfied at getting him so worked up. "Fuck I'm going to cum, please I can't!"

Duncan wasn't ready for Paul to get off and pulls his mouth and fingers away. "Where's your oil my boy" Paul releases one knee to blindly reach under the pillow pulling out the small glass vial.

Duncan gets the lid off and coats his fingers, sinking them in Paul's hole making sure he was adequately wet before smoothing the rest over his cock. Relishing the feeling of Paul's eyes on him as he strokes himself. Duncan can already tell this will not last as long as he wants, just the touch of his own hand pushing him close. The reality of finally having Paul is overwhelming.

It's time to give the young man what he wants and Duncan uses one hand to line his cock up with Paul's hole. With the other he encourages Paul to wrap his legs around his waist before he starts to push in. There was a moment of resistance, Duncan was quite large, then he slid past the first ring of muscles, Paul gripping him tightly. After that it was one easy slide to seat himself all the way inside his Duke.

Duncan has to pause here, Paul was gripping him like a vice and he did not want to cum so soon. Paul had his head thrown back, mouth hanging open panting while his hands were gripped so tight in the bed spread his knuckles had turned white. Duncan ran a hand up the outside of Paul's thigh and gripped him around the waist.

"You alright Paul?" He asked the younger man, thumb rubbing back and forth across the soft skin of his hip.

He watches as Paul opens his eyes, the green he was so familiar with almost completely swallowed by the black of his pupils. His voice had a strained breathless quality when he answered. "… please fuck me Duncan".

Who was he to deny his lord any longer. He set out to do just that. Both hands gripping onto Paul's waist he set up a punishing pace, using his grip to pull Paul back onto his cock with each thrust. Paul was letting out a continuous stream of moans and curses, getting louder and louder as Duncan adjusted his angle until he was nailing Paul's prostate on each pass.

At one point he reaches down and grabs one of Duncan big hands, removing it from his waist and bringing it up to his throat. Duncan groans deep in his chest and tightens his fingers ever so slightly over the pale column. It was enough to cut off Paul's airway just a bit but not so much he couldn't speak and soon he was begging Duncan to let him cum.

Duncan decided to finally have mercy on his boy and was quick to give him permission. He hadn't even gotten a hand on Paul cock before the younger man was spraying his stomach and chest with his release. Duncan found the sight of Paul cumming untouched so arousing that it only took another two, three thrusts before he was following Paul into oblivion. He barely had the presence of mind to fall to the side and not crush Paul under his weight.

They laid there side by side and breathless, their sweat being wicked away and absorbed for later use. As Duncan's breathing returns to normal Paul rolls into his side and props his chin on Duncan's chest. Duncan doesn't even need to open his eyes to know that Paul is staring intently at his face. He struggles to keep a grin off his face, it wouldn't do to seem too satisfied with himself.

"What is it my boy?"

"How long?"

Duncan cracked an eye open at the vague question "how long what?" He asked.

"How long could we have been doing this?" Paul broke eye contact for a moment before looking back at Duncan's face.

Duncan chuckled "I don't think I ever would have done anything if it wasn't for the Spice orgies… and all the lovers you had taken since" Without the driving force of his jealousy went unsaid.

Paul's eyes widened in surprise and he pushed himself up on an elbow so he looked down at Duncan "You knew about the Spice orgies?"

"Yes Paul I knew about the Spice orgies" Duncan answered as he reached out to tuck a curl behind Paul's ear "you were not being exactly subtle".

"Oh" That seemed to be the end of it and Paul laid his head back down on Duncan's chest, nuzzling in. Duncan felt himself drifting off to sleep when he felt Paul suddenly bolt upright.

"Wait, does my mother know about the Spice orgies?" Paul sounded so horrified that Duncan couldn't help but to break down howling with laughter. He was happier then he could remember being since before coming to Arrakis and it was good.

Paul was dreaming. He saw the birth of his sister, Alia. Saw all she was destined to be and accomplish. He saw them retake Arrakeen with the help from the Fremen. He saw the fall of the Emperor and Paul's ascension to the throne. Duncan is a constant companion by his side, his strong right arm, his shield. He saw their wedding day, married in the traditional Caladan manner under the light of the twin moons, hands wrapped in ribbon the colour of the seas. He sees them grow old and in love and happy.

[into-crazy]

be my valentine

Arthur Fleck x Reader drabble

Summary: Valentine's Day with Arthur♡

Warnings- consumption of alcohol, but mostly fluff, ages 18+(🍷in this case 21)

I wanted to get this out in time so I hope it's not too bad. Happy Valentine's Day💝

As Valentine's Day approaches, it's certainly not hard to notice with the numerous gifts which filled the shops in Gotham city. All the bright pink and red colors. The words I love you and Happy Valentine's Day plastered every where. Teddy bears carrying little plush hearts. Boxes filled with luxurious chocolates. Heart shaped balloons. Bouquets of flowers both real and plastic. Shelves full of cards with sentimental phrases. Various bottles of wine. The list can continue.

It fills your chest with warmth, as you find the concept of the holiday rather sweet. It's a sweetheart day. And well, you just so happen to have a very special sweetheart. Arthur Fleck.

You plan something very special for Arthur as the date comes up. From having saved up a generous amount of money and requesting to leave work early in advance, you made sure that you were prepared to pull it all together.

This past week leading up to Valentine's day, you'd spotted a perfect gift for him in the window of a gentleman's shop. There was a rack containing a few men's belts. Your eyes had instantly glued to a really nice brown one. Surprisingly it was made of durable quality for an affordable price. You immediately bought it for Arthur and hid it in your dresser under all your clothes.

You were keeping everything regarding your plans concealed from Arthur, as it was going to be a wonderful surprise for him. After all, he deserves it.

Finally, the day arrives. February 14th.

Your morning went by like usual. After work, you stopped at the local market and a second hand shop to pick up everything that you'd need before rushing home. Smiling all the way there as you're unable to contain your excitement.

Once back in the comfort of your shared home, you set the bags on the counter and waste no time in getting everything ready.

You'd found a lovely pair of smokey brown wine goblets from the thrift store. From the market, you picked up a bottle of wine, a small gift bag for the belt, a balloon to tie on the gift bag, and the ingredients needed to make chocolate covered strawberries.

After placing the wine in the freezer to chill, you get right to work on the strawberries. Your heart swells while you prepare the fruit. Dipping them in melted chocolate, then decorating them with pink and red sprinkles. They looked so pretty and very fitting for the occasion. Although, you were most excited with what you had in mind for a few of them. Some of which, you decorate with little Carnival clown smiles. Using decorative colored frostings that matched Carnival's clown makeup.

The smile on your face continues to grow wider with every smile you draw. You knew how much Arthur loves performing as the clown. So you just know that he would adore these.

Once finished, you placed the decorated fruit in the fridge so the chocolate could fully harden. They all came out perfect, especially the Carnival ones. You get everything else ready- washing the wine glasses and bagging up the gift. Then you eagerly await Arthur's arrival.

Soon enough, you hear his usual little shuffle outside the door and your heart leaps. You rush to greet him at the entrance, nearly tripping over your own feet in excitement.

Arthur steps inside and his eyes brighten as he smiles at you. In his arms, he's carrying a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates, and an envelope. He holds them out for you.

"Hey y/n, happy Valentine's day!"

"Oh, thank you so much baby!" You graciously receive his gifts. The flowers look so radiant, you bury your nose in them. "Ah, they smell lovely."

"Yeah, I picked out the very best ones for you." He nervously rubs the back of his neck. "I.. I know it's not much. But I hope you like it."

You look at him, unable to accept what he just said. Because to you, this is a lot. You know that Arthur must have saved up a lot of his hard earned money to buy you these things, when he really didn't have to. So you make sure to let him know how much you truly appreciate his gifts and his efforts. "Aw Arthur, what do you mean? This is amazing, I love it! I can't thank you enough for this, baby."

Reassured by your words, he leans in and gives you a kiss on your forehead. He is always so sweet and loving to you. "You're welcome, my love. Do you want me to hold those so you can open that?" He points to the envelope in your hand.

"Actually um, I have something that I want to show you first. Is it alright if I open this up right after?"

"Sure."

He follows you from the entryway into the kitchen. His eyes instantly widen in awe at the sight before him.

"Happy Valentine's day to you too, Arthur!" You exclaim with glee.

There on the kitchen counter, he spots a small gift bag with a heart-shaped balloon neatly tied to it. Along with two wine glasses and a platter full of chocolate covered strawberries. He notices the little Carnival smiles on some of the fruit and his eyes gleam with happiness.

He's left speechless. It takes him a moment to take it all in. He doesn't know where to even start, so you set the items in your arms down and take his hand to guide him.

"Would you like to open your gift?"

He gives a yes and you hand him his gift to open. He reaches inside and pulls out the neatly wrapped belt. Running his fingers along the leather material as he tries not to cry or break out in a laughing fit. He's been needing one of these for a while and he appreciates that you had noticed. "I love it! Thank you so much, my love."

You place a soft kiss on his cheek. "You're very welcome."

He sets the article down then sheepishly moves to caress one of the strawberries. Rather delicately, as he is afraid that he'll mess them up. He traces the red smile, taking in all the details. It's an exact likeness to his Carnival makeup. "These are- wow. You made these?"

"Yep." You can't help but giggle at his tender display of sweetness, "and it's alright, Arthur. You can pick them up. I made them just for you."

He does so at your word. Picking one up to closely admire the little red smile. You take the time to pull the wine from the fridge and pour a glass for both of you. All the while he thanks you repeatedly for the gifts. It fills you with warmth. You are delighted that he likes his Valentine's day gifts.

You hug him tightly and move in for a kiss, taking this time to thank and love one another with your mouths. As you pull away, you reply, "and thank you for my gifts, baby. How about I open up that envelope now?"

"Yeah," Arthur agrees. "I'll get it for you."

He picks it up and hands it to you. There are a bunch of tiny scribbled hearts all over the envelope. You smile at the fact that he drew them on there. Written also in his handwriting is my love in the middle of the cover. Opening it up, you find a handwritten letter from Arthur inside. You silently read the entire note, letting out a small sigh at a few sections. He poured all his love out for you in that letter.

Tears formed in your eyes, and you sniffle as you wipe them away. "I love you so much, Arthur."

"I love you too, beautiful." Arthur grins heartily and hands you a strawberry.

Simultaneously, you each silently take a bite and stare lovingly into each others eyes. Both wondering how you'd gotten so lucky.