#and this carpet is a gif makers DREAM

[likearolloftape]

Lewis Pullman as Jordan Weaver SKINCARE (2024) dir. Austin Peters

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART XI

—this must be the place

summary: two idiots who got their shit together and now love each other unconditionally.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). filthy smut, p in v, unprotected sex, lots of fluff, cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, dual pov so watch out for that, and reminding everyone this is a work of fiction so just sit back and relax and enjoy! but if this isn't your thing, move along :)

masterlist!

January 18th, 2024

Los Angeles, CA

January was a whirlwind. Awards season came faster than either of you could’ve anticipated. After years of grueling work, both of you were at the pinnacle of your careers. The Golden Globes were just the beginning, and somehow, you found yourself receiving best actress nods at every award show that followed. Each time your name was announced, you were stunned—as if each award was a surprise gift wrapped in disbelief.

Pedro? He was right there beside you, proud, beaming, like he’d won every accolade himself.

And in a way, he had.

The Emmys came next. Pedro was dressed like a hot English teacher—a title you bestowed on him while posing for photos on the carpet. He blushed at your words, but his imagination clearly ran wild through the entire ceremony. You’d catch his mind drifting, the corners of his mouth twitching with thoughts you could only guess.

But when the time came, he lost his category. You turned to him with an exaggerated sad face, eyes wide, and before he could even fake another mournful look, you took his face between your hands and whispered in his ear, “You might be an Emmy loser, but you’re my Emmy loser, baby.”

He chuckled softly, a mix of amusement and adoration, his hand resting on your thigh, fingers tracing absentmindedly. “Maybe we can celebrate the loss later,” he teased, and you grinned, your shared laughter barely masked by the applause surrounding you.

February 25th, 2024

Los Angeles, CA

Pedro wore Prada that night. A crisp white button-down shirt, half the buttons undone, his chest peeking through like a prince stepping off a ship in some romantic novel. His hair was so much longer, curling softly around his ears, a curl decorating his forehead, and when you both arrived, you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“You look dreamy,” you’d whispered, your hand lingering on his arm.

You shared a tequila shot for luck before the ceremony, a ritual that seemed to work for both of you. When Pedro’s name was called, you watched in awe as he walked up to the stage, shock evident on his face. He was adorable, overwhelmed, and completely unprepared, but still effortlessly funny.

"And thank you to my love for being my biggest supporter," he said during his speech, eyes finding you in the crowd. "I love you."

The audience roared with laughter as he joked about having a panic attack. You covered your face with your hands, laughing with him, but your heart swelled with pride. When your category came not long after, you got up there, thanked everyone, and finished with, “And last but not least, thank you to now SAG Award winner Pedro Pascal for also being my biggest supporter."

Later that night, you posted a picture of the two of you holding your statuettes, captioning it, “a couple of winners,” a nod to the moment and your shared triumph.

March had rolled faster than anticipated. The Oscars themselves were here, and there you were, sitting in the middle of Hollywood’s most glamorous circus, your name announced as a Best Actress nominee. The whole thing was surreal—like, pinch-me-I’m-dreaming kind of surreal.

Pedro sat next to you, gripping your hand for dear life. He had been holding it for the last half hour, unable to let go, which made you wonder if he was comforting you or himself. Maybe both.

You gave him a quick glance. He was calm on the outside, but you could tell by the subtle way his thumb kept moving over your knuckles that his nerves were bubbling underneath too. You squeezed his hand back, your silent way of saying, Hey, we got this, right? Though, in truth, you weren’t sure who “we” were anymore. You hadn’t breathed since they started announcing the nominees.

And then it came—the moment. The envelope opened, the pause, the suspense that felt like it dragged on for an eternity, and then... someone else’s name. Not yours.

The applause in the room felt both deafening and distant, like you were watching it all through a fog. You let out the breath you’d been holding since they called your name and tried to steady yourself. You smiled, clapping for the winner because, hey, they deserved it. But inside, you were thinking, Well, damn.

Before you could even process the mix of relief and mild disappointment, Pedro turned to you. His eyes were gentle but mischievous, the exact combination that both made you feel better and also a little nervous. He tilted his head, looking at you like he was about to drop the world’s most important line.

“You might be an Oscar loser,” he said, grinning that cheeky grin of his, “but you’re my Oscar loser.”

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing, because of course he would say that. But he leaned in and kissed your forehead, so sweet and sincere, that you felt your heart melt just a little. Leave it to him to make losing feel like a win.

You rolled your eyes, more at how much you loved him than anything else. “Nice one, P. I feel so much better now,” you teased, shaking your head.

"You did the same to me; I had to."

"That's just cruel."

You elbowed him, laughing despite everything. Because at the end of the day, you realized something—you hadn’t lost at all. You were sitting there with the person who made you laugh when you needed it most, who held your hand through the stress and teased you when you least expected it. And that, as far as you were concerned, was the best kind of win.

•••

The next few months were filled with so much love and so much laughter. Pedro went with you to every concert you had scheduled, sitting backstage or in the crowd with your friends, watching you command the stage. It became your new routine, traveling to different cities with Pedro beside you for each show.

June arrived, and with it, Pedro’s filming schedule kicked back into full gear. This time, though, it was a little different. Instead of the usual months of long-distance calls and late-night texts across time zones, he was filming in New York. That meant he came home every night to your shared brownstone.

It felt wonderfully domestic.

One evening, you were curled up on the couch, the windows open to let in a soft breeze. You could hear Pedro moving around in the kitchen, humming to himself as he tried to figure out what to make for dinner. He had arrived early today and insisted on taking care of it. The scent of garlic and olive oil was already beginning to fill the room.

You smiled to yourself, getting up to join him. “Need some help, Chef?” you teased, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him stir something in a pan, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He looked up, a grin spreading across his face when he saw you. “I’m handling it. Don’t worry, I’ve got everything under control.”

You raised an eyebrow, walking over to peek into the pan. “Uh-huh, that’s what you said last time."

“Okay, first of all, I told you that was ‘blackened’ for flavor,” he shot back, pointing the spatula at you. “And second, tonight’s different. I’m on it.”

You laughed, moving closer and slipping your arms around his waist from behind, resting your head against his back. “Mmm, smells good though. Maybe I’ll give you a pass this time.”

He leaned into your embrace, his free hand coming up to hold yours around his middle. “Only a pass?” he teased, turning his head slightly to catch your eye. “I was aiming for full marks.”

“You’ll have to earn that,” you replied, your voice playful as you squeezed him tighter. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

He twisted around in your arms to face you, a mock-serious expression on his face. “You are looking at a masterful creation of... stir-fry.”

“Fancy.”

“Very. It’s gourmet,” he said with a grin, pulling you closer. “It’s got vegetables and everything.”

You couldn’t help but laugh; the ease between you was just so comfortable.

It wasn’t about the food or the dinner itself—it was about the quiet rhythm of life you’d found together, the simple joy of these little moments. The kind of comfort that only comes from knowing someone so well and loving every bit of it.

As the food sizzled away on the stove, Pedro pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand still resting on your back. “I like this,” he murmured.

“What, my expert critique of your cooking? Because I can keep going."

He laughed softly. “No, I mean…this. Us. Coming home to you every night. It feels right.”

A smile spread across your face as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “It does, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes soft as he looked at you. “I could get used to this.”

“Well,” you said, grinning as you stood on your toes to kiss him, “good thing you’re stuck with me.”

He kissed you back, his lips warm and familiar, lingering just long enough to make you lose your train of thought. “Best decision I ever made,” he murmured against your lips, pulling you closer.

You smiled into the kiss, feeling the warmth of him seep into you, grounding you in the moment.

“Alright, mister. Let’s eat before your gourmet stir-fry turns into another ‘blackened’ creation.”

“Noted,” he laughed, turning back to the stove with you still wrapped around him.

July 25th, 2024

San Diego, California

The morning had a slowness to it that Pedro liked.

The two of you were still wrapped up in the sheets, limbs intertwined in a comfortable, familiar tangle. The sunlight crept lazily through the curtains. He felt your body stir next to his, your warmth pulling him further out of sleep. His lips found the curve of your shoulder, soft kisses trailing across your skin, while his fingers lazily traced patterns on your back.

"You nervous for today?" you asked, your voice still sleepy but carrying a smile that he could hear.

Pedro groaned slightly, his morning voice raspy. "A little," he admitted, his face half-buried in the pillow.

"You’ll be great. They’re going to eat you up," you said, teasing but reassuring, your lips brushing his neck. "Anything I can do to help?"

He smirked, his eyes still closed as his hand found its way down the small of your back, pulling you closer. "Actually, yeah… I’ve got a couple ideas."

You laughed, straddling him, your hair falling over your face as you leaned down for a slow, lingering kiss. The kind of kiss that promised more, the kind that was a language only the two of you spoke. Pedro’s hands moved with familiarity, tracing the lines of your body as if he were memorizing you all over again.

He discarded yours and his clothes too. Your perfect breasts in his face as soon as you straddled him again, knees on either side of his thighs as you sat down on his cock. His head fell back on the soft pillow as you dug your nails into his broad shoulders.

For a while, it was just your steady breathing as you rode him, smooth and constant. Your moans—a delicious symphony to his ears—filled the room, mingling with his own groans of pleasure. And then both of your movements became more urgent, and he held you down to his chest, his lips finding yours in a hungry kiss.

"Fuck," he cursed, his hands gripping your back tightly as he pushed himself deeper inside you.

"Need-need you deeper."

He heard you say, and with a low growl, he complied. "Lay down."

You quickly got on your front, head turned to the side, ass in the air, and he entered you from behind. He filled you, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, stretching you in the most delicious way.

"Yes, yes, yes."

It fueled him to see you and hear you so fucked out and desperate for more.

"Goddamn," he breathed, pulling out before gliding in again, this time a little harder, a little deeper. He repeated the motion several times, each time pushing you into the bed harder and harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. It's filthy. His hands dug into your hips. Your moans grew louder—consuming him, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

You were close; he could tell by the way you were clenching around him. He cannot take it anymore. It's stupidly, brilliantly too good. Too intoxicating. He leans forward, chest pressed against your back, skin slick with sweat. "Come for me, baby."

He sees your eyes go blank as you reach your peak, your body shuddering with pleasure. The sight of you unraveling beneath him pushes him over the edge, and he follows right after you, his hips turning erratic, heat spreading inside him, and his release mixing with yours.

You don't move, and neither does he. He stays buried deep inside you, both of you trying to catch your breath and come back down from the euphoric high you just experienced together. The only sound in the room is heavy breathing and the occasional whisper of a kiss against your skin.

•••

Later, the chaos of Comic-Con surrounded him, but Pedro was good at playing it cool, even if he didn't really feel like it. He’d been in the industry long enough to know how to handle the intensity of the spotlight, but today, something felt a little more electrified. It could’ve been the crowds, but as soon as you arrived and caught sight of him, you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“Oh my god, what did Marvel give you?” you said, grinning up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “You look ten years younger—I’m scared.”

Pedro chuckled, turning a little and glancing down at himself. “It’s all smoke and mirrors, babe. You know that.”

"Right. Smoke, mirrors, and a little bit of Marvel magic."

You stole a quick kiss. "I'll be right here when you're done, P."

He loved how you could always ease him with just a few words. No matter the situation, no matter how chaotic or overwhelming things got, you had this way of cutting through the noise and grounding him. It was something he never took for granted, especially in moments like this—before the whirlwind, when he needed to remember who he was underneath it all.

"Now, get out there and win them over, handsome."

•••

Summer turned into fall; life became a blend of filming and fleeting moments of domestic bliss.

Pedro’s schedule took him to London for Fantastic Four, and you had your own projects to attend to, which meant falling back into the familiar rhythm of long-distance. It was tough—long nights filled with texts and video calls, stolen moments across time zones—but somehow, the two of you made it work. You'd promised you would.

One night, as you lay together in bed before your next trip, he whispered, “I’d rather have you 3 days a year than anyone else all the time.”

You smiled.

Weeks later, Pedro went back to New York after a short break and found solace in the little routines.

He loved coming home to you.

He found himself doing little things for you. He’d never been much of a "chores guy," but there was something solid about washing dishes while you hummed in the next room, or folding laundry. It made up for the time he spent away, the guilt he sometimes carried for being gone so much. Doing these little things felt like his way of making sure you always knew how much he loved you, even when he wasn’t physically there.

One night, after a particularly long day for you, you flopped into bed. He was finishing brushing his teeth in the bathroom. As he walked into the bedroom, he noticed the exhaustion in your eyes. You were sprawled out on the bed, your blouse slightly rolled up. He pressed a knee against the edge of the bed and hovered over you.

You looked up at him, your voice a soft whisper. “You’re the only calm thing in my life.”

Pedro’s heart swelled at that, his mouth instinctively forming a smile. “And you’re the best kind of chaos in mine,” he teased, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. But beneath the joke was something deeper—a truth he felt in every fiber of his being. You had become his home.

He crawled back down slowly, peppering you with gentle kisses along your neck and sternum. You unbuttoned your blouse as he continued to trail kisses down your body. Each one a promise.

He bit your hip playfully, leaving a faint mark, and when the red faded, he did it again.

You laughed, the sound light and full of affection. “Always leaving your signature.”

“All part of the service."

•••

As fall settled, Pedro found himself reflecting on everything that had led him to this moment—this life he had built with you. All his lonely days, all the times he had doubted whether love like this would ever find him, seemed like a distant memory now. Everything he had been through had led him to this.

And there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t grateful.

As he watched you move around the London flat he had rented, his home for the next few months, catching you mid-laugh or lost in your own world, he felt whole. Complete. Every piece of his life had finally fallen into place.

And he knew, without a doubt, that there would never be a time when he had enough of you. You were his everything, and he would always come back.

Always.

a/n: the end!! sad because i'm gonna miss them so much :( but happy to have finished this the right way. thank you everyone who reads, likes, reblogs and leaves a kind message <3

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Three. Shadow)

Summary: Eros and Psyche retelling with soulmate!AU elements. Morpheus x oc/female reader

Master List

Chapter Track: "Dream State (Dark Day)" by Son Lux

18+ (violence, swearing throughout, referenced child murder)

TAGGING: Tag lists break my posts, BUT I reply to comments the day of new chapters, so you'll get a personal update every time you stop to chat. ;)

A/N: Very short chapter this time. Mental health is quietly shitting itself and making writing difficult. Thank you all for your patience.

3: Shadow

The Not Deer smelled blood.

It smelled her blood, sweet with sand, ripe with magic. And this time, unlike all the others before, she had not escaped – and she was alone.

Teeth aching to close on her living flesh, thirsty for the hot blood flecked with its master’s power, it screamed.

She’d fallen too far inside her little moving fortress, and it couldn’t reach her. It could see, though. It could smell. And wasn’t it wonderful? Fresh red bloomed on her face, filling the night with the scent of the hunt.

If it could get through the window or beat down the door, it could have her. Finally. Eat her all up and lick the fluids off the carpet, crunch her bones and chew the soft fat of her pretty brain. Then sleep off a full belly under a pile of last year’s lacy, skeleton leaves, as it did after every good feeding. It caught children who left the path and slipped just beyond their parents’ sight, drunk men daring the dark on a summer’s night, anyone foolish enough to put too much faith in their own skills under the trees when the sun went down. In a hundred years, there had been many.

But she would be the best meal, and the last, because word already spread that the lord was returned, and soon the Not Deer would be missed. Urgency fueled its attack, but its antlers caught on the window frame, and though its legs stretched too long for a deer, its hooves couldn’t strike the valley between the seats.

It rammed the van, furious. Grey foam frothed from its lips, turning the forest floor black with rot where it dripped.

“What are you doing?”

A century was not long enough to forget its master’s voice, and as it heard the whisper of eons at its back, shock froze over delight.

It stalked the dark long enough to recognize prey. It was not a deer, but it froze like one now with fate ringing in its ears. The hunter waited as the Not Deer came to rapid terms with its renewed vulnerability, and the nightmare turned, clicking, to face the Nightmare King.

The Not Deer did not have words. That was not how it had been made. But the king didn’t ask his question in search of an answer.

The Not Deer was meant to hunt in dreams, to threaten and rip at hunters who killed too many, to remind those without caution what they had to fear. But it feasted on living mortals instead. The Corinthian introduced him to the fantasy, made the cut in the nightmare’s mind that festered into fantasy, and when it had the chance, it left the Dreaming to hunt.

It consumed a young dreamer who’d left his bed to catch frogs under the full moon, and the boy had tasted well. So, the Not Deer found new dreamers to eat, glutting itself on muscle and marrow. Until it smelled her. Then it ate others in frustration, because nothing smelled as good as the one with his maker’s name scratched in her heart, glowing gold, drawing him like a new lamb’s bleats or a dying rabbit’s shriek.

The King of Nightmares simply looked at it and understood. He’d already known. He must have. It was in his nature as it was in the Not Deer’s to admire screams.

“You have betrayed your purpose.” The king spoke softly, and the Not Deer bowed, the tattered flesh on its antlers dragging along the dirt. “And you have chosen most dangerous prey.”

Dangerous not because of herself, for all her tricks. Dangerous as the mate of a greater monster, a jealous king with dominion over every night terror and the things night terrors feared.

Eyes darker than any shadow, hard and unforgiving as obsidian, the king stalked nearer. The Not Deer didn’t move. It had witnessed the Endless’s wrath, had seen others of its kind unmade, and knew it was too late to flee.

A low grown and the chime of shifting glass disturbed the dead quiet of the forest, and the Not Deer wondered if the king’s mate would wake. It hoped. She cared for the weaker ones, the creatures of the Dreaming that did not bite into the waking world as the Not Deer had. Even though it hunted her, hurt her, she may show mercy, may ask for it.

But she slept on, disturbed by other nightmares in the Dreaming, and the king’s frown grew deeper. His attention splintered between worlds, and just as her dreaming had led him to the threat in one world, her distress in the other called him home.

Perhaps he would forget. Perhaps the Not Deer may escape to find more dreamers and keep itself as itself.

Even as it began to imagine what it could chase, kill, taste with more days of freedom, the Nightmare King’s eye turned back to it, and he lifted one long arm to spin the Not Deer back to sand.

“I am needed elsewhere. I have not the time to return the tortures you are owed.”

It bucked while it still had legs, roaring and clicking as body, senses, and mind fell grain by grain. If it thought its master would return, it would never have dared. It did not want to disappear. It wanted, it wanted…

“And yet.” The king stooped to take a handful of the witch’s salt from the circle she’d made around her vehicle, and he sifted it between his fingers, thoughtful as the ash stained his fingertips. “Since it was her pain and fear you stole –” he lifted his hand above the half-formed Not Deer and let it rain down “– let her repay it.”

The black salt caught inside the nightmare and burned like it never had before. It wasn’t discomfort. It wasn’t an unpleasant, stinging shock. It was agony without end, and the Not Deer abandoned any idea of survival or escape in an instant.

It needed to be unmade. To stop. To forget.

Its lord did not lift his hand, and the legless, heaving beast of horror whined in desperation.

“Perhaps this taste of her power will satisfy you.”

If it had words, it would beg.

The Nightmare King’s attention had already shifted back to the Dreaming, however, and he paused only long enough for his shadow to swallow the wailing thing before moving on to where his mate’s dreaming mind called for help.

Then all the Not Deer knew was the darkness and its pain within it. Her scent twisted through the sand, and soon it summoned no hunger, no greed, only unbridled terror it could not escape. Not even when it tore itself apart.

----------------------------------------------

In the Dreaming, the Nightmare King pulled her from the nightmares and held her in his hands for the first time, negotiating an opportunity to soothe her, to feel the places in their souls where they met, so she might understand…

----------------------------------------------

She woke with something damp between her legs and glass studding her palm.

Spears of light poked through the forest canopy, glinting sharp through her eyes, into the sensitive spaces behind them, burning her retinas from the inside out. Rainbows danced in the broken window, reflecting in the shattered diamonds over the floor. The driver’s seat. Her clothes. She decided to wait before trying to move, get her senses together, give her head time to steady before she did anything stupid. Like grating herself like Parmesan cheese on the remains of her window.

She closed her eyes for a minute. Breathed.

Something was off.

Her mouth was dry as cotton, and her tongue did nothing to help her equally dry lips as she pulled it over the broken, peeling skin.

Damn.

She felt…

Confused.

Hurt from her encounter with the Not Deer, but also well rested. Lighter almost. Like she suddenly had more attention, more energy, even though she had glass in her hair and a situation she strongly suspected may lead to a UTI if not immediately addressed. Which of course led to the question of what the hell she and the monster had really done in her sleep, if it was just the wettest dream of her life or if she ought to be running for Plan B. She didn’t think he’d go that far without asking, not after he so carefully sought permission. And wasn’t that a hell of a thing?

Sought permission. Honored it. Soothed her and held in a way her waking mind struggled to grasp. The concepts melted in her thoughts like ice as she woke, dripping away in cool streams of sensation and memory.

He’d been grand, and big, and frightening, but he didn’t use his power to crush her, as she’d expected.

After so many years anticipating the worst, she wasn’t sure what to do with this reality. Where things hadn’t gone tits up. With a creature beyond a god who assumed he had boundaries before she even drew them. Where the worst hadn’t happened.

Her monster had made a riddle of himself for her to solve. She’d need time to come to terms with that. With him. After a lifetime of the darkest expectations… well.

Getting up, though. That came first.

She shifted, wary of the bad, bad glitter threatening an unplanned trip to an urgent care as she picked the best spots to plant her elbows.

Rolling onto her knees, she tried to crawl forward, but something snagged her foot, and she finally noticed the pull of a grip around her ankle. Her heart didn’t skip a beat. Her breathing didn’t stutter. None of the normal, horrified reactions burst from trembling lips and teary eyes.

She knew that hand.

Looking towards the passenger seat, she saw the desiccated arm vanishing into the shadows under the pilot chair. Dead skin flaked away from crusty patches of old blood, and misty black shadows curled within, ready to turn into nightmare claws to terrorize small children.

The fingers squeezed, questioning.

“I’m alright, Jeff.” She reached down to pat him, glad to find something as expected and faithful as the needy nightmare worrying after her wellbeing. “It’s okay. Not Deer still lurking outside?”

Two quick squeezes – No.

“Good.”

The bastard must’ve given up when Jeff arrived. Never did like an audience, and Jeff could be a real pain in the ass if he wanted to be. Pretty literally.

As far as she knew, Jeff was only the arm. Maybe he had a few more inky swaths of darkness he kept tucked under low furniture, but he never manifested anything past a bicep. He didn’t speak with words, only by touch, and they’d learned to communicate by squeeze ages ago.

Once upon a time, he’d been the first nightmare to find her, and on the last night she had a family, he’d clung to her leg like a shackle – warning her, begging her not to follow her curious ears to the raised voices outside her door. Ever since, even though he had terrible timing, she never doubted his intentions.

The touches in her dream with Morpheus told her a lot of other things she wasn’t fully prepared to analyze.

She hadn’t had a fucking cup of coffee yet. She couldn’t be expected to contemplate the single greatest threat to her continued freedom before caffeination. Simply unreasonable. Inhumane.

So, she shoved it out of her mind – again – and climbed out of the mess. Her first aid kit was in the back, under the narrow bunk where she usually slept. She popped the plastic case open with her back to the sliding door, the Not Deer’s dent poking into her peripheral vision as a grim reminder of the previous night.

Another nearly.

She had a strange relationship with death. Dozens of near misses over the years made the sickening adrenaline rush and following crash routine. Some people could schedule their periods in their planners. Some days it felt like mortal peril penciled itself into hers. She was afraid, but too often, and she’d lost the technique of it.

As she plucked a few stubborn bits of glass from her hands, cleaned the tiny holes they left behind, and bandaged everything up, Jeff made himself useful. He swept up the fragments he could reach in long sweeps, pulling it all into the fathomless darkness of his home under the pilot seat. When he’d cleared that side of the van, he withdrew and manifested on the driver’s side. He reached up to pluck shards from the cushions, and his fingers spidered along the carpet, seeking little dangers he could remove from her world. In the time she took cleaning herself up and shaking the glass out of her hair outside, the nightmare cleared the interior of debris.

“Thank you, Jeff,” she said as she hauled herself into the driver’s seat.

She caught her own eye in the rearview mirror. She caught her first look at the bloody goose egg over her left brow, too. Could be worse, though the swelling might get some attention she didn’t want. Rusty red flakes peeled away from the trails leading into her hair, and she tentatively poked the edge of the swelling. Like running her tongue over a canker sore – she just couldn’t help herself, even though she knew how it would end.

Yup.

It hurt.

She groaned, dropping back against the headrest. Fan-fucking-tastic. The scratch needed cleaning and antiseptic, which meant a stop at the nearest convenience store with a bathroom. Nothing like scaring some gas station clerks first thing in the morning.

At least gas stations had coffee.

Fresh air breathed through the broken window, washing the smell of fear and blood out of the van. She took in as much as she could.

She needed to go, but she wasn’t sure where, and going never got her very far without a destination. Her pockets had bottoms, and she’d hit the seams fast if she didn’t budget gas money.

Where should she head? What did she need?

Out of sight, Jeff softly grasped her left ankle. He hadn’t been so clingy in ages, and she wondered what the little nightmare knew that she didn’t. It wasn’t like he was a great conversationalist. Their talks took creative shortcuts – yes/no taps, Morse code, even a Ouija board once or twice – but they still chewed up time she wasn’t sure she had, and even when well-equipped, Jeff wasn’t chatty. He couldn’t help her work through this chaos.

Oh.

And there was her answer.

Help.

People.

She needed people. Folks to talk with, to lend her an ear and a shoulder to cry on. Someone to distract her, friends who knew her and would keep her safe from rogue nightmares like the Not Deer – maybe even help her pick apart her feelings over the star-eyed Endless and his… attention.

People. Friends. Plural.

Checking the date on her phone, she did some quick math and determined where her favorite group of miscreants might be found. Hadn’t they sent her a text? A few weeks ago? She’d been so consumed with the pull across the ocean to the Burgess estate she barely read it. No time or attraction. Now, though – different story.

Destination in mind, she put on her sunglasses to protect her eyes from the inevitable wind through the open window and turned the key. The van grumbled to life. Bouncing over the rough little road she’d called home for a few nights, she smiled to herself. Happy in the moment, alive with a little purpose and a goal to chase, on her way to friendly faces.

Only after speeding an hour down the highway did she realize what felt so off – the pain in her chest had eased.

Next chapter: Link

[nomdepen]

“Yes, they’re magnificent creatures.” She confirmed with a childlike glee. “They were at an event hosted by the Queen Herself. It was the highlight of the event, in my opinion. They were smaller than I’d thought they’d be, but they were still wonderful.” Recounting the memory was bittersweet. She had looked for Eloise that entire day, desperate to know what she thought of the striped beasts. But when she saw her friend sharing the company of Cressida Cowper, the day had been rightfully soured.

“There were peacocks at that particular soirée, too,” She let out a sigh. “But there are enough of those in society as it is.” The colorful birds had been exotic in their own right, but Penelope was all too familiar with cocksure creatures flaunting their wealth. She couldn’t deny that the male peacocks were certainly more spectacular than any dandy in attendance, but it still hadn’t been enough to surprise her. Zebras, however, had been quite a spectacle for Pen.

“You have a horse?” It made sense, she supposed. Soldiers couldn’t exactly be expected to saunter into battle on foot, nor could they be expected to trek across the world without some sort of assistance. It made sense that a caring man like Benjamin would form an alliance with a mare. She wasn’t well-versed in the laws of warfare, but she could only imagine most men would prefer a valiant stallion as their war beast. She hadn’t, however, expected a such majestic creature to be named something so… ordinary.

“She must be quite protective over you if you’ve been together for so long.” Pen allowed her mind to wander off, imagining what his horse might look like. Was she lean and elegant like the derby horses her father always bet on? Or was she a noble beast with thunderous hooves that could carry him anywhere in the world? In her dreams, she always imagined her Prince Charming whisking her away on horseback, but the details had never been quite so clear.

“I’ve never owned a horse myself. I have a dog, though. A pug. His name is Prince. He’s not quite a stallion, but he’s a rather good companion on lonely days.” She didn’t have children yet, but Prince was the closest thing to an infant that she’d ever had. Being the youngest sibling, Pen never had to deal with babies and nappies like Prudence and Philippa had, but she’d driven Prince around the estate in her old perambulator enough for her mind to equate it. “We used to have a Yorkshire Terrier. Well, it was Philippa’s, really, but Mama got rid of him when he wouldn’t stop soiling the carpet.”

His rueful tone spoke measures and Penelope wondered just how many things a soldier like him had witnessed. Too much, if she had to guess. A part of her itched to inquire further, to know more about the things that made him him, but she knew better than that. The weather was charming and the last thing she wanted to do was bring a metaphorical cloud over their outing.

“I concur. Mankind will be the maker of its own demise, I believe. Always yearning for more, until there is nothing left to take.” Her voice was sad, but she wore a gentle smile. She rarely spoke these type of thoughts aloud without her family scolding her for being too philosophical. Philosophy was a man’s luxury, but with Benjamin she felt free to be as philosophical as she wanted.

Beyond compare? Penelope's thoughts nearly seized at his words, her mind working overtime to dissect every syllable. He spoke flattery so effortlessly, offering compliments as if it were as easy as breathing. She couldn’t help but admire him for his brazen sincerity. Compliments were a currency that most women in the ton were frugal with, especially when exchanging them with other ladies. Perhaps females elsewhere in the world were more supportive of one another, she thought, but in London, ladies were as vicious as it got.

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to wait and see what kinds of scandalous materials they have available.” The excitement thrummed through her veins, her voice nearly trembling with anticipation. An entire collection of books meant near endless possibilities. Even if they were all textbooks, filled to spine with useless facts, Penelope would be elated to expand her horizons. However, if she was being honest, there was always a specific genre that called out to her.

“I know it seems silly, but I always enjoy a good love story. I intend to find at least one romance novel that I have yet to read, and the rest…” She shrugged, allowing herself to be open to new ideas. As a thought dawned on her, Pen’s grin turned girlish and she leaned closer to him. “Perhaps you could help me find some poetry to study. It does seem to be a specialty of yours, after all.”

Despite the innocence in her appraisal, a distinct heat flared up beneath his collar and burned up to the tips of his ears. With a soft, husky little laugh, Benjamin rolled his shoulders forward, almost hunkering since he'd grown out of touch with such flatteries.

"I'm afraid I've been rendered speechless," he said. "Well...if you can ignore the past several words I've already uttered, of course."

Clasping his hands behind his back, he only to dared look at Penelope when she spoke of strange creatures. "Zebras?" he echoed, his eyes twinkling with intrigue. "I confess I've only seen sketches...they appear much like horses, which happens to be an animal I adore. While growing up, we raised a handful of them on our farm, but my Artillery has been with me throughout late boyhood, the war, and now here in England. I couldn't imagine venturing into the world without her."

Wounded... Something about her phrasing struck a chord in Benjamin, and with a stabbing ache in his throat, he wondered if she could possibly be referring to something deeper, visceral, much like his own invisible wounds that bled and festered across his heart.

"I wouldn't say my life is more exciting," he softly said. "In truth, there's quite a bit of my life that I wish I'd never experienced... Sometimes, the quieter, simpler life is far more ideal." He shrugged, rueful. "In truth, I don't think mankind can ever be satisfied. We're never quite appreciative of what we have...not until it's too late."

Upon Penelope's quip, Benjamin's expression warmed again and he chuckled. "Right. Well, at least you can waltz," he countered. "My cousin once crashed right into the refreshments table at a public assembly, because she couldn't keep time -- nor her balance."

Nudging her, he added, "And you are not perfect, no -- nobody possesses such a feat -- but you're certainly beyond compare. I, myself, would take a dozen imperfections over anything flawless. Speaking of which..." The corners of his mouth lifted. "What sort of 'scandalous reading material' do you intend to borrow from the library?"

[officialgomezaddams]

Nightmare

KJALKjdlKJ i want to get back into this and i also really want to join the anakin skywalker hoe group even tho all i know how to do are angst bc i have abandonment issues lmaooo but $wag here we go bitches

It was the nights that he hated. The time between sunset and sunrise was a nightmare for him. The temple was asleep, mostly all of the inhabitants were in their designated rooms and slept. It was the universal signal that the day was done and now it was time for rest. But not for Anakin, the nights were the worst.

So were the days too, but during the hours where everyone was up moving, there were things to be done. Training, meetings, getting ready for the next job all was done during the daylight giving the Jedi a reason to be occupied. The temple was alive, and during the nights the planet was too. Anakin was too. 

During his nights, he was doing whatever he possibly could to keep from going back to his room, or at most in his bed sleeping like everyone else was. He would distract himself in his work, purposely tinkering with a droid to have it start twitching so he could spend the next three hours fixing it. It worked, it kept him up to see the golden rays of the rising sun poke through. Satisfied at his work he would grab a cup of caff and try to make it as far in the day without taking a power nap.

Naps were easier, naps weren't that long. He knew he could operate on twenty, thirty minutes of sleep that he could get undisturbed from whatever needed him. During this brief downtime that Anankin allowed himself, he wouldn't get the nightmare. It was the same one, the same dream shaking him so badly that he refused to let seep engulf him. 

Not tonight. Ashoka had gotten tired of having her master nod off around midday, and took the opportunity -with help of Obi-wan- to put him in his bed. They didn’t stay long, the room was suffocating of itself, the quietness of the room that had not been used except to take quick showers and for Anakin to change his clothes. The room twisted Obi-wan’s stomach, as he passed the dried blood on the carpet, quickly realizing that the room had not been touched in months. It has to be what, four months now? He thought to himself before turning off the lights and closing the door to let the nightmare drown his former padawan. 

It was always the same. Anakin understood why they happened for the first two weeks but he was quick to pick up on the fact that they all were the same. 

It was night out, and every time he could feel the desperation in his bones to get back to his room and see y/n, his wife. It was the eagerness to hold her, wrap her body up in his as he reassured her that he was okay. Or maybe it was the butterflies he got every time he came back from a mission, to have his wife dote on him and make sure he was okay. 

He could tell something was off, the gut feeling, her force signature, it was off. He was now running to the room to make sure everything was okay. The hallway is seemingly never-ending and it does nothing but add to his panic. Reality in his dreams always changes in the hallways. Sometimes he's reluctant to go and pleading with the maker to make him not go into the bedroom and sometimes he's determined. As if he thought he could change reality in his dreams by sprinting he could change everything. Sometimes he can hear her cries from outside the door like they were booming off the walls and ricochet into his gut. But everything else was the same.

 He would open the door, one hand on his saber and the other ready to choke whoever might be lurking in the darkness hurting his wife. His frantic eyes only find y/n, on the ground with her back resting against the back of a sofa. He can't remember what he sees first, his wife's face pale and tortured or the blaster hole she was cradling on her stomach. It was large and all red, her nightdress soaked with blood, and stars he remembers seeing so much of it. His feet now move by instinct, rushing over to her only to realize what he can do? He knows taking Y/n to medical would be a waste, she’s already lost too much blood and starts she's cold, freezing from the rapid blood loss.

All he does is silently move her so she's now cradled in his arms, breathing heavily as he stares forward at the balcony wondering, what the hell happened? What do I do? He knows by now how precious these moments are, the last few moments people get to spend with a dying loved one and how revenge can be held off for just a few seconds later. The dream normally stops there, in the bittersweet death of his wife.

In reality, he was awoken by his former master, who came in looking for him and stumbled on the violent scene. It took a lot of convincing to get him to move from Y/n, to put her on the floor, and have the wave of sheer pain of knowing she was now dead hit him. He led the younger male back into the hallway timidly, watching as sobs shook Anakin’s whole body in the constricting hallway. 

He was back in the hallway, his face twisting in pain as he knew the grief that was going to come. As he moved forward he could hear Y/n’s screams of pain and muffled cries. He stopped in front of the door before going in, mentally preparing to see his lover dying. 

The moment he stepped in it was silent. All the screams had stopped and much to his disbelief she wasn't there. He could feel his heart begin to move again, She wasn't there! She's okay! She- “Anakin?”

His heart shut off again, but it didn't sink. The voice was honey, sweet, and everything he had been dreading. Y/n’s. Looking at the balcony there she was, looking at him with those shiny eyes that held so much wonder. Anakin was taken aback, not prepared to see her alive. This was a much better version of her, not the her that showed up in his manic brain. It wasn't the first time he had seen her after she died, but never like this. Never happy. This is how it should have gone, he thought to himself as he stalked over there. Not her lifeless eyes looking at him while he’s meditating or too sleep-deprived. 

He faced her smiling, afraid to touch her, too scared that at any second she would drop to the floor clutching her stomach. Or even worse, too scared that he would wake up from this nightmare. “You, you aren’t real.” He told her, smiling and never taking his eyes off her. “I’m dreaming,” He tells her, pulling her into his body, putting a kiss on the top of her head as she wraps her arms around him, returning his hug. He knows he needs to savor this moment, to keep feeling the warmth of her tucked in his skin. “Why do you keep doing this to me Y/n?” He feels her pull away, her pretty smile dropping off her face as if it wasn't even there. What are you doing? Just enjoy this, please. “Why do you keep haunting me?”

She takes his hands in hers, looking at the contrast between her soft and his calloused ones. “Why do you keep calling me?” Her eyes were back on his, staring at his blue orbs. He choked, confused by the question and confused about what was happening. It's all too real, this wasn't the dream that scared him to try and not sleep. There wasn’t the soft hum of the nightlife around him, the stars twinkled a little too nice and Y/n. Is this real? 

She was too real, the happiness in her voice when she called his name, the softness of her hair. He just wanted to hold her, have her arms around him and live in that same feeling of security she gave him, the breeze through her hair, letting it dance in the wind ever so slightly. The smell of the soft lavender that she loved. This has to be real. 

“Anakin I can’t go with you everywhere, follow you everywhere. You don't deserve to keep suffering like this, you deserve closure.” 

 His jaw slacked, obviously offended at the comment. “You want me to get past this?” His voice came out in disbelief. How was he supposed to get closure? Revenge? The criminal didn't even make it out alive, killed by the saber of Windu. It would have made more sense if he took the bastard's life. It would have made more sense if he picked her up and carried Y/n’s soon-to-be lifeless body away to the medical department even though the chance of her making it there alive wasn’t even a possibility. Closure would make sense if he had to do something. Y/n Skywalker was dead and ultimately there was nothing he could do about it. “I can’t let you go,” he spoke cupping her face, his face desperately locked on hers as if she was just going to vanish as if he almost knew that this would be the last time he ever got to see her. Not the nightmare version of his love, her. 

Her breathing, her living, her beautiful form was all gone and she wants him to move on? Move past the tender nights they shared, the softness of her bare body on his and how angelic she looked with her head tilted back, her eyes screwed shut and the most beautiful sounds she was making? Move past the way her delicate hands would lightly travel up his Jedi robe and how it burned so good as she kissed him slowly, silently thanking whoever put the stars up in the sky for returning him to her? Move past the memories of them sitting in each other's arms in the wide meadows of Naboo as they would talk about their future that seemed so far away, there would be no talk of missions or war, just them. Together. Married, bonded as one. 

“Y/n I don't want to lose you, not again.” 

“Getting closure and moving on are two different things Ani. You can still get closure and remember me. It doesn’t always have to be like this, you can be happy.” His wife spoke, slowly stepping back out of his arms. Reality was slowly kicking in now and the Jedi could feel the entire gaping void of the galaxy as he watched her move from him, the same gut-wrenching feeling he had when he first saw her slowly slipping away from him that night. 

“I was happy. With you,” He spoke more affirmative, watching the ghost pass into their shared room, following in her footsteps. He just wanted her back in his arms, safe, where he could protect her. 

“And now? Seeing me like this? When’s the last time you got some actual sleep?” She questioned, turning to face him with tears in her eyes. “You keep letting this eat you up, you couldn’t have saved me Anakin. Not you, not Obi-wan, not any of the Jedi here. I just want you to be happy again.” Even in his nightmares, she was caring for him. 

Anakin sat down on the bed he owned, his defeat with his stubbornness getting to him as she sat down next to him, and even though he couldn’t look at her he knew there was that kindness in her eyes that he fell in love with. Even dead, as a memory he was left speechless. He looked down at his hands together in his lap, smiling softly as she took his robotic hand in hers, wanting him to admit the truth. 

“I was supposed to save you,” his voice barely above a whisper in the darkroom. “I spent my entire life training to save and be a hero and when it was the most important time to be one, I couldn't. You were so cold,” He looked at her, tears slowly trickling their way down his face. “A-And there was just so much blood, I couldn’t do anything to help you. By the time I got to you, it was already too late. There was nothing I could do but hold you and let you die. If I got closure- those last moments will mean nothing. 

You are my wife, my future was supposed to be with you. I meant it in Naboo when you were too busy picking flowers I told you that you were my future, and wherever I would end up, it would be with you. You looked so happy Y/n, your smile was so beautiful and at that moment I knew you were going to be mine. What am I supposed to do now? You are my lover, my wife, going to be the mother of my children, and if I get closure for this, none of those promises we made will matter.”

Y/n was pulled into her husband's chest as he spoke, if she was real she would have felt the way he tensed up, the way his sobs slowly shook his body. “But Anakin, I’m dead. I’m not real, none of this is. I don't know what you are going to do because none of it matters anymore.” She spoke, nuzzling her face in his chest as he kissed the top of her head, his arms keeping her tight against his body soaking up his warmth even though she remained cold. 

“Any of it?” His voice broke, but this time there was no pain. Only the reality of nothing mattered to him right now except to stay in this moment with her. To kiss her rosy cheeks one last time and to tell her that he loved her. He gave her a gentle squeeze as she shook her head no.”Well, if none of this matters, can I at least hold you a little bit longer?” 

“Okay,” She whispered back. She let out a small giggle as Anakin buried his face into her neck, trying to get as close to her as he could before it was too late. To get in one last memory. “It was nice,” She spoke to him as he laid down a few gentle kisses on her lips, onto her neck, savoring the bittersweetness of the dream he was having. “It was nice while it lasted.” 

[wonkasmissstarshine]

The Chocolatier’s Rose {Willy Wonka x OC} Ch. 2

GIF not mine. Credit goes to owner.

Summary: Grandpa Joe shares his stories of when he used to work for Willy Wonka, an Indian prince and a chocolate palace, and deceit.

A/N: Yes, I am following the movie but some dialogue and scenes may be changed or not there entirely. I’ll add Wonka gifs once we get to that part of the story. And yes, Rose is singing that song to Charlie.

Tagging: @holdmeicant​ @willymywonkers​

Rose and Charlie had a couple of stops to make on their way home. Rose needed to pop into the market to buy a loaf of bread, using the money that Mrs. Mason gave her. After that, the two siblings walked by the chocolate factory. They stopped in front of it and stared for a few minutes.

"What do you think it's like inside?" Charlie asked his older sister.

Rose, who was staring at the smoke coming out of the factory responded with, "I don't know, but if I ever had the chance to see inside, I would take it. Mr. Wonka's chocolate has always been the best"

If there was one thing Rose loved almost as much as her family, it was chocolate. More specifically, Mr. Wonka's chocolate. Unfortunately, she didn't get the chance to eat a bar that often. Her and Charlie both got one for their birthdays. And they always shared with everyone else.

Rose tried to save up enough money to buy Charlie a chocolate bar, but other necessities came up. Like the loaf of bread for example.

Charlie and Rose made it home, announcing their arrival to the other Buckets in the house. The other Buckets greeted them in return.

"Hello, darling" Mrs Bucket greeted her daughter as she came into the kitchen area. "How was work today?"

"Like any other day" Rose said with a shrug. "But Mrs. Mason did send me home with a cherry pie!" She handed the pie over to her mother.

Mrs Bucket's eyes lit up. "That's wonderful. That Mrs. Mason is such a kind woman"

"And she also gave me some money to buy this" Rose presented the loaf of bread.

"Nothing goes with cabbage soup like bread, and cherry pie for dessert. Thank you, dear" Mrs. Bucket kissed Rose on the cheek. She then went back to cutting up the cabbage.

At that moment, Mr Bucket came through the door. He took had a long day of work, just as Rose did. He greeted everyone the same way Rose and Charlie announced their arrival. "Evening, Buckets!"

Everyone greeted him back. Mr Bucket went over and kissed Mrs Bucket. That's when he noticed the pie and the bread. He turned to smile at Rose. "Let me guess? Mrs Mason?"

Rose smiled with a nod. "She says hello, by the way" She then wrapped her arms around her father, giving him a tight hug.

"Was that boy giving you trouble again today?" Mr Bucket whispered so that only Rose could hear. Rose didn't say anything. Instead, she gave a small twitch of her lips. He knew she didn't want to talk about it now, so he let it go for now. The two of them let go. Mr Bucket took a seat at the table, reaching into his pocket. "Charlie, I've found something I think you'll like" He placed a few caps belonging to toothpaste tubes on the table.

Charlie and Rose's father worked at the local toothpaste factory. The hours were long, and the pay was terrible, yet occasionally, there were unexpected surprises.

Charlie grabbed the two caps that were molded together. A big smile grew on his face. "It's exactly what I need!"

Rose had already grabbed Charlie's special project when their Grandpa Joe had asked, "What is it Charlie?"

Rose placed Charlie's toothpaste tube cap replica of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory onto a table. Charlie then placed the double molded cap on his mini Willy Wonka, giving him a head and a top hat. "Dad found it. Just the piece I needed" Charlie said.

"What piece was it?" Grandpa Joe asked.

"A head for Willy Wonka"

"How wonderful!" Grandma Josephine said.

"It looks perfect, Charlie" Rose told him, wrapping her arms around him from behind and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "And I must say, Willy Wonka looks quite handsome!" She joked with a smile.

"It's quite a likeness" Grandpa Joe added.

"You think so?" Charlie wondered.

"Think so? I know so! I saw Willy Wonka with my own two eyes" Charlie and Rose stared at Grandpa Joe in disbelief. "I used to work for him, you know"

"You did?" Charlie gasped.

"I did!"

"He did!" Grandma Josephine said.

"He did" Grandpa George repeated.

"I love grapes!" Grandma Georgina chirped randomly. Rose smiled at her. She always loved the random things she would say.

"Of course, I was a much younger man in those days" Grandpa Joe began to reminisce about Willy Wonka's first shop. Everyone settled in for Grandpa Joe's story. Mrs. Bucket handed out dinner to everyone. "Willy Wonka began with a single store on Cherry Street, but the whole world wanted his candy. The man was a genius. Did you know, he invented a new way of making chocolate ice cream so that it stays cold for hours without a freezer? You could leave it lying in the sun on a hot day and it won't go runny"

"That's impossible" Charlie said.

"But Willy Wonka did it. Before long, he decided to build a proper chocolate factory. The largest chocolate factory in history. Fifty times as big as any other" Grandpa Joe added a detail about him and Josephine sharing a kiss at the opening.

Rose giggled in amusement, while Charlie said, "Grandpa, don't make it gross!"

"Tell them about the Indian prince" Grandma Josephine suggested. "They'd like to hear about that"

"You mean Prince Pondicherry?" Grandpa Joe continued on with the story. "Well, Prince Pondicherry wrote a letter to Mr. Wonka and asked him to come all the way out to India and build him a colossal palace entirely out of chocolate"

"Oh, I would love to live in a chocolate palace!" Rose chimed in dreamily. "Too bad I would end up eating it all"

"True to his word, the bricks were chocolate and the cement holding them together was chocolate. All the walls and ceilings were made of chocolate as well. So were the carpets and the pictures, and the furniture. The prince was told to eat it all before it melted, but he wouldn't listen. But Mr. Wonka was right, of course. Soon after this, there came a very hot day with a boiling sun. The prince sent an urgent telegram requesting a new palace, but Willy Wonka was facing problems of his own

"All the other chocolate makers had grown jealous of Mr. Wonka. They began sending in spies to steal his secret recipes. Fickelgruber started making an ice cream that would never melt. Prodnose came out with a chewing gum that never lost its flavour. Then Slugworth began making candy balloons that you could blow up to incredible sizes. The thievery got so bad, that one day without warning, Mr. Wonka told every single one of his workers to go home. He announced that he was closing his chocolate factory forever"

Rose suddenly remembered the smoke coming from the factory when she and Charlie were walking home. "But the factory is open right now" She said.

"Ah, yes" Mrs Bucket piped in. "Well, sometimes when grown ups say forever, they mean a very long time"

"Such as I feel like I've eaten nothing but cabbage soup for ever" Grandpa George grumbled.

"Now, pops" Mr. Bucket warned.

"The factory did close, Rose and Charlie" Grandma Josephine said.

"And it seemed like it was going to be closed forever" Grandpa Joe added on. "Then one day we saw smoke rising from the chimneys. The factory was back in business"

"Did anyone get their jobs back?" Charlie wondered.

The smile on Joe's face faded away. "No, no one did"

"But there must be people working there"

"Think about it, you two" Grandma Josephine spoke up yet again. "Have you ever seen a single person going into that factory, or coming out of it?"

Charlie and Rose shared glances as they both thought about the answer. Charlie was the one to speak. "No, the gates are always closed"

"Exactly, Charlie" Grandpa Joe said.

Another thought came across Rose's mind. "But then, who's running the machines?"

"No one knows, Rose" Mrs Bucket shrugged.

"It certainly is a mystery" Mr Bucket added.

"Hasn't someone asked Mr. Wonka?" Charlie asked yet another question.

"Nobody sees him anymore. He never comes out" Grandpa Joe answered. "The only thing that comes out of that place is the candy that's already packed and addressed" A smile then grew on his face. "I'd love to see the factory one more time to see what became of it"

"Well, you won't because you can't" Grandpa George said, being the usual party pooper he was. "It's a mystery and it will always be a mystery. That little factory of yours, Charlie, is as close as any of us is going to get"

"Come on you two" Mrs Bucket told her two children. "I think it's time we let your grandparents get some sleep"

The two Bucket children wished everyone good night, giving everyone a goodnight kiss and then climbed up to their shared bedroom. Charlie's bed was against one wall while Rose's was against the other.

Charlie climbed into bed first. Rose tucked him in, making sure the blanket was pulled right up to his chin. "Goodnight Charlie. I hope you have sweet dreams" She kissed his forehead, before climbing into her own bed.

"Rosie?" Charlie spoke his sister's name ever so quietly.

"Yes, Charlie?"

"Can you sing the song you usually song?" Charlie loved hearing his sister sing. He thought that she had the voice of an angel.

"Anything for you, Charlie" Rose said sweetly. She then began to sing.

A dream is a wish your heart makes

When you're fast asleep

In dreams you will lose your heartaches

Whatever you wish for, you keep

Have faith in your dreams and someday

Your rainbow will come smiling through

No matter how your heart is grieving

If you keep on believing

The dream that you wish will come true

A dream is a wish your heart makes

When you're fast asleep

In dreams you will lose your heartaches

Whatever you wish for, you keep

Have faith in your dreams and someday

Your rainbow will come smiling through

No matter how your heart is grieving

If you keep on believing

The dream that you wish will come true

[fallinallincurls]

Coffee Kisses

super soft & i love this one a whole lot. also, HIS CURLS IN THIS GIF?? please, i can’t

word count: 1.4k+

~~~~~

Shawn's POV

The soft sunlight peeked through the large windows opposite the king size bed, illuminating the whole bedroom is a beautiful, golden light. The fresh set of white sheets were wrapped around my body and as my eyes fluttered open, I caught a glimpse of the gorgeous girl sleeping next to me. A small smile tugged at my lips as I reached up with one of my hands to rub the drowsiness out of my eyes. 

Y/N's head was resting on my chest, her arms around my torso and my arms around her body, pulling her in close against me. Her hair was tousled with sleep, but still fell perfectly around her shoulders. She was wearing one of my tshirts, something I loved, and her breathing remained even as I leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

Mornings have become my favorite part of the day. Waking up next to the love of my life always made my heart warm and happy. It was so peaceful to open my eyes to the sun with the girl of my dreams in my arms. I wanted to cherish these moments forever. Just me, Y/N and nothing else. On days where I wake up earlier than her, my fingers always played with her hair while the sunlight danced gracefully across her face and she snuggled in closer to me. Even after four years together, waking up next to her every morning never gets old.

Pulling my fingers away from Y/N's hair and pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead, I carefully slid her out of my arms so I was able to get out of bed. Y/N stirred slightly, immediately looking for me but settled down when she got comfortable again. I reached for a black tshirt and tugged it over my head with a wide smile plastered on my face as I took one last look at Y/N. Inching quietly over to the bedroom door, I escaped into the hallway and let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

I started down the carpeted staircase and ran my hand through my messy curls a few times before I reached the bottom. The sun was filling the living room as well and when I entered the kitchen, the skyline glittered in the bright light. A yawn escaped my lips just as I pressed the power button on the coffee maker that occupied one corner of the kitchen corner and then setting the kettle on the stove top for my cup of tea. 

Reaching up to the cabinet above, I pulled two mugs down, one for Y/N and one for me. I caught myself humming quietly as the coffee machine whirred to life and began making the perfect cup for my girlfriend. Although I'm not a coffee person at all, I memorized every little detail about how Y/N liked hers in the first two months we were dating. The warm scent of fresh coffee filled the kitchen as I removed the kettle from the hot stove, poured the water in my mug and delicately placed the tea bag in the water.

Just as the hot coffee finished filling Y/N's cup while I reached for the milk and proper scoops of sugar for her liking, I heard my name. "Shawn?" Y/N's voice floated down the staircase as I mixed the milk and sugar together in her coffee. I lifted my eyes from the mug and in seconds, Y/N was standing at the bottom of the staircase, her eyes sleepy but a fond smile was spread across her lips. "Hi bubs," she said softly, crossing the room to where I was standing. "What are you doing?"

I gently pushed her mug of coffee into her hands before leaning in to kiss her sweetly. Instantly, my heart began to race and sparks flew through my skin wherever I touched her while our lips moved in sync with each other. "Goodmorning, beautiful." I whispered against her lips when we pulled away breathless, love dancing in her eyes as she leaned her forehead against mine.

"Goodmorning, handsome. You made me coffee?" Y/N asked softly, pulling away and looking down at her mug before her gaze met mine again. I nodded enthusiastically, my curls falling over my forehead.

"Just the way you like it, baby." I answered happily, my hands landing on her hips and I began to rub small circles through the fabric of my shirt that she was wearing. Suddenly, Y/N leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a small kiss to the tip of my nose and then my cheeks.

"You didn't have to, love." She mumbled with a chuckle before taking a seat on one of the stools that sat around the kitchen island and then took a long sip of the hot drink. I returned to my mug, pulling the tea bag out of the hot water and tossing it in the garbage before taking a sip. Holding my hot mug delicately, I stood between Y/N's legs and kissed her forehead once again.

"It's okay, I wanted to. It's become part of my morning routine to make coffee for you." I smiled before lifting my mug to my lips again. Y/N was silent for a few seconds, but soon I felt her hand tugging at the bottom of my tshirt. My eyebrows shot up playfully, my eyes meeting hers through a few stray curls that fell onto my forehead and the mug still to my lips. "Baby, it's a little early but if you want to," I trailed off with a chuckle, placing the mug back on the counter and pressing a gentle kiss to her clothed shoulder.

"Ohmygod, Shawn! Are you kidding me?" She teasingly swatted my chest as the adorable giggle that I loved so much filled the room. "I just wanted a kiss!" Y/N exclaimed, shaking her head as my facial expression immediately changed, my mouth forming an 'oh' shape with realization.

"How was I supposed to know that?" I laughed, throwing my hands up and letting them fall back to my sides as Y/N cracked up in front of me.

"I can't believe you got 'Oh she definitely wants to have sex right now because she's tugging at my shirt' from that!" Y/N spoke between laughs, trying to catch her breath. "You are something else." 

My smile grew wider by the second as I memorized every detail about this moment. The way the corners of Y/N's eyes crinkled from the large smile that was plastered on her lips. How amazing she looked wearing just my tshirt and still lightly grasping her mug of coffee that rested on the counter. Her hair flowed over her shoulders perfectly and her eyes were filled with nothing but love and adoration.

"Whatever, babe." I rolled my eyes jokingly, my heart soaring with happiness as my cheeks began to hurt from smiling so hard. Just as I carefully grabbed the mug from the counter again, my eyes still on Y/N, I felt her hand tugging at my shirt again, harder this time. Barely putting the mug down in time, Y/N wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me in even closer to her.

"I love you. So much. You have no idea." She whispered quietly against my lips before closing the small space between us and melting into me. My body was instantly electrified at her touch and the feeling of home washed over me. 

Smiling into the kiss, I deepened it, pouring the passion and love from my heart into the simple action. She tasted like a mix of coffee, happiness and love. Her hands slowly began travelling down my back as she leaned further into me, almost like she couldn't get enough. Gently pulling away, Y/N smiled shyly and met my gaze.

"I love you too, babygirl. Your coffee kisses in the morning are my favorite and this is all I want for the rest of my life." My voice was soft as I watched her eyes glitter in the morning sunlight. God, she was breathtaking.

"You can have my coffee kisses for the rest of your life because I want to give them to you forever." She chuckled lightly, wrapping her arms around my torso and resting her head on my chest. I wrapped my arms around her and delicately ran my fingers through her hair before leaving a gentle kiss on the top of her head. My heart was so full just holding her in my arms. The love of my life. This was all I wanted for forever.

tag list: @imaginashawnns​ @ellalynnrose​ @curlsofshawn​