#dream of the endless x daunt

[thepaintedlady00]

Burden

Part 6

Part 5 | Part 7

TW: fluff, a bit of pining, Dream fucks everything up like he does, arguments, depictions of violence, the glass cage is here y'all so buckle up, ANGST, betrayal, character death? This cliffhanger is one of my worst, like honestly I apologize in advance! 😅

“Try this one,” Lucienne suggested, setting the large book down in front of you.

With a soft sigh, you looked up at her and smiled. “We’ve tried this one before, my friend. It held no words then, I do not expect it to now.”

She quietly cursed herself, taking the book back and studying the cover until the memory returned to her. “One moment! I’ll find another!”

“Lucienne,” you replied quietly, reaching out to take her hand. “I greatly appreciate your efforts, but this is hardly necessary.”

“Reading is a beautiful thing,” she insisted. “And I am determined to find a book among these endless shelves that you, my lady, can enjoy.”

“I do enjoy them,” you insisted. “Lord Morpheus has been kind enough to read many of them to me.”

Lucienne gave you a quick, fleeting glance with that knowing smile of hers. “Very true, but it is different to be read to and to read with one's own eyes.”

You shook your head, laughing at her persistence. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?”

“Of course not!” She cried out, returning to her shelves. “I am the librarian after all. It’s my duty to ensure all in this place find what they’re seeking.”

“Very well,” you relented with a smile.

It had been nearly a year since the passing of Puck, and you’d spent more time within The Dreaming than anywhere else. It was nice to have others around to fill the hole left by the loss of yet another companion. The pain would never truly fade, it never did, but at least you did not have to mourn alone. Lucienne offered you friendship and knowledge without reservation. The handyman, Mervyn, was quick to fill your free moments with laughter and projects. Jessamy showed you the best spots to sit in for a moment of peace. Cain and Abel and Gregory provided enough company to make you feel like you were part of a family, even one as dysfunctional as theirs. The Corinthian had been distant, but he always accompanied you for a walk along the beach when you’d asked… though he was far quieter now, far less open with you than he had been in the past he remained your best friend. And Dream… he did everything within his power to make you feel welcomed and at peace.

He often reminded you of the last shaping stone that you wore around your neck in a beautiful necklace that he’d crafted for you. He assured you it would be different than the others, that its life would never fade as theirs had, but you were still afraid. What if your presence corrupted even that? What if you lost this final companion just as you did the others? No. Your heart couldn’t bear such a thing, not so shortly after Puck.

You and Dream hadn’t spoken of that day. Not of the way you’d held his hand or cried in his arms, and certainly not of the way you sought his hand out every moment after. If it bothered him, he hid it well, but part of you wanted desperately to believe he craved the simple act of affection as much as you did.

Jessamy flew beside you as you made your way to Cain and Abel's garden for afternoon tea. It had become a lovely ritual between you, one that had begun with an argument over whose house was best suited for tea and which brother had better cakes. Eventually, after Cain stabbed Abel once or twice, you all came to the agreement that tea in the garden would be just fine. You crossed the bridge and sadly smiled at the brother covered in dirt, beating his clothing off beside his door. “How deep did he bury you this time?”

Abel perked up at the sound of your voice. “Oh, not that deep! It was a small argument, so he just shoved me into the hole rather than buried me.”

“I am glad you did not have to dig your way out this time,” you said, quietly helping him.

“It wouldn’t be that horrible,” the man insisted, his smile never faltering. “Gregory would have helped.”

You heard the large creature leap down behind you, seeking to startle you as he always did. You let him, of course, the look of pride Gregory had was well worth the prolonged wait. He finally made a loud roaring noise and you jumped, twisting around with your hand over your heart. “Goodness! Gregory, darling creature I didn’t hear you!”

He huffed, rubbing his snout against you and sniffing at Abel with a light sneeze. Cain slammed his door shut and set the table without a word. Abel gestured to the plant you’d helped them with. “It grew another leaf!”

Bending over slightly, you examined the still small and frail plant with a silver stem and pale leaves. “That’s wonderful progress.”

“It’ll bloom in no time, I just know it!”

“Teas ready!” Cain hollered, dragging all of you over to the table. “It won’t be awful this time because it’s my tea we used.”

You thanked him as he filled your cup. The brothers used the same tea, though you weren’t going to be the one to tell them this. That certainly was a job for their king. “It’s lovely, Cain.”

Jessamy perched on the table, carefully dipping her beak into a cup of her own. “Tastes the same to me as the last one.”

Cain gave her a cold look. “It’s hardly the same! Your bird taste buds are just weak.”

“If you say so,” she mumbled taking a small piece of cake and eating it.

After drinking tea and having a slice of cake you always remained to play with Gregory. He tossed the ball high up into the air before bouncing it off his beak toward you. You weren't as good at the game as he was, but you both seemed to enjoy the company and simple rules.

When the sun began to set over the garden you bid your friends farewell and made your way toward the palace where Dream waited for you on the bridge. You couldn’t help the way your heartbeat stuttered at the sight of him, nor the way your cheeks burned and a smile formed. His head turned and one of the corners of his mouth twitched. “How was tea?”

“Lovely, as always,” you told him as the two of you fell into step with one another.

He hummed. “And the library? Did Lucienne have any luck finding you a book?”

You shook your head. “She did not, but it was still nice getting to spend time with her.”

“Shall we?” He gestured toward the path to the pier. 

It had become a regular thing of Dream to accompany you through your work, one you appreciated greatly as he seemed to genuinely enjoy himself. “If you wish.”

“I do.”

You lifted your hand to him. “Then hold on.”

Things felt lighter with Morpheus beside you. The waters and those that dwelt within it felt warmer and safer. The dreams felt clear and your purpose felt almost good. There were nights when the darkness of the dreamer's fears was heavy, but on those nights you witnessed the mighty Dream of the Endless assert his power over his dominion to ease the shadow and dark.

The two of you walked hand in hand away from the pier, the soft quiet lapping of the water against the strong wood made you feel at ease beside him. The mist grew thicker and the familiar groans of the large trees echoed around you as your realm called you home.

“You can remain here,” Morpheus said, his hand softly squeezing yours.

“I know,” you said equally as softly. “But The Forest needs me, just as your realm needs you.”

He bowed his head. “I understand. Farewell, Daunt.”

You bowed in return. “Farewell, Morpheus. Will you visit tomorrow?”

“If that is your wish.”

“It is.”

He smiled. “Then I shall.”

The mist swirled around you, but your eyes never left his, not until he disappeared from your side completely. Back in the safety and quiet of your realm, you could let yourself feel the burning yearning that grew in your heart with each passing day. Here among the moss and the small flowers and trees, you could let yourself admit that you were becoming more attached to the being you once hated. Of course, you never let yourself think about it for long. You made your way back to your small hut and quietly shut the door, encasing the space in the heat from the fire.

Among your trinkets and the clothes Dream had made for you was an empty bed. You touched the stone around your neck as memories played in your head. Memories of Fern and Gaia and Puck and all the others that had warmed the bed while you were away and greeted you fondly when you returned. You missed each one of them so very much, and normally that would be enough to lead you to wake the stone, but now you had others to rely on. The Dreaming and those that lived within it were all you needed for now.

*

The Forest greeted you as it always did, with low groans and waves of mist. However, something felt different this time as you walked along the jagged path, something that became clear as you stopped at the bridge. The black-clad Endless stood looking out at the river, their blonde hair and gaudy shoulder pieces shifting in the light breeze. “Desire.”

“Finally! I’ve been waiting for ages.” They smirked. “Did you get enough beauty sleep?”

“What do you want?” You demanded, skipping over the fake polite conversation to get straight to the point and hopefully one step closer to their departure.

"You know how this will end, don't you Mistake?" Desire cooed as they looked back at you, their eyes cosmic blue and their hair messy and dark. "You will only ever be his consort, his whore, never his equal. Others far more beautiful and important have tried and failed before you. My big brother will never change."

"You're wrong." You said, ignoring the way your stomach lurched at the way their words. "He has changed."

Desire laughed and shook their head at you. "When my brother casts you aside, and he will cast you aside little Mistake, I hope you'll remember how I tried to warn you."

Just like before Desire left without another word, but the feeling of heaviness remained in your chest and lungs. The Forest still stank with their honeyed perfume and their bitter words. It only began to fade when another came, replacing the bitterness with sweetened ethereal stardust and citrus. Your heart felt lighter as you watched the thick trees bend their roots to forge a path for him.

Dream smiled, admiring the thick dark wood and emerald leaves. “It would seem your realm has at last taken a liking to me.”

“And to think all it took was a few hundred years and some good behavior.”

He tucked a strand of your hair back into place, his eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you. “Hello, Daunt.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your name rolling off his tongue so sweetly. “Hello, Morpheus.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Is everything well?”

“It is,” you said, choosing not to tell him of his siblings' sudden appearance and manipulating words. 

Like most times Morpheus visited your realm the two of you walked among the trees and you showed him things that had changed or appeared since his last visit. The two of you retired to your home where you offered him tea and he inquired about some of the trinkets you’d collected over the years. As you told your stories, his eyes remained fixed on you, shining and bright and full of something you did not want to name. His soft laughter was intoxicating and you found it harder and harder to deny the truth to yourself.

The two of you sat in your wilted garden as you looked over a pile of books Lucienne had sent with the Dream Lord to see if any held words you could see. “With the stories you hold, I doubt you’ll find a book more interesting.”

You smiled at him. “My stories are hardly more interesting than the words you inspire in your dreamers.”

“On the contrary,” he insisted, the closeness of him making it hard to ignore his strong jaw and his perfectly shaped lips. “I would rather listen to your stories than hear that of the greatest dreamers.”

“Is it my stories that interest you, or my voice?” You teased.

“Can it not be both?”

A blush rose to your cheeks as you glanced away. “I suppose it could be.”

His cold fingers stroked down your cheek and curled around your chin, carefully turning your face back towards his. Your breath caught in your throat as he watched you. Those beautiful eyes you’d come to love so much focused on every part of your face before he spoke, “You are beautiful, Daunt. More beautiful than any book or dream I could ever inspire or create.”

“You give yourself too little credit.”

“You are the one that is not given enough credit,” he replied as your faces drifted closer.

It was a featherlight touch of your lips against his, so light you couldn’t consider it a kiss. After the spark of the sudden contact faded, you found yourself being pulled in closer until Dream's lips pressed fully to yours. All the air left your lungs as you moved with him, your hands fisting in his dark cloak and sliding up to feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips. Dream released your chin, only to cup the back of your neck and angle your head up giving him the access he needed to deepen the kiss.

All around you warmth spread and the sound of petals opening echoed in your ears until you had to pull away. Breathlessly you looked around, eyes wide and nearly full of tears at the sight of your garden full of blooming flowers of every size and color. Dream chuckled, pressing his lips to your jaw for a short moment. “That was unexpected.”

You looked back at him and smiled, cupping his face in your hands. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

“I did nothing,” he replied. “This realm is yours. It is your power they bent to, not mine.”

Deep in your chest, your heart soared. Desires words were long forgotten as you curled into the chilled arms of the Dream King and admired your garden.

*

Weeks passed since you shared your first kiss with Dream of the Endless. It was odd, to say the least, but changed little between the two of you. Neither of you would admit that you craved to kiss again… that you craved to do more than just kiss, and so you spent your time together awkwardly talking about anything and everything else. The two of you had begun to spend more time among company to avoid things growing awkward, but this meant that you both had to suffer the looks from Lucienne. The ones that dripped with sarcasm and a silent but still somehow audible Are the two of you serious? Every accidental touch felt like fire on your skin and left you a blushing mess.

The only moments of reprieve from this were with The Corinthian, who’d heard of your kiss and immediately dry heaved. The two of you alone were fine, but when Dream joined the picture the tension between the two put both of them in a foul mood. For a split second, you’d entertained the thought that Dream was… jealous of your closeness with his nightmare, but that had dissipated quickly. Dream of the Endless jealous? Absolutely not.

In recent days Dream was on edge. He was constantly busy with work and often had no more than a few moments to spend with you before he had to leave. Those short moments were tense in every sense and made you feel guilty for being here and bothering him. No matter how many times he assured you that it was not your doing, you still felt this weight settle in your gut. You’d known the Endless being for a very long time, and for most of that the two of you were not exactly on good terms, so you were used to his short temper and the sometimes harshness in his words, but unlike before he always apologized to you. While he was busy you spent more time with The Corinthian, hoping if you kept the nightmare busy enough he’d not be able to contribute to Dream's stress.

“Stop that,” you scolded, picking the little flower out of The Corinthian’s hands as he tore the petals off.

He sighed. “It’s a flower, Daunty, not some little pixie.”

You settled back into his side. “Flowers are living things of their own. Especially the ones that grow here. I doubt Fiddler’s Green appreciates your manhandling of the flora.”

“Well it’s a good thing Fiddler's Green is nothing more than grass and dirt then, isn’t it?”

The grass bent away from him at his words and the ground beneath him puffed out, creating uncomfortable lumps where he sat. The Corinthian groaned and stood up, stomping the ground. You laughed running your fingers through the silky blades of grass. “I don’t think Fiddler’s Green appreciates your sarcasm.”

Once the lumps evened out The Corinthian sat back down. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Lighten up,” you said, bumping him with your shoulder. “If you’d be a little nicer then maybe you’d have more friends than just me.”

“Nice isn’t in my nature,” he insisted tilting his shades down. 

You touched his cheek. “You’re nice to me.”

“You’re the exception, not the rule fair lady.” He turned his gaze away from you again and that wave of discontent washed over you.

Laying your head on his shoulder you sighed. “I adore you, Corinthian.”

He chuckled and laid his head on top of yours. “Yeah, me too Daunty.”

The two of you rested beneath the trees of Fiddler’s Green for a long while until The Corinthian had to return to his duties, or simply wished to cause trouble before night fell. This time, however, it was Dream that interrupted the two of you. His hands were clasped behind his back as he stood in front of his nightmare, eyes dark and body tense. “Corinthian, you have duties to attend to.”

“Do I?” Your friend questioned with a wide grin. “My apologies, your majesty. I shall attend them at once.”

He turned and smiled down at you, tipping his hat. “Lady Daunt.”

You pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Dear Corinthian. Do try to behave.”

Standing, almost toe to toe with Dream the nightmare laughed. “But of course.”

Dream did not relax, not even when the nightmare left the meadow. “You should mind him more carefully.”

“What?”

“The Corinthian is my most fearsome nightmare, not a pet for you to play with.” He hissed. “His duties and his function are more important than you know.”

You blinked, slightly shocked by his ornery behavior. “I do not need a lecture on the importance of one's functions. I’ve done nothing to disrupt his duties.”

“You’ve done more than you think,” he replied, looking away in the direction his nightmare left. With a sigh, he returned his gaze to you. “I have a meeting with an old friend. I trust you’ll be alright here while I am gone.”

Still slightly upset by his ever-darkening mood and flippant temper you merely nodded. “Of course, I will be.”

“I shall return soon.” He bowed his head and turned on his heel, leaving you behind and alone in the meadow. 

As you remained the tension slowly drained from you and once again you were content to relax against the tree. It was difficult for you, seeing Dream in such a foul mood. Though you knew it was not aimed at you, per se, and was the cause of stresses he dealt with during his own duties seeing him in such a way always made you fearful. You heard the sharp sound of twigs snapping and there, across the way a tall buck stood watching you.

It was a beautiful beast, tall with ornate antlers and a deep rich coat of brown and tan. It sniffed the air of Fiddler’s Green for a moment before it bent its head down to nip at the grass below. A deep sense of wonder filled you, pulling you up from your spot and easing you forward, toward the creature. As you got closer it lifted its head up and huffed a hot breath in your face. 

“Easy,” you whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”

For a minute the both of you paused, watching one another closely until you lifted your hand toward it. A beat passed before the buck lifted its snout to your open hand and a rush of joy filled your lungs. You laughed softly, stroking its snout gently as the fur began to turn white beneath your palm. As it spread, filling the coat of the creature you smiled. The buck settled onto the ground and laid its head in your lap, groaning in pleasure when you’d scratch a certain spot. 

The sun had finally set and the stars filled the sky as you watched the gentle creature. “White looks lovely on you.”

Hours passed and the creature remained at your side. You were excited to show Dream that such a magnificent beast did not fear you and had relaxed at your side, but when The Dreaming quaked and the night sky clouded over with darkness and rain your excitement quickly shifted to worry. A few moments later you could see the blazing flames at his feet and the glowing eyes of Dream of the Endless fix upon you.

“What happened?” You asked, concerned that his meeting had gone poorly.

“What did you do?” Was his reply as his eyes fixed on the creature now looking up at him startled.

You stroked a comforting hand down its snout. “He came from the woods to graze and trusted me to come close.”

Shadow and flame seethed over his stiff form as his wide, watery eyes looked at his creation, now snowy white, and venom filled his voice as he stalked forward. "What have you done?"

"I did nothing," you whispered.

"Was it not your touch that did this?" He spat, gesturing to the buck, an action that caused it to rise from your lap and skirt backward.

You too recoiled slightly, before standing and reaching out toward him. “Morpheus I… I’m sorry I didn’t think-”

His hand gripped yours tightly, squeezing until you could feel the bones groan and grind together beneath the skin. “That is the problem! You didn’t think! It is your lack of thought that causes The Corinthian to act out, to challenge and defy me.”

The Corinthian? You shook your head as tears welled in your eyes. “I haven’t said anything to him about defiance. Morpheus, please let me -”

“No.” He said, voice low and rumbling like thunder. "Everything you touch spoils… Everything you speak to is corrupted by your words. All of this is your doing. Another burden upon my shoulders for me to remedy."

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you looked at him, regarding you with the same expression he had for so long before. Dream looked at you now as though you were nothing... Nothing more than a burden. You were prepared for this, weren't you? How many years had you spent by his side fearing this exact thing? 

It wasn't real… And perhaps it never had been.

You bowed your head, steeling your emotions. "Fear not, Dream Lord, I'll not make such mistakes again."

His eyes softened slightly, but Dream did not relent, he could not. He kept his head held high as you turned away and when he felt you vanish from his realm he kept it there. Dream did not listen to Lucienne's quiet concerns, nor did he permit Jessamy to speak on the matter. Whether he believed it was your fault or not mattered little now. What was done was done and now there was only the way forward.

All while you walked alone to your hut you heard Desire's voice echo all around you, the forest darker than it had ever been, the restlessness within it unending as the tiny specks of sunlight vanished. "Never his equal."

The flowers that had begun to grow along the path and beyond it wilted as you passed by. "My big brother will never change."

The mist curled around you, heavy and cold. "I hope you'll remember how I tried to warn you."

Nothing felt like yours anymore, not The Forest, the paths he'd treaded beside you just days ago. Not your hut, the soft cushioned surfaces he'd sat by your side and stroked your cheek free of tears. Not your clothes, the multitude of soft clothes he'd made and gifted to you. Not your collection of trinkets, the ones you'd placed in his hands and shared your stories with him. 

All of it everywhere was filled with echoes of him, his scent, his power, his lies. With a strangled noise, you tore it all apart, throwing every last trinket and piece of furniture until only the broken pieces lay around you. Your hand curled around the shaping stone, the last surviving thing that hummed with dreams. 

You lifted your arm, anger and hate filling your lungs as you prepared to throw it, shatter it and free yourself from the torturous presence it held. The pulse of life in your hand stopped you. It was a piece of something young and innocent and new. A life yet unlived. And there beside that, it held a piece of him, of star-filled skies, of moonlight paths and music and dancing. The part of Dream that had made you feel seen… That made you feel beautiful and worthy. It held Morpheus the being you had foolishly fallen in love with.

With a harsh sob, you lowered your arm, cradling the stone to your chest as you fell to the ground and wept. Warmth filled your hand as the stone spurred to life. "You know how this will end, don't you Mistake?"

*

Dream looked at the stained glass depiction of his nightmare looming over his throne, holding his helm tightly in his hands. He’d spent months listening to The Corinthians ever increasing words of defiance and outbursts, but he never truly thought the nightmare would go so far. It was easy to pinpoint the event that resulted in such unruly behavior, the two were always close. Daunt had not returned to The Dreaming since that night in Fiddler’s Green. He’d not locked the doors or banished her from his realm, yet there was still no sight of her, not even on the beaches or the pier.

Of course, he hadn’t been looking for her. Part of him still felt so angry at Hob Gadlings' accusations of needing companionship and at Daunt’s unexpected changing of one of his creatures, however unintentional it was. But it was not his anger that barred him from seeking Daunt out, it was his shame. How long had he nurtured the trust between them? How long had he wanted for her to feel comfortable enough to reach out and touch his creations, interact with his world in full only to punish her the moment she actually did it? Shame disguised as pride was a dangerous and horrible thing.

“My Lord?” Lucienne’s tentative voice broke him away from his thoughts and brought him back to the matter at hand. The Corinthian loose in the Waking World. His grip on his helm tightened. “Could you not… perhaps call upon Lady Daunt to follow after The Corinthian? The two were friends-”

“No.” He ground his teeth together. “This does not concern her.”

“You are coming back, aren’t you?”

Jessamy cawed at his feet. “Why would I not return, Lucienne?”

“I don’t know, a presentiment. As powerful as you are here, in your realm, dreams rarely survive in the Waking World.” He donned his helm and poured the sand from his pouch into the palm of his hand, feeling it swirl at his feet as his librarian continued. “Nightmares, on the other hand, seem to thrive there.”

*

“Here in the Darkness.” The disembodied voices echoed through the darkness that settled over your realm as bodies of shadow, creatures of hollow dreams, and rouge nightmares roamed your woods freely. At first, you thought this to be some punishment of Dreams, but The Forest cried out louder. “Here in the darkness.” 

A shadow lunged for you, caught by the vines of the trees and dragged away before it could touch you. Another followed, scratching at your feet for a short moment before a flash of white leaped down and the sharp teeth closed around its throat with a sickening crunch. The white wolf looked up at you, deep blue eyes wide with worry. “Are you harmed, my lady?”

“No,” you assured the creature with a gentle touch. “I am fine, Sirius.”

Blue eyes flared to the remained shadows that the mist held at bay. “What are these creatures?”

You shook your head, examining them from your safe place. “Old shadows, spirits that were lost to The Forest long ago… though some are Nightmares.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yes, beings belonging to The Dreaming and to the Dream Lord.”

“He dares invade our realm?”

A chill ran up your spine and the ground quaked beneath you. “Here in the darkness.”

“No,” you whispered. “I fear this is something far more sinister.”

You hadn’t planned on returning to The Dreaming, not this soon at least, but your realm cried out and writhed in pain. The only one that could be responsible was Dream and so there you were, standing before the Gates of Horn and Ivory. Something was wrong. The sky was dull and the sand felt like it was a breath away from falling into nothingness. You reached up, but before you could even touch the gates they shook and groaned, opening of their own accord to reveal the lush forests and beautiful trees dead. All green was gone, replaced by black decay and crumbling stone. 

There were very few Dreams and Nightmares in the town, all of them growing void of color and joy. The bridge to the palace quaked beneath your feet as you strode through the front doors of the palace and looked upon the empty throne. “Dream Lord?”

Sirius fell into place beside you, looking at the dull blue room warily. “This is the great palace of Dreams?”

“Dream?” You called again, louder this time.

“Daunt?” Lucienne’s voice replied as she hurried around the corner and smiled sadly. “Oh, my lady!”

You caught her in a tight hug. “What’s happened?”

She shook her head, tears forming behind her glasses. “Lord Morpheus… He’s missing.”

“Missing?” Memories of Destructions unexpected departure resurfaced. “When? Where?”

“A month ago…” She bowed her head. “Everyone else has given up hope… they say he has abandoned us as Destruction did his realm.”

You shook your head, a soft gasp escaping from your lips. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”

Lucienne’s eyes widened as she clutched the book she held to her chest. “Do you suppose this has something to do with The Corinthian?”

“The Corinthian?” Pain filled every breath you took. “It is your lack of thought that causes The Corinthian to act out, to challenge and defy me.”

“Yes, Lord Morpheus went to the Waking World to retrieve him.” Lucienne grimaced. “He fled to the Waking World and began… overstepping.”

"Everything you touch spoils… Everything you speak to is corrupted by your words. All of this is your doing. Another burden upon my shoulders for me to remedy." He had been right. You had done this… Had twisted his greatest creation with your touch and words… had caused him to flee his role. Is this what happened to Destruction as well? Was this part of your curse upon the universe?

Sirius nudged you, a soothing gesture he often did when you froze. “My lady, we should return to The Forest.”

You shook your head again, fighting back tears. “No. If Dream’s disappearance has caused such a disturbance there it will not be remedied until he returns.”

“What shall we do then?”

“Where was The Corinthian last? If I can find him perhaps he will lead me to Dream.”

Lucienne nodded, quickly consulting the book in her hands. “London. Here is the address. Please, my lady Daunt…” She let loose a shaking breath. “Bring him home. I know the two of you have been… distant… but-”

You set your hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I will bring him back, I swear it.”

*

You’d spent weeks in the Waking World, searching the streets of London for The Corinthian or Dream, yet found nothing. Sirius had been traveling back and forth between London and The Dreaming and The Forest, as you tried desperately to keep things from falling apart. Without Dream, you could always hear the desperate voices of the dreamers crying out, pained and broken as they pleaded with any god or being that would listen. It made sleep elude you, made every waking moment a never-ending nightmare. You had to find him.

Sirius vanished into the mist, back to The Forest where more creatures tore down barrier after barrier and threatened to take over your realm entirely. Everything was twisted and mangled and reeked of Despair. Whether the Endless twins had anything to do with this you still didn’t know, but you would find out one way or another after you found Dream.

You’d traveled further out of the town than normal, and made your way to a bridge that by the look of it led to some kind of house, a manor perhaps. For a moment you stood still, resting your hand on the edge of the bridge as the water echoed through your ears. You should have felt him, his power or presence, something. But there was nothing, only the river, the bridge, and the breeze. Just as you were about to turn around you heard it, a distant caw and the desperate beating of wings. 

A voice. Jessamy. “Daunt!” Another caw echoed as you lifted your eyes to the sky, hope unfurling in your chest. “Daunt!”

“Jessamy!” You cried out, taking a half-step forward.

“NO!” The bird called out, trying to fly faster.

You were about to ask her what was wrong, what had happened, and where Dream was, but a calm hand resting on your shoulder stopped you. “I was hoping you’d give up, Daunty.”

“Corinthian?” You breathed turning to face your friend, but it was not your friend you laid eyes on… only the nightmare. The sting of steel tearing through your chest was unexpected and far more painful than you thought it would be. Gasping you looked down at the blade, at the blood that now stained your white dress, and at the shaking hand that held the hilt of the knife. 

"I'm sorry Daunt…" The Corinthians' lips quivered, and his blade dug deeper into your chest. "But I can't let you free him."

You cupped his cheek, tears streaming down your face as one last cold breath slid past your lips, "My dear Corinthian..."

Jessamy’s screams and desperate caws echoed in your ears as you stumbled back from the nightmare. You fell over the edge of the stone bridge and down into the cold depths below. As you sank further and further down the water turned red before your eyes and a strong current pulled at your limp body, dragging you back toward the surface. The familiar misty canopy of the great tree greeted you, but The Forest groaned and the ground shook beneath you. Your body burned as the frost-ridden mist settled lower and the water that now flooded the roots of the great tree began to rise.

A dark figure appeared in the mist, walking languidly toward you while clapping slowly. “My, my, what a sorry sight you make.”

Desire. Their golden eyes appeared first, then the wide red Cheshire smile you loathed so much. The Forest grew louder as the leaves on the trees began to shake and shift from their mystic dark emerald to poisoned, rotted scarlet. The Endless bent over and took your chin in their hand. “I did tell you this would happen, didn’t I?”

You drew a deep, stuttered breath, “Leave.”

“Oh, little Mistake,” they purred. “It’s not very polite to bite the hand that’s here to save you.”

Save you? Pain flared in your chest and the roots of the trees began to move, drawing you in. Desire made a face, shifting to accommodate the wood before returning their burning eyes to you. “I can heal you, take you far from this dying little realm of yours and give you all your pathetic little heart desires. All I ask in return is that when the time comes you’ll help me bring my big brother to his knees.”

Even weak, dying, you scoffed. “I… Would rather die than betray Dream.”

“He has already betrayed you, Mistake.” Their grip on your chin grew tighter. “You are nothing to him. A burden he must shoulder. I could give you a grand palace, subjects to rule and worship you, a crown of gold and rubies. Everything you desire can be yours.”

“No,” You whispered in response. No matter how grand a kingdom Desire gave you, no matter how many subjects they offered or gold or rubies it would never be what you wanted, what you craved and desired with all of your being. 

Love. It was all you wanted since the beginning of your life. For so long all you’d desired was someone to love you as you loved them… though back then you didn’t know the true depth of it. Back then you couldn’t have known that it was Dream you’d wanted to love you. Desire scowled at you and gripped the knife, still lodged into your chest, twisting as they spoke. “Stupid, idiotic, pathetic thing! Who are you to refuse my generosity? You are nothing but a mistake! You are a burden!”

They pulled the dagger out of your chest and lifted it, poised and ready to deal the final blow when Sirius leaped from the mist with an angry growl, latching onto Desire's wrist and forcing them to the ground. You could hear the struggle between the wolf and the Endless being, but you were too weak to aid your companion. A loud whimper and a booming frustrated cry echoed in the air before you felt Desire’s foreboding presence vanish from your world. Sirius returned to your side, one of his bright blue eyes now marred with a deep cut. 

“My lady,” he whispered, lifting himself up to press a paw to your still bleeding wound. “How can I help you… What must I do?”

Redwater sloshed beneath you as the roots of the trees continued to groan and twist around you. “Stay. Stay beside me until the end.”

Sirius curled into your side, burying his snout into the crook of your neck. “Always, my lady.”

Frost settled onto the trees and moss as snow began to fall from the darkened sky. The mist grew thicker as darkness descended on The Forest. Above the cracking of the tree roots and the rushing water and the sinister whispers the saddened, fearful whines of a loyal companion could be heard through every dream and nightmare. All would hear your quiet labored breaths and feel the cold overtake your skin. All but the man with stars in his eyes trapped behind the glass. All but Dream of the Endless.

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader (mentioned) ☼ 734 words

series masterlist ; main masterlist

“I can’t do this, James.” The mother of his child sighs, her arms crossed defensively over her chest as she leans back against the kitchen counter. Her eyes are filled with frustration and weariness. 

James looks up from where he’s scrubbing baby bottles at the sink, concern etched across his face. He rinses out the last bottle and places it on the drying rack before turning to face her fully.

“I know. I’m feeling tired too, love.” He says, trying to offer a reassuring smile.

“No.” She huffs, her irritation cutting through the air as she sends him a scathing look. “I can’t do this.” She gestures to the baby items strewn across their flat, her frustration evident. James follows her gaze, taking in the sight of baby toys scattered everywhere. The living room is a chaotic mess, with bottles, blankets, and tiny clothes strewn about. The once tidy space now looks like a whirlwind passed through, and the weight of their new reality settles heavily on his shoulders.

Her words hang heavily between them, the weight of her admission sinking in as James feels his heart drop. It’s silent as she stares at him, waiting for his response. 

“Listen, I know it’s been rough with a newborn but-” He starts out, scrambling to think of the right thing to say.

“Rough? That’s what you think it’s been?” James nearly flinches at the sharpness in her voice. “This is not what I wanted my life to be! I had dreams, James. And being a mum was never part of them.”

He considers asking her to lower her voice, worried about waking Henry, but he knows that would only escalate the situation.

“Becoming a father at 20 wasn’t part of my plan either, but I’m making the best of it. I think that if we—”

She cuts him off, “James, stop.”

“Darling—”

“I don’t want to hear how you never planned on becoming a father but now love it, or how Henry is the light of your life and should be mine too. I don’t want to hear any of it.”

“But I don’t understand what’s happening.”

She straightens, her tone final. “I’m leaving. He’s your responsibility now. I don’t want to be a mum.”

His voice trembles with uncertainty, and his eyes blink slowly as he tries to absorb her words, “My responsibility?”

“I’m giving up my rights as his mother.” She replies firmly.

James stares at her, his stomach sinking as her words register. Her expression was resolute, leaving no room for doubt. He wasn’t truly upset about his girlfriend leaving; their relationship had been strained for a while. His real concern was the daunting prospect of being a father on his own. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on him, and he wondered how he would manage sleepless nights, endless feedings, and the overwhelming task of raising a child without support.

“I can’t—fuck, I can’t do this alone,” James collapses into a nearby chair, his hands running through his hair and disheveling his curls in frustration. “What is it they say? That it takes a whole damn town? How am I supposed to do this alone?” His voice cracks with desperation, and he can’t help but feel that she’s likely seeing him as weak and pathetic. She never liked when he cried.

She huffs, “That’s what you’re worried about? Not the fact your girlfriend is leaving you? Honestly James, you should’ve seen this coming sooner.”

James glances up as he hears the sound of her footsteps retreating. He watches in disbelief as she retrieves her luggage from the hall closet, a suitcase and a duffel bag emerging from behind the coat hangers.

“When did you—”

“I’ve been packing slowly for weeks.” She interrupts, her voice steady as she continues to methodically zip up the bags. The realization hits him with a pang; this wasn’t a sudden decision but a carefully planned departure.

He really was going to be doing this alone.

“Oh.” The word feels clumsy and inadequate as it escapes his lips. He doesn’t even bother to stand, just staring at her with a sense of helplessness as she stands by the door, sending him a blank look.

“Call Y/N and tell her you need her. You’ve never had a problem doing that before.” With that, she grabs her bag and slams the door behind her.

Henry starts crying immediately.

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

[paddockletters]

unseen | jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x reader  request: yes / Reader who was bullied when young and then jude and her go to her hometown and everyone feels out cause that freaking jude bellingham and they get like, impressed by reader success as an f1 engineer and that she bagged jude? Sorry its way too specific author’s note: Hope you liked it!... as I always say... english is not my first language so pardon me if there are mistakes —feel free to tell me— and my requests are open!👀

The memories of my school days never really left me. Every now and then, they’d come creeping back — a careless comment someone made, or the way people used to whisper when I walked past. I could still picture the sneers, the cold stares, and the cutting remarks. The bullying wasn’t always physical, but the emotional scars felt just as deep. Being the quiet girl who loved math, cars, and physics made me an easy target. I didn’t fit in with the other girls who were into makeup and parties. I was more interested in tweaking engines and dreaming of Formula 1. That difference marked me.

It all began in middle school when I started to realize just how out of place I was. My grades were high, my social skills not so much. Every time I raised my hand in class, there’d be snickers. Every time I’d walk down the hall with my oversized glasses, someone would mutter a snide remark. The bullying wasn’t brutal, but it was consistent, gnawing at me bit by bit. High school wasn’t much better. The teasing continued, though by then, I had learned to keep my head down and drown out the noise by focusing on my dream of working in Formula 1.

Fast forward a few years, and here I am — an engineer for one of the top F1 teams. The transformation was surreal. Sometimes, I still have to pinch myself. Who would’ve thought that the same girl who spent her lunch breaks in the library, sketching out car designs, would one day be standing in the pit lane at Monaco?

But something even crazier happened along the way — I met Jude Bellingham.

It wasn’t some grand, love-at-first-sight story. I wasn’t starstruck when I first saw him. In fact, I didn’t even know who he was. We met at a charity event, one aimed at inspiring young athletes and professionals from underprivileged backgrounds to chase their dreams. Jude was there as the football star, while I had been invited to speak about my journey into F1. He seemed genuinely interested during my talk, but we didn’t interact much that day. It wasn’t until I received a DM on Instagram a few days later that things really started.

“Hey, I loved your speech at the event. I’m Jude, by the way — football player. Would love to grab coffee sometime if you’re up for it.”

I remember staring at my phone, thinking it was a prank. A football star wanted to get coffee with me? It felt like a joke. But I responded, and we met. Coffee turned into long dinners, long dinners turned into walks in the park, and those walks turned into a relationship.

Jude wasn’t what I expected. Sure, he was famous, but he was also kind, funny, and remarkably down-to-earth. He never treated me like I was less important than him. If anything, he seemed fascinated by my work. He’d ask me endless questions about the F1 cars, the strategies, the engineering behind the speed. I’d tease him about football, asking if he really knew what went into designing the perfect car. We just clicked.

Still, going back to my hometown was something I hadn’t done in years. The memories were too bitter. But Jude wanted to go. He wanted to see where I grew up, to meet the people who had shaped me, for better or worse. So we planned a trip. I was nervous as hell, but Jude? He was excited.

The car ride to my hometown felt like an eternity. As Jude hummed along to the soft rhythm of the music playing through the speakers, my mind was far from the road. I hadn’t been back here in years, not since I’d left for university. The thought of returning had always been… daunting. I wasn’t ready to face the ghosts of the past. Or, more specifically, the people who had made my life a living hell when I was younger.

I glanced at Jude, who was focused on the road, one hand casually resting on the wheel, the other on my leg, giving me an occasional reassuring squeeze. His presence grounded me, but that nervous pit in my stomach kept growing the closer we got.

“You’re quiet,” he said, glancing at me.

I forced a smile. “Just... thinking.”

Jude raised an eyebrow, his tone soft as he asked, “About?”

“About how weird this is going to be. I haven’t been back here in years, Jude. People… they remember things. They remember who I was.”

“And who you were is exactly who I love. You know that, right?” he said, giving my thigh another squeeze.

I chuckled softly, leaning back into the seat, trying to push the anxiety down.

“I know. It’s just that, back then, I was the awkward girl who couldn’t fit in. Now I’m walking into town holding hands with Jude Bellingham. People are going to freak out.”

“They’ll freak out because you’re a freaking Formula 1 engineer, not because of me,” he said, grinning. “I bet half the people in town have posters of you in their garage next to their Ferrari die-casts or something.”

“Oh please,” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “No one from my town cares about F1.”

“They should. You’re a genius.”

Jude’s words were always so simple, but they held so much weight. He had a way of making me feel seen, really seen, in a way no one else ever had. That’s what made everything with him feel so different. He wasn’t just the football star that millions of people idolized; he was my Jude, the one who asked me about race strategies and remembered the names of the engineers on my team.

We arrived at the town square just as the afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the small, familiar streets. The sight of it brought back a wave of memories — good and bad. It was strange how everything looked smaller now, less intimidating. The buildings I used to walk past with my head down, trying not to be noticed, now seemed so ordinary.

Jude parked the car, pulling his baseball cap down over his head as we stepped out. I could already see a few people glancing in our direction, their eyes widening with recognition. They weren’t just looking at him, though. They were looking at me.

“Hey, you okay?” Jude asked, stepping closer to me, his arm wrapping around my waist.

I nodded, even though I wasn’t entirely sure. “Yeah, it’s just… surreal.”

We started walking through the town square, hand in hand. I tried to ignore the stares, the whispers. But they were everywhere.

“Oh my god, is that… Jude Bellingham?”

“Wait, isn’t that the girl who used to go to school here? She’s, like, a big deal now, right?”

“I heard she works in Formula 1. How did she end up with him?”

I bit my lip, feeling the familiar wave of insecurity creeping in. But Jude seemed unfazed. If anything, he walked a little taller, as if daring anyone to say something negative. He pulled me in closer, planting a kiss on my temple as we crossed the square.

As we walked into the shopping center, we decided to stop by a café for a drink. I could already feel the buzz of recognition in the air as people realized who Jude was.

Jude sat across from me, casually sipping his drink as if we were anywhere else in the world. He had his cap pulled low over his face, trying to avoid drawing attention, but it was hard not to notice him. He was Jude Bellingham after all.

The stares had started the moment we walked into the square, but he didn’t seem to mind. He had this effortless calm about him, the way he handled attention, fame. Meanwhile, I was doing my best not to feel like I was under a spotlight, even though I knew people were whispering and pointing, probably trying to figure out why he was with me.

I caught a glance from a group of teenagers at the table across from us. They were huddled together, looking our way, giggling and whispering. I sighed, already feeling a bit on edge.

Jude noticed. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, just... weird being back here.”

“I can imagine,” he said, reaching across the table to take my hand. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in that soothing way he always did. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

I took a deep breath, glancing around the café. “It’s fine. Just... a lot of memories, you know?”

He squeezed my hand, his gaze soft and understanding. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” I said, surprising myself. I had never really told him the full story before.

He knew bits and pieces, but I had kept most of it to myself. Maybe it was time to let him in.

I looked down at our intertwined hands, thinking back to those years.

“I wasn’t exactly the most popular kid,” I started, my voice quieter than I intended.

“I was the one they picked on. The ‘geeky’ one. I loved math, engineering, all the stuff no one else thought was cool. I spent more time in the library than anywhere else. They made fun of me for it—my glasses, my clothes, the fact that I never fit in.”

Jude’s expression softened. “Kids can be cruel.”

“They were,” I agreed, a bitter laugh escaping me. “It wasn’t just teasing though. It got pretty bad at times. I used to dread coming to school. Every day felt like walking into a battlefield. I just wanted to disappear, you know?”

Jude’s grip on my hand tightened slightly. “I hate that you went through that.”

I shrugged, trying to play it off like it didn’t matter anymore.

“It’s in the past. I got out. I became an F1 engineer, so jokes on them, I guess.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t have to act like it doesn’t still hurt. It’s okay to feel that.”

I looked up at him, my throat tightening with the emotion I hadn’t realized was building up.

“It does, sometimes. I mean, I know I’ve made it, but coming back here... it just brings all that stuff up again.”

He stood up then, coming around the table to sit beside me. Without a word, he pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me protectively.

“You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he whispered into my hair. “You’re brilliant, and you’ve worked so hard to get where you are. They didn’t see that back then, but it doesn’t matter. I see it. The world sees it now.”

I leaned into him, letting his warmth and words wrap around me like a blanket.

We stayed like that for a few moments before pulling apart slightly, Jude resting his forehead against mine.

“You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone here,” he said softly. “You’re you, and that’s more than enough.”

I smiled, squeezing his hand. “Thank you. For always knowing what to say.”

Jude grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Well, you did bag me, so I’d say you’re doing something right.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he teased, flashing that trademark grin.

As we sat there, talking about everything and nothing, a few more people came up to us. A couple of them recognized me from school. I could see the surprise in their eyes, like they couldn’t believe the girl they used to tease was sitting here with a world-famous footballer.

“Hey, I remember you,” a girl of the group said, her voice laced with nostalgia. “You were in my physics class, right?”

I nodded, offering a polite smile. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Wow,” she said, glancing between me and Jude. “I heard you’re doing big things now. Formula 1, right?”

“Yeah, I’m an engineer for one of the teams.”

“That’s… amazing,” she said, looking genuinely impressed. “I always knew you were smart, but I didn’t realize… well, you know.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, but Jude jumped in, his arm draping casually around my shoulders.

“She’s a genius. She’ll never admit it, but she’s probably the best engineer in F1 right now.”

I blushed, nudging him playfully. “Stop exaggerating.”

The girl chuckled awkwardly, clearly a bit starstruck by Jude’s presence. “Well, it’s great to see you doing so well. And… with him. That’s pretty cool.”

After she left, I turned to Jude, who was grinning like he’d just won the Champions League.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jude grinned. “See? People notice. They’re impressed, as they should be.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning in to kiss my temple. “But I’m also right.”

As we walked through the shopping center, I could still feel people glancing our way, some whispering, others taking quick pictures on their phones. But for the first time, I didn’t feel like the awkward, out-of-place girl from school. I felt like someone who had earned her place in the world, someone who had worked hard and made it.

A few more people came up to Jude, asking for pictures or autographs, but he always made sure to include me in the conversation, making it clear that I wasn’t just the girl on his arm. I was someone in my own right.

At one point, a young girl, probably no older than ten, approached me shyly. She held a notebook in her hand, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly, “are you the F1 engineer? The one who works with the cars?”

I blinked in surprise, glancing at Jude before nodding. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Her face lit up, and she held out her notebook. “Could I have your autograph? I want to be an engineer one day, just like you.”

My heart melted, and I took the notebook from her, scribbling my name with a quick message of encouragement. “You can be whatever you want to be,” I told her, handing it back. “Just keep working hard and never stop believing in yourself.”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Thank you!”

As she ran off, I turned to Jude, who was watching me with a proud smile.

“See?” he said softly. “You’re a role model.”

I smiled, leaning into him. “I guess I am.”

As we walked, Jude nudged me with his elbow.

“You handled that like a pro.”

“I don’t know how you do it all the time,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

He laughed. “You get used to it.”

Jude looked over at me, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

I glanced up at him, my heart swelling with affection. “For what?”

“For being you. For everything you’ve accomplished. And for putting up with me,” he teased, nudging me playfully.

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years. “It’s not always easy, but I manage.”

As we left the shopping center and headed back to the car, I realized something important. This place might have been where my story started, but it didn’t define me anymore. I had moved on, grown, become someone I was proud of. And with Jude by my side, I knew I could face whatever came next, even if it meant coming back to the place I once tried so hard to leave behind.

[yandere-wishes]

｡⸝❀Desert Rose ❀⸜｡

𐙚 Yandere! Paul Muad'Dib Atreides x Reader x Yandere! Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: You miss the desert. Miss the sun and the sand and the place where they buried your heart. So you run and pray that they won't catch you. 

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies blood and gore, bloodplay, knifeplay, injuries, Feyd being Feyd. Paul is high on spice for 60% of the story. Part two will be much more fluffy. 

The thing they don't tell you about the desert is that it's alive. A breathing creature with feelings and a beating heart.~💜

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious. 

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped. 

How terrifying it is to be betrayed by that which you love most. How terrifying it is when you've forgotten how to harmonize with that which love most. 

That applies to the desert.

That applies to people too. 

There's something about the sun that's never been more poetic. It's harsh in its lashes, a cruel master, reminding you of what you'd been born into. It beats down something terrible and you can't help but suppress the frantic giggle that escapes your dry lips."You're so mean" you mumble, the glimmers muddle your focus. You see silhouettes of blue-eyed warlords and tar-painted gladiators. Feel phantom kisses rummage across the hollow of your bones. 

All of this is too familiar.

It makes you sick. 

Back then your father had reveled in Muad'Dib's coming. Proud to meet a warrior such as he. He'd spent hours refining his war plans, polishing his battle tactics. It's always such a strange site to see excitement in such a strict man. 

He introduced himself as destiny's child when he arrived. Dissolved and dehydrated with curls coated in sand. He was the desert's golden boy sent to fulfill every prophecy you'd ever been told. 

And yet, to you, he'd simply looked like just another heartthrob.

Just another boy's name to whisper to your friends during blasphemous games under the starry night sky. He had been no different than any tribal leader or warrior's son. That was truly such a miraculous time, back when such an atrocious thing had been merely a girlhood toy. 

Your father hadn't proposed marriage or alliances. That's not the Freman way, not during war. That doesn't stop the renegade gaze you've felt since he arrived. There's something stalking the desert, something too powerful to contain. You feel its chill, like the space between breaths before the breaching of the shai hulud. 

"You can call me Paul..." 

Lisan Al Gaib

The desert is a cacophony of dreams and nightmares. Deadly once the blood-deep navigation atrophies from constant complacency. You try to remember the prom of each foot. When to straighten, when to bend. Each step feels like treading through a mirage, murky and viscous. Too thick, too loose, you think you might sink. Fall through a false bottom into something great and endless. 

There is no bottom, no end. 

Only darkness, vast and perpetual. 

You wonder if that's what it feels like to be swallowed by a sandworm. If there is security in its infinite stomach. If it's better than the Arrakeen Palace. Daunting, soulless structure, home to monsters and killers. 

The sand grows thin. 

It's always the thinnest nearest a Sietch.

You made it...

You wonder why it had all felt so gruesome, so unholy. Paul's cacoon of naivety was breached, its remnants nesting underneath his feet, their spines snapping with each ground-quaking step he took. Arrakis had given birth to something monstrous, something ravenous. Yet all you had seen was a youthful face that tells not of horrors or suffering. It only promises freedom. 

Freedom was supposed to taste sweet, satisfying. The first sip from a childhood oasis. And you guess it had, for a little while. Before the realizations set in. Anyone who so openly grants freedom can take it away too. 

Paul inhales the reverence of the crowd. Savors the saccharine taste of victory on his tongue, before he spits out the essence of his hatred. Watching the blood scorch away under the desert sun. 

He swears he sees the sand dunes bow from the corner of his eye, they're towering magnificently bestowing something lethal onto him. Something they've yearned for, something fragile, something ancient. He deems it responsibility, duty, divinity and spins it into an enamelware crown.

Paul had become king. Not emperor, not sovereign, not overlord. Not yet at least. He's not the boy-prince from a distant planet anymore either. There no longer exists a boyhood carved of temperamental weathers and jagged salt-covered rocks. No more fairy tales of great dukes fighting bulls by the seaside and young princes running off on fighter jets to save mystical witches. There is only the sand and the giants underneath it, only a prophecy cracked whose ichor covers him in gold and stardust. 

He is Muad'Dib, savoir of Dune. 

Paul's eyes rummage through the crowd. Hungry, desperate

seeking out something, someone whose devotion does not show. 

He memorizes the scowl on your face, the dip of your lips. How he longs to feel them under his thumb. 

Duels concluded in death. When the ground has been fed its blood depts. When Jannah and Jahannam are granted another soul. That is when the victor arises. Duels end in death, in a chipped knife and a broken body on the floor. 

This one did not...

The memory still haunts you. 

Not in its breach of rite.

Nor its contradictions to morality.

But in what comes after.

The fear of the thing that was allowed to live...

Paul hadn't killed Feyd. Beaten, mauled, tamed. But not killed.

There is a rostrum made of sand and burnt bones. It was meant to serve as a victory throne, a symbol of a war and a revolt. You aren't so sure about that anymore. Not when it's being desecrated, by a survivor of the very thing it vowed to eradicate. Atop the dias, Paul stands, fingers swathed tightly around a pale, maimed wrist. The crowd stares, speechless as the prophetic son appoints a battered and bleeding Harkonnen Na-baron as his aid, his duke.  

Feyd-Rautha is all jet blacks and blood reds. His eyes hold daggers, impaling anyone who dares to look into them. You can not fathom why Paul, the one who promised a paradise and an end to the Harkonnen oppression would do such a thing. You never thought him holy, you didn't consider him cruel either. 

Paul hands over the spice trade to Feyd. He speaks of concentrated zones away from life. Somewhere deep and forgotten. He says "virtuous" as if it's a sermon only he can comprehend. "We need the funds, we need to rebuild, to fight. The spice is valuable and it will not hinder the awakening of Dune. My cousin will oversee its harvest and trade. The finances will be brought back to Arrakis, back to the Freman."

Maybe it's sorrow, a slithering nuance that won't leave. Maybe it's guilt twice folded and misplaced. Desperation for a kinsmanship

with a family, he had thought all lost. The way he looks at Feyd speaks of hope and trust and everything else a little boy feels when he's dragging his friend by the hand through a forest made of splendor and ideation. But Paul isn't a little boy anymore and Feyd has never been naught save a killer. And you, you can't help but notice how the Muad'dib begins to lose his golden hue. 

The Sietch is cavernous, domed ceiling that expands into the rocks and sandy tiles that stretch as far as the eye can see. Unaltered spice particles dance in the gentle filtered rays of the sun. It feels like home. Like freedom and paradise and everything else those two men had stripped you of. Your body slumps by one of the etched walls. Awaiting your fellow Freman to find you. 

There is a stiffness in the Freman, an elegance that must be mastered. You'd once thought it inherited, a mere bone structure passed on from mother to child. You're not so sure anymore. The stiffness reverberates off the Sietch walls, it's obvious now that it's never been about straight spines and high-held heads. It's the ideals, the loyalties that Fremen carve into their souls. Sooner or later someone will inform the king of where his darling hides. 

All of Arrakis knows who you belong to. 

One of the older women tunnels water down your throat, she cradles your head and shushes you when you try to speak. She spills advice, motherly advice, into your veins. Telling you of how blessed you are to be chosen by the Lisan Al Gaib and his blood. Her embrace is a vice, coddling suffocating and not at all unpleasant. There is a sleek comfort between the witherd silk of her chador. It heartens fatigue residing stubbornly between your bones. It causes your eyes to fade and your mind to race. You forgot the terrors that lay outside, the advancing menace carrying crystalknifes and a voice that shakes worlds. Darkness beckons, a welcomed change. For the first time in months, you feel safe...

You are still a Freman, born of sand and spice. There is a future somewhere with palm trees and rosa persica. You intend to find it, to hold it between your hands running tired fingers over soft cloud-light edges. Arrakis has stood for longer than most planets have existed. You refuse to abandon its fate to a spice addict and a manic.

It's obvious, isn't it?

Maybe it always was...

Arrakeen palace is shaped like a heart, something eternal ungraved. It was young when you first marched through its grand gates. It had felt no less threatening than the sandworms beneath your feet. The spice that flew through the halls was suffocating, a distant, permutated relative of the elixir that had raised you. 

Paul's chancery is something empty, a cut out of Kaahgel masquerading as a citadel of dominance and perspicuity. It, much like the rest of the palace is novice and new. Paul sits in an awkwardly placed plush parlor chair, one retrieved from Caladan no doubt. He squirms in his seat as if his body has too many angles to fit properly in the rounded chair. He's far too accustomed to soft sands and jagged boulders. To sitting cross-legged on something loose and malleable. This luxury is unwelcomed, uncomfortable. You only notice Feyd when his demonic eyes suddenly land on you. He's languidly draped on the carpeted floor. His back half propped up by a quarter-painted wall. He's feeding slices of fruit into his mouth, savering the nick of the knife along his tongue. 

They look so innocent. Sinless, carless little boys playing in a sanctuary fort. Hiding from life and its crushing expectations.

Paul follows his cousin's gaze, he's out of his seat and across the room before you have time to knock. You note the blackness under Paul's eyes, how the synthetic blue feels distant and sunken. Almost as if they're looking at you from meters inside a cave. He's wandering through the twilight of exhaustion. Paradying awakeness like a lost bat caught in the afternoon sun. He's only surviving on artificial energy from the spice he so readily consumes. 

There is an exhilarating lilt in the timber of his voice. A galvanization in the way your name spills from between his lips. "What brings you here?" Paul's fingers dance across your shoulders, gripping them as one does their favorite toy. His eyes hold a fragile reverence, something unstable, denating with the slightest breath. "Lord Usul..." you begin, eyes bouncing between the sandy beiges of the walls. "You don't need to be so formal. Just say my name, like the first time we met." His nails start to dig into your arms, a jovian strength only a divine may possess. You don't remember leaving a deep impression. 

"Paul, I-I need to talk to you about..." Your vision cuts to Feyd, a hidden flare penetrates his legs, you don't dare look the Harkonnen in the eyes. He's far too feral for such raw exhibitions of hate. Yet you want him to feel your abhorrence, your detest. Paul understands, he knows what you're going to say before you've even finished rehearsing in your head. "Feyd doesn't mind, you can talk freely in his presence, I promise you, he won't bite." You swallow the need to argue, to protest, he bites, he definitely bites, and lacerates and kills...

It's easy to fall between the crevices of his voice, to allow the gentle nudges to sway your decisions for you. You wonder if the words coming from your mouth are even truly your own. They had sounded so absolute in your head. So firm. Now they sound dented, feeble, like a child begging to remain awake. You tell the king of how you disapprove of the spice trade, that it should be ceased. Its termination can only benefit the war, hindering the galactical navigation of your enemies. Paul listens with a distracted sort of attendance. His eyes melt into you, tracing your features with a delicate precision. You feel like a map, laid bare, feeding him information. Information he ignores, opting to busy himself with tracing continents and oceans. "Paul please listen" you beg. "Please". You notice an ignited flicker in his eyes, snapping him out of his lucid trance. "You know, since you feel so strongly about...everything. Maybe, maybe you should stay here. With us. Be the queen or duchess or whatever. You can help us rebuild. You can-" 

"What?" Your body jerks back, his fingers don't leave your forearms, pulling you back, closer. "Lord Usual...Paul...what are-" Something slithers between your bones, your skin, your muscles. Pushing past the cracks and sliding inside you. His mind grasps yours, echoing his desire, mapping out its constellation between your crux. 

Paul feels in blues, blues that make up the nuance between worlds. 

The ocean behind the largest dune

The lake beneath the greatest mountain.

The lamination of spice over one's eyes. 

It somehow ends with you. Covered in a color that mimics ambitions and dreams and something practically attainable. 

You feel him reach out, pushing you back into the physical world. Away from the luminous tints and flickering landscapes. 

"I'm saying that everything I do reminds me of you. It's hard not to dedicate every single breath to your memory." Paul's eyes are blown wide, there's a lament carved into his voice. He's pleading, desperate, like trying to chisel rock with a pebble. You don't like where this is going, don't like the mania, the love that's painted so vividly on his face. Your stomach churns, false ecstasy pumping in agonizing doses. This is wrong, you shouldn't feel flattered, gleeful. This isn't a miracle or a blessing. It's a curse, you know this, you have to run to escape. But something in you freezes, a sickly silver of devotion, of habit, a tradition force-fed into your soul keeps your legs stiff and still. 

Devotion is such a slippery thing. Always so close to suffocating. Sometimes all it's good for is a knife that kills. Just a grain of salt in a pulsing wound. 

Your eyes flicker across the room, trying to look at something, anything but him, anything but the Muad'dib who could make you grovel at his feet like a doll without even opening his mouth. It's only in your frantic search for an affix point, that you notice the beast is missing. His dominion left empty. You feel a chill in the room. Something stalking closer, something lethal and rogue. You scream shriveling into Paul's arms as someone grips your waist from behind, encaging you. "You were right cousin, she's as beautiful as you described...and as brave." Your breath hitches, he's touching you. Your body twitches as a cold sweat breaks. "Paul" you plead looking up into his electric blue eyes. He only smiles, contorting his features into something they're not, something soft and arrogant. You see triumph shimmer through his mind. He's won a game you didn't know you were playing. Crowned victor by fate and circumstance and...

and prophecy.

Paul cradles your cheek in his hand, tilting your head up to look at you. 

 "The first time I set eyes upon you, I knew you were the girl in my dreams. The desert rose beckoning me to Arrakis, to Dune. Don't you see, we've been bound by fate?" 

No. 

Feyd slowly licks the shell of your ear, he hums in satisfaction, an action you didn't know could be laced with so much malice. He murmurs something into your jugular, something too violent to decode. 

No.

Please no. 

It's easier to love than to be loved. 

There's a jolt that rings you awake, something violent crawling under your skin. You feel it before you witness it, witness the cold and loneliness not viable in the desert temples. 

The halls scream in silence, 

Hollow, employed out. 

"Hello?" The eerie reverberation of your words leaves you shivering. Scraping along the walls, tumbling into doorless rooms trying to find someone, anyone. You can't remember the last time you'd been alone. 

Utterly alone.

You didn't notice it at first. Didn't notice the unnatural stillness and the deafening silence. there is no life here, but it takes a practically mangled corpse for you to look down at the floor. 

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious. 

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped. You turn and you run, back from that which you came, feet thundering across the sand-dusted floor. You don't know where you're going, why even run? Helplessness swells inside you, coiling in intricate knots. Only to snap violently when you cross the third threshold. 

The corpses lie at his feet. your frenzied brain tries to count them, only going up to eight before it forgets what comes after. There is more, more bodies, more blood...more bones? But you can't focus on anything else except the glabrous man standing over them, knife pointed downwards, dripping into an endless sea of red. 

Your father used to tell you tales of rivers made of blood. Of mad men claiming divine crusades as they fed bodies into the endless stream. 

You never thought you'd witness it.

It shouldn't feel as conflicting as it does. 

"Darling..." Feyd's voice is gravel on gravel. Rough and coursed. It grinds against your skin reawakening every half-healed scar. 

"no, dear maker, please no" Feyd's gaze rakes over you, lingering on every detail. Toying and probing, much like a predator sizing up its frightened prey. "I missed you" his voice is purely threatening, mocking, he wants you back, needs you back. You can't be forgiven for this deliberate offense.

You try to bolt passed him, it's like a gallon of adrenaline has been shot straight into your chest. There's a scream in the air, you're not sure who it belongs to. you make it to the hallway leading to the contraction arena. Where the bearers of the water of life are nursed. You can see the stone-carved stairs and someone sitting there...

The ground slips beneath your feet, the red liquid having leaked under your soles. In the next breath, you're plunging into redness, shrouded and engulfed and bathed in the blood of your own kind. It feels warm and safe and disgusting. Like watching the stars of your favorite constellation collapse within themselves. It's a destructive kind of comfort, one that only ends in pain and bruises and fractured bones in places you can never wholly identify.

You're drowning, 

the more you thrash the harder it gets to stand. 

You feel the blood entangling you, weaving around your body like a net. 

and then like a shadow, he's over you. 

Looming with the promise of pain, of the misery of the savagery only he can offer.

"Feyd..." his name is razorblades upon your tongue. Your eyes catch his, distant voids colliding. Since when did you start looking into his eyes? When did the torture become worth it? His fingers ensnare your jaw, pushing cheeks and bones together. Feyd straddles your body, knees splashing into the blood. He tugs your head forward violently, before pounding it onto the floor. You moan out in pain a mangled, distorted noise. He only chuckles. Before repeating the motion. "You ran from us, you left us. I should kill you here and now. Bleed you out with the rest of these traitors!" it's hard not to notice the pain his voice harbors, odd how even a monster like Feyd can have his feelings hurt. He lifts his knife, wrapping both hands around the handle before plunging it into your abdomen. You choke, on a shriveled scream or a throat filled with blood you do not know. The colors are dulling and pulsating, somehow too dark and too bright at the same time. Everything feels like it's made of flowing water. Precious streaming water. You can feel the throbbing at the back of your skull, you feel the giddy patter of your heart, and the nervous ticks of your hips under Feyd. 

Feyd...

Has he always been so beautiful?

Your body feels so hot and your mind feels so distant. 

Everything feeds into his endless beauty. 

Why are your lips pulsing? 

your teeth sink in, trying to still the need to kiss. 

"What's wrong princess, trying to play innocent? I know your tricks."

Feyd traces your lips with his. Fingers snake into your hair, pulling at odd intervals. "my sweet stupid little girl" he whispers, a curse and a blessing. He sucks on your bottom lip biting it harshly. Slipping his tongue between your teeth. His kiss is possessive, and swallowing. You feel yourself sinking deeper, wanting him to consume you whole. When he pulls back you feel like you can't breathe, you only existed within his kiss. It's the last thing binding you to this world. 

But then his head dips down. Leaving open-mouthed kisses upon the gushing injury. Feyd drinks deeply from your open wound, ravaging the blood and pushing in silver of a forgotten moonlight. The way his tongue laps at the gaping hole and torn ligament sends a shutter up your spin. When he lifts his head again you watch mesmerized by the way your essence drips from his lips. He kisses you again ferocious and deep and all conusiming. 

You feel so lost and so found.

Grounded and afloat. 

It's only when a scream, a familiar one, in a distance distorted sort of way, rings across the hall that you start to pull away. You push yourself up, palms slipping on the liquid life. From behind Feyd, you notice a man and a women. Young, scared. There is revulse in their blue eyes, yet you can't navigate its direction. You're sure if you weren't bleeding out you could identify them, you're sure you knew them in this lifetime. You hear the blood gushing, hear the crisp whistle of the blade as it slices through flesh. 

Once

Twice. 

Only then does the alluring migraine sober. The metallic tang of blood wafting through the air makes you sick. It's odd how the repugnant scent had alluded you until now.  Even if you'd been lying right in it. You wonder if such a scent would bother them. You doubt it, they tend to revel in the red glory and its hypnotizing associations. 

"Took you long enough, cousin" Feyd's head is turned watching as Paul steps past the corpses. His eyes are vibrant, a sapphire blue that cuts through time and space. He kneels next to you, gaze devouring you in your pitiful state. "why did you run?" he is cold, hurt. His blue eyes betray a degree of relief hidden by a defrauding glower. "I-we love you, you mean everything to us." You look away too exhausted to put up an argument. "I missed being home." You mumble. You swore for a minute something akin to comprehension ripples through the air. You're too delusional to believe in anything solid anymore. But maybe Paul understands, maybe he yearns for the desert too. Maybe he'll go easy on you...

Paul's fingers glide across your stomach, scattering the dust particles that have landed on your still form. The light from the high windows glimmers off the three of you painting something holy, something right, in another world, in another lifetime. When he sees the wound Feyd created he chuckles. " Stars Feyd, at least try to keep her alive." Paul's nails gently rack across the torn ligament, idly playing with the loose skin. Feyd laughs deep and psychotic -is it wrong to say you missed it?- "I couldn't help myself, you should have seen her. Eyes blown wide covered in blood. Stars I just want-" you interrupt him with a low moan. Paul rubs his calloused thumb over your wound, soothing the cut before he presses down. Hard.  

 when he hears the moan he presses harder. Making you wither and hiss. "This is a punishment, (y/n), you're not supposed to be enjoying it." His fingers slither into the open wound, stretching out the ligament " You jolt and holler and cry, begging him to stop. "You're my oasis, the only thing I love in this world. But you ran. YOU LEFT US." His words glitch and crack, the voice shining through penetrating you with a knife seeped in guilt. "I'm sorry." you choke out, only to be rewarded by another harsh cut from Feyd's knife. "I'm the daughter of the desert..." you protest, tears slipping past your hooded eyes. "You're our lover" Feyd barks defensively, aggravated. When the tears begin to leak the pain stops. "Don't waste your water" Paul mutters, wiping away a tear and sucking it between his lips savoring your delicate taste. 

Paul cradles your bleeding head in his lap, lowering his to kiss your crimson-soaked lips, "I love you" he mumbles against you, trying to press the core of his words into you. Making you feel him, making you believe. Feyd tucks your hair out of your face. Slowly pulling you up by your shoulders. The thin smile he offers is such a rare sight it makes your heart explode.

Why did you run away?

Why did you leave the ones you love most?

Your heart is laying on a bed of nails.

Somehow that feels fitting. 

Feyd pulls off the top of his stillsuit, discarding the armor-like pieces. Slowly he lays in the gore, he pulls you over him. His motions slow, mesmeric. You follow just another wave trapped in the current. You're so torn and hurt, broken in ways that can never properly heal. You let it happen, it's easier this way. Slowly he licks his blade clean of your blood, he grabs your wrist places the hilt in your hands, and tucks your fingers over it. "Hold on tight," he advises as he draws your hand back and brings the knife down between his defined muscles. The moan he lets out is profane, it makes you feel euphoric, filled to the brim with the merriment of guilt. Feyd kisses you again, his tongue pushes past your teeth, his conquest of you feels Harkonnen in every way. His tongue down your throat feels like a heavenly bliss. From behind Paul breaks the back of your stillsuit, he licks a strip up and down your spine. You moan into the kiss with Feyd. Slowly Paul starts to whisper firefly kisses into each vertebrae. Sucking melodies into the frail bones. His teeth snick between the cartilage, all scorpion stings, and cobra bites. It feels so right.

Feyd is a cannibalistic star, relishing in the way your wounds bleed into his. He feeds off your pain, feeds off the pain you grant. He's delusional with a cosmic kind of lust. Pulling celestials from their homes to burn into his own body. He loves you, loves how you penetrate him with a knife clad in anathema and adherence too turbulent to understand. 

Paul is, in many ways Feyd's opposite and in many others his equal. The quintessence of the path to hell being paved with good intentions. His kisses are the desert's curse and it's love. He's an entire solar system revolving around the only two people he has left to love. 

Slowly the world grows dark. You feel it hard to remain awake. "Sweet dreams princess" you hear Paul whisper as Feyd shuffles under you. You fall into his expecting arms. Safe and strong. The day has been so long and bootless. so tiring. so vexing. 

Yet somehow, in the endlessness of the moment, it matters all so little. Paul is here and he can hang the stars upon the night sky. Feyd is here and he can slaughter the universe and call it entertainment. You are safe with them, safe and happy and satisfied. 

ngl this is the longest tag list I've ever gotten. THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!💜💜 Let me know if you want to be added to future taglists

@deertaur , @fragileheartbeats , @yandere-romanticaa , @galaxyquirks , @feedmestraycats , @peachysunrize , @slytherinholland , @missbeeentertainment , @moonchild-artemisdaughter , @shiranai-atsune , @therealoutereffect , @frenchgirlinlondon , @purplefrogella , @yzuposts , @whiteoakoak , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs , @pomtherine , @goldenatreides , @sorianis , @howibecameabadassbitch , @sansaorgana

[trulyhblue]

Baby England

Lionesses x Young! Reader (platonic), Leah Williamson x reader (platonic).

Warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst, coarse language, school, young reader.

A/N — still can't get over Sam's ACL. Like I woke up just to cry? No, thank you.

Masterlist

___________________________________

The Games Room was quiet for what seemed to be the first time ever. The team was sprawled throughout the room, some of them on their phones, others by mountains of pillows. Georgia and Keira were in the indoor pitch juggling with one another. Alex was having a soft conversation with Hempo, laughing at something one of them had said.

The serenity of the room was something you didn't catch often. Usually, the hustle of the team would echo across the walls, loud pints of laughter and screaming coming from one corner of the room to the other. Lucy was often yelling at Mario Kart, and Ellie was always strutting around Table Tennis in triumph, while everyone else grumbled on about how she was too good.

But for now, it was silent, save for the low conversations from the different groups. Even Lessi and Tooney were keeping in check, sharing a rocking chair with mounds of blankets hauled over the top of them.

For anyone else in the room, it would've been extremely relaxing.

For you, it was anything but.

You wanted to snap your pen in half, feeling the fatigue of yesterday's game daunting on your muscles. The words on your laptop were dancing behind the blur of your eyes. You struggled to stay concentrated as Leah sat next to you, taking her eyes off her phone every once while to make sure you were actually doing your homework.

The Euros were speeding by quicker than any of you could imagine. The outcome of your results, and the number of fans that had started to compile over the weeks, was indescribable. This was your debut camp for the Lionesses, and while you spent most of your time on the bench, making late appearances in the 70th minutes of games, you wouldn't change it for the world.

However, with all the excitement and privilege that came with representing your country in such a prestigious competition at Sixteen, you were faced with the challenge of keeping up with school.

When you first signed with the Lionesses, your parents were determined to keep you in school. Your education was very important, and if football ever ended badly for you, they wanted you to have something to fall back on. Growing up through the youth groups, and developing skills in the Arsenal Academy, you were used to the physical and emotional demands of a professional football career. Your parents were incredibly supportive of your dream to play, but their underlying worry when you were called up to the National Team was daunted on them.

So, to make everyone happy, you decided to take on the complicated challenge of juggling both football and school. This meant that in your spare time, all you did was study for exams, take the exams, and then study for the next one. It was an endless cycle of school and work, but you knew that it would be all worth it in the end.

The worst thing about it was that none of the girls were your age. Some of them had Uni work to do, but you were still mastering high school subjects. The workload wasn't nearly as draining, and they seemed to have it all sorted out in a few short hours while you were spending all of your extra time peeling away your useless worksheets, essays and papers.

Lots of the girls were lenient. None of them liked the idea of you cooped up in front of a screen. Hempo would buy you some crisps from down the road. Mary would make TikToks with you, Beth would scoop you up for cuddles and a movie. LJ would pull you away for Mario Kart. All the girls believed that you needed a break, especially in such a stressful time.

But Leah was the exact opposite.

You had known Leah since you were seven. You had met her during one of your Arsenal Youth games, immediately looking up to her as an older sister and role model. Even as a teenager, Leah holds a protective arm around you. She was always ready to defend you on the pitch, not only as a Captain, but as a friend. She wasn't afraid to put you in line — she was the only one who could send you running laps if you were too cheeky. She was strict, especially when you parents weren't there to boss you around, and everyone knew that her authority over you was nothing to debate.

You were training with the Arsenal Women's Team while you were still at the Academy. You're not quite sure why you were chosen in the squad, as you struggled to believe you made the cut at such a young age, but the England Captain didn't hesitate to make you put in the work.

She was a bit like your agent, always persuading you to do something when you weren't sure what to do yourself. You still weren't signed with a WSL team, but as the Euros progressed, teams from everywhere were banking up to sign you as soon as possible. You tried hard not to delve too deeply into it. You knew Arsenal was a main contender, and that's where you most wanted to go, but your focus right now was the Euros... and the essay in front of you.

"C'mon, get it done," Leah ordered, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, her hand carrying the weight on her head against the desk. You had been sitting there for over an hour, a total of one paragraph typed out on your screen. Outside, you could see Beth and Lotte playing Basketball. You threw your head backwards, groaning in respite. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing.

"No use whining about it." She spoke, still not looking at you. "'Might as well smash it out now so it's done."

"'Dunno what to write about." You grumbled, shoving your hands into your pockets. You managed to slip a glance towards Esme, feeling your hopes lift up when she gave you a knowing nod.

But of course, Leah caught the interaction. "Hempo, no." She snapped, sending the Forward back to her seat. "You don't get crisps when you've done nothing to deserve it."

"Leah-"

"-Get on with it."

You slouched back into your chair, making sure your Huff was loud and overly obnoxious. Leah had no reaction, leaning back in her chair, and continuing to scroll on her phone.

"Y/N." She murmured in warning.

When you made no effort to keep going, she finally looked at you.

You could tell she was over it. She wasn't obliged to sit with you, but it was an unspoken rule that she did, otherwise, you would never get it finished. The older woman secretly felt bad for making you do it. If it was her choice, you wouldn't be doing school during the tournament. She understood your reluctance, but both of you could guess the consequences of your actions if you weren't handing it in.

"You've got half an hour." She snapped, her glare darkening. If she wasn't strict now, it'd end badly. "If it's not done, I'll bench you."

From the corner of your eye, you could see Lauren stop her Lego abruptly. Esme was no longer looking at her phone, instead tilting her head away from the tension rising in an attempt to not get involved.

Leah didn't have the power to bench anyone, the older girls knew that. But to your virtue, you thought that Leah was capable of anything. An abuse of power, maybe, but it worked all the same.

You begrudgingly tapped at your keyboard, making a point to roll you eyes when Leah set an alarm for half an hour. You were determined to keep your spot as a preferred sub, refusing to let Leah feel all smug at the fact that you couldn't finish the stupid essay.

Lauren continued on with her Lego. Esme was starting a new bracelet. Beth and Lotte's giggles were drowned out by the determination written all over your face. Without your knowledge, more and more people began to cram into the Game Room. First, Lucy, then Kei and Gee. A few minutes later, Alessia and Ella were doing a TikTok, their voices growing louder as the minutes went by. LJ walked past with confusion written across her features. She leaned over your shoulder, eyes slightly widening at the page full of words. She glanced to Leah's phone and the timer, then at Leah, who was staring off into the distance.

By five minutes left, you had written nearly two whole pages. Your hands were cramping, and your feet couldn't keep still. Chloe and Katie were surrounding you behind LJ, waiting for you to snap out of your trance and notice the crowd that had complied.

You were reading over your final sentences when the door crashed open, revealing Millie and Rach running in frantically with a cameraman hot on their trail. Their presence was so boisterous that everyone stopped to see who it was, watching in curiosity when the two women started searching the room.

"We need the Baby!" Millie screamed, scrambling onto the floor to check underneath the lounge. "We need the baby!"

Rachel was running to the bean bags, dashing past Lucy, Keira and Georgia playing Mario Kart. Everyone laughed in amusement at the cameraman struggling to keep up with the two of them.

"Where is she?!" Rach screeched at Esme and Lauren, ignoring the fits of giggle the pair were in. "Where's the baby?"

"Over here, idiots," Zelem stated, causing both their heads to dart in your direction. The girls surrounding you were quick to scatter, knowing the wrath of the two women was not something easily escapeable. Millie was about to yank you from under your shoulders when Leah moved in front of you, her prior amusement halting, replaced with her usual sternness.

You were closing your laptop at the sight of the camera, beaming at the thought of freeing yourself.

"Not now, Bright," Leah uttered, wrapping an arm around the back of your chair. "She's got school."

Instead of leaving you be, the duo closed in on you, beckoning the camera over to your work sprawled across the table.

Both of them held tiny mics, holding them up to their mouths as they spoke.

"Here we've got the Arsenal Protege in her natural habitat. Born and raised in red, she seems to be researching ways to leave."

"Both Arsenal and Leah."

Leah's face contorted into deep offence. "Hey!"

"Yes, it appears she is." Rachel nodded vigorously, picking up your book, pretending to read it. "She has written down Aston Villa as her top contender. Not only is she fast, but smart too."

Millie hugged you from behind. "But we all know what side of London she's thinking of, isn't that right? Smart, little, blue she'll be, am I right, Williamson?"

The camera panned to Leah, who was not looking at all amused. The thought of you being at any other club felt absolutely gut-wrenching to her. Like her, you had grown up bleeding in North London. She wouldn't trade any other player twice as good as you if that meant you'd stay. But while she'd never admit it, Leah wasn't worried about you leaving Arsenal. She was more worried that you'd leave her.

"Over my dead body." She snapped, wrenching the Chelsea woman's arms away from you, swerving your chair back to face your laptop. "Now, off you go, she needs to get this done."

"I've finished it, Lee." You muttered, feeling embarrassed at the fact that fans would prune over the way you were bossed around. When it came to your figure in the media, it was mainly regarding your blamelessness in comparison to your more experienced teammates. You were often babied by the girls, and fans adored the interactions you would have with them, especially with Leah.

Your Captain looked at you, crossing her arms. "You promise me you're done?"

"Promise." Your cheeks heated as the snickers fell from Daly's lips. You nodded, slowly inching off your seat. "Please, Lee, I've been stuck here for hours."

"Yeah, c'mon, Williamson, let her come to the dark side." Millie barked, causing Leah to grumble at the notion.

It took her a few moments to decide whether or not to let you go, huffing in defeat when she turned off her phone. "Fine. But no Chelsea or Villa talk, swear to Go—"

You were off before she could finish her lecture. Millie had picked you up, lifting you over her shoulders as Rach followed behind. The three of you ran into the indoor training pitch, with the poor cameraman following after you hopelessly.

When Millie plopped you down, you engulfed the warmth of someone's lap. You craned your head back to find Jordan looking back at you, her beady, toothy grin beaming back at you. The Arsenal midfielder wrapped her arms around you as you made the effort to snuggle into her body. Jordan was like your second mother when you were away from home. She was an ongoing support that wore her heart on her sleeve. She was different from Leah's opposing relentless, being more of a calm before the storm, less sentimental but effusive nonetheless.

You were supposed to be Jordan's substitute during your time at the Euros, but her knee injury had ruled her out. Therefore, the woman was only there when the squad wasn't training.

You noticed the multiple cameras surrounding the couch you were all squeezed on, but the attention felt a little less daunting with the comfort of the girls around you.

"We've got some questions for you," Millie spoke, revealing some palm cards from God knows where.

You nodded, keeping your head on Jord's chest. "Ask away."

"Who is your favourite teammate?"

You thought to yourself for a second before shrugging. "Jordan."

Rach scoffed. "Boring."

"Yeah, next!" Millie rolled her eyes. "Who would win in a fight, me or Daly?"

"Why am I answering these?!" You laughed, shaking your head. "You could've asked anyone."

"Those aren't the real questions." Jordan prodded, leading the two women to laugh their heads off at their supposed humour. You looked around at everyone, extremely confused about what you were here for. There were a few PR Managers behind the media setup, all with clipboards in their hands. You managed to catch Jordan eyeing Bright and Daly, squeezing your body a little tighter.

"Yeah, yeah, we're just having a laugh." Mils chortled, straightening up before continuing. "We're to announce that Baby England here has been asked to answer a few questions on behalf of the team."

You watched the centre-back intently. "Why me?"

"Dunno." Rach shrugged, followed shortly by Mil's voice. "Just 'cause."

"Alright, then, by who?"

"God, you'd think with all that schoolwork you'd be a bit brighter."

Jordan huffed from behind you. "Hurry up!"

"Alright, alright." Rachel scoffed, taking out the same cards as Millie had, the England Lioness logo plastered on the back. "So, seriously now, how do you think the Lionesses have worked throughout the Euros?"

You were never the one to be faced with serious questions in interviews. In fact, you had only ever attended one or two. At Arsenal, you were in the Academy, meaning the media surrounding you and your team was very scarce. As a representative of your National Team, the two interviews you had been a part of were your induction and your Player of the Match award at the end of one of the games. You weren't used to being in the spotlight like your England teammates, but you were not opposed to being overshadowed by them either. You knew you had a lot to learn, you were happy to play alongside them.

“Erm, I'm not quite sure.” You posed, blushing at the laughter that followed. “I'm very proud to be a part of it… this is a big opportunity for me, and I'm grateful for having the chance to represent my country.”

“True English,” Mils said fondly, finding the camera with her eyes. “Modest as always.”

Jordan hugged you tighter. “Let her finish, Millie.”

“But I think all of the girls think that, even to a bigger scale than me.” You continued, fidgeting with your hands. “It's a home Euros so… we all want to bring it home. I think that's one of the main contributors — the pressure, but also the idea of winning. We all want our families and country to be proud. So, yeah, and because we all love football. That's a given.”

“That was a bloody good answer, Baby England,” Rach commented. Her hand was rubbing your shoulder, her legs crossed over each other on the lounge. The Defender behind her was smiling, propping herself into a more comfortable position before she spoke.

“Speaking of,” She smirked. “Are you bothered by your nickname ‘Baby England?’ Do you feel a bit bugged by it?”

You giggled into Jordan, your cheeks inevitably heating up. “Erm, yes and no. I mean, I know I'm the youngest but I’ll go back to training and the girls will be teasing me for it.”

“Do you want to stay in the Academy?” Rach asked. “What’s your plans after the Euros?”

“Not sure.” You shrugged. “Hopefully we finish with Gold, that's the hope, obviously. But, I’ll just have to see.”

Both women looked at each other, then the camera, hiding their smiles concurrently. Jordan and you watched in confusion.

“Should we start the list of offers you've got right now?” Daly chortled. “I can think of five on the top of my head.”

“Who’s your top five?” Millie continued, leaning in and mouthing her club Chelsea.

“Leah would kill me!” You laughed, shaking off the question. “I was talking to Lessi and Lotte about the States, cause my parents still want me to have an education. But to be fair, my agent hasn't told me any offers. I don't think she will until the Euros are over.”

“Well, you heard it hear first.” Rachel beamed. “Baby England to Villa!”

The Cameraman was about to end the video when a booming fury echoed from across the room.

All heads turned to an enraged Leah storming over. “I said no Villa talk!”

__________________________________

yourusername (pretend it's you and Leah)

yourusername — sorry @ rachdaly, no Villa talk

Comments

milliebright — u say nothing about Chelsea, right?

^ leahwilliamson — don't even go there.

lionesses — football’s coming home 🫶🏼

racheldaly — I’ll find a way

^ leahwilliamson — no you won't.

user1 — Leah fighting for Y/N’s spot at Arsenal more than Arsenal themselves LMAO

^ user2 — she really said North London Forever

lottewubbenmoy — Baby England 🫶🏼

alessiarusso99 — beautiful girls

*liked by yourusername, leahwilliamson

User3 — is this an Aston Villa denial confirmation?

^ user4 — I think shes just referencing the YouTube video or Her, Jordan, Mils, and Rach.

^ user5 — shes got all these offers, who knows

^ user3 — she practically confirmed she was going to North Carolina in that video tho

^ user4 — 🤷‍♀�� you could say that is is an Arsenal Confirmation since Leah’s in it. Fr tho idk.

Leahwilliamson — my 🌟 girl

^ user6 — their friendship is so cute

User7 — All these clubs want her, WHERE WILL SHE GO

^ yourusername — 👀

^ user7 — STOP DO NOT DO THIS TO ME

__________________________________

[freelancearsonist]

all that we see or seem

➔ Dieter Bravo x AFAB!Reader

➔ 5.7k words

➔ You moved to Hollywood in hopes of chasing your dreams; you get a lot more than you bargained for from your new boss, Dieter Bravo.

➔ Rated MA // dark fic, reader is afab (female anatomy, no pronouns used) and generally able-bodied, age gap (unspecified, reader is younger than dieter), vampire!dieter, blood/both consensual and non-consensual blood drinking, knife use, slight self-harm, gore of the mouth variety, pet names, takes place in 1983 bc i’m a sucker for changing settings

➔ this was requested from this prompt list by the very lovely @sp00kymulderr!! happy birthday darling, sorry this took so long but i hope it's worth the wait <3 thank you so much to @missredherring for this AMAZING header graphic ily 🖤

Los Angeles is a far cry from the little town you grew up in. It’s a seemingly endless maze, with more possibilities than you ever could’ve dreamed. It’s a little daunting, really. You step off your plane with your suitcase in hand, and you feel like the world is in the palms of your hands.

The harsh reality comes crashing in without warning.

LA is expensive, especially on your own. As the money you’d saved up to get you started dwindles much quicker than expected, your dreams only get further and further out of reach. Life always finds a way to fuck you over, and the city of angels does it quicker than anywhere else. The glitzy neon nightclubs and the glamor of Hollywood swiftly become an omen of doom rather than a beacon of hope. You’re in over your head, but it’s too late to back out now.

Auditions get put on the backburner. You work yourself to the bone as a server in a dumpy little diner, but it’s still barely enough to cover your basic expenses.

You wake up, you go to work, you come home, you go to sleep. The cycle repeats itself so quickly that your days all merge together into one, long, neverending nightmare.

The light at the end of the tunnel appears shortly before the first anniversary of your move. You’re scanning through the paper during your meal break when you see a help wanted ad. It’s normally the type of thing you would ignore, but a few things about it draw you in. The part that really catches your eye is the large, bold letters that proclaim “work closely with one of the biggest names in hollywood!” It seems too good to be true, and certainly something you’re not qualified for. But it could be a start–a way to get your foot through the door of the industry that brought you out here in the first place. Really, what’s the harm in trying?

You go to the library, type up your resume, and mail it in to the address listed in the ad. Realistically, you know that there must be hundreds of other applicants and you probably won’t get so much as a rejection letter back; but the needling little ‘what if’ in the back of your mind gives you a boost of hope that you’ve lived without for an achingly long time.

You get better than a letter–a broad, handsome man shows up at the diner late one night asking for you three days after you drop your resume into the local mail slot at the post office. Janine, the shaggy-haired waitress you work with almost every shift and have sort of become friends with, nudges you excitedly while you’re handing a ticket back to the kitchen.

“Honey, do you know who that is?” She nods her head over her shoulder towards a table in the corner of her section and you try to look over as nonchalantly as possible.

Of course you know who that is. His face is everywhere in this stupid town–magazine covers, billboards, movie theaters. Even with sunglasses obscuring the dark brown eyes that have made thousands swoon, you recognize Dieter Bravo. He’s bigger than Hasselhoff and Swayze combined.

“He’s asking for you,” Janine whispers. “By name. You know him?”

“Not yet,” you answer truthfully. You know without a doubt that he’s here because of your resume and that your entire world is about to change.

You’ve seen him on the big screen before and now you can definitively say that it doesn’t do him justice. He’s more handsome than any man has a right to be. He’s wearing a black hoodie and black trousers, an ensemble that stands out in the brightness of 1983 but yet perfectly complements the tanned tone of his skin. His shoulders could fill a doorway and his smile might actually melt you into a puddle. You can’t help but notice–with a hint of trepidation–that his canines are the sharpest you’ve ever seen, although that thought is quickly pushed from your mind when he greets you by name.

“Your resume is impressive.”

“No it’s not,” you respond with a little laugh before you can stop yourself, then you have to refrain from banging your head into the wall. What a great start to an interview.

But he laughs, and you can’t help feeling you’ve done something right. You’d do a hell of a lot worse just to hear that gorgeously deep, hearty chuckle again.

“Okay, I’ll rephrase. You said all the right things. You’ve got exactly what I’m looking for as an assistant.”

You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, because this is much too good to be true.

“You’re not from LA,” he states factually. “What brought you here?”

You consider lying–coming up with some story that’s less pathetic than the truth. He’s appreciated your honesty thus far, though, and you don’t want to break a streak. “I wanted to act, but… it’s hard to get started when you don’t have any connections. So I’ve just been kind of… getting by.”

He nods and gives you a look over–assessing, you think. “We all have to start somewhere. But this isn’t an easy job.”

There’s something unreadable in his voice, but you choose to ignore it because you want nothing more than a chance to impress him. It’s not about ‘making it’ anymore; it’s about proving to Dieter Bravo that you’re worth taking a chance on.

“Neither is this,” you reply with a vague wave at the diner around you. “If I’m not covered in fryer grease at the end of the day, it’s a good job to me.”

He chuckles again and it washes over you like fresh water after years of drought. You want more of him–more of his charm, more of his warmth.

“When can you start?”

You ask for two weeks to leave your diner gig on good terms, and he’s gracious enough to accommodate you. As the days tick past, the anticipation ramps up and time seems to move slower. You’ve never been so excited for a new job. Normally, your gut twists with anticipation and your mind swirls with every little minute detail that could go wrong–but not now. No, now you’re just excited. The possibilities of Hollywood finally seem to be within your reach again, and it all starts with this job.

You learn a lot about Dieter within five minutes of starting on your first day. For one, he’s incredibly personable. He greets you himself and vows to show you the ropes. There’s no third party to teach you everything you need to know, it’s just him. Just the two of you. You appreciate that immensely, because you’ll be serving him directly as his assistant. There’s no better person to learn from when it comes to his desires and routines than the man himself.

Two, he wears many different masks. It’s a little spooky, the way his demeanor changes depending on who he’s dealing with. He can be the sweetest, most charming man you’ve ever spoken to, then turn to a producer and be a complete hardass all in the name of getting things done. He knows exactly what persona he needs to wear for each person he interacts with–it’s all very calculated. You suppose all actors have to be capable of that; the mark of a good thespian is being instantly able to pretend you’re someone you’re not.

Still, it’s a little chilling. If you didn’t see it in some form or another with every person you meet on set, you’d be a little concerned. Dieter just makes it look like adaptation–fitting into his surroundings as a means of staying afloat. He’s been in this industry for a long time, he knows what works; and, subsequently, what doesn’t.

As far as the job goes, it’s a nice change of pace from what you’ve become accustomed to. You spend nights on set with him, fetching his coffee order or running little errands while he’s busy shooting. The hours aren’t unreasonable, and it pays double what the diner did. Now that you’re not struggling to get by financially, you have the free time you need to start pursuing your dreams again.

You have only Dieter to answer to, which is a definite learning curve. Directors, producers, and even other actors chase after your favors, but Dieter tells them unequivocally to fuck off. You’re his–it’s a heady feeling each time he  reasserts it. It makes for easy work when you’re not being pulled in thirty different directions simultaneously. He asks for what he needs when he’s around and he gives you a list of tasks to complete when he’s not. He’s a little eccentric–he tells you he can only work after dark because his eyes are sensitive–but it’s nice, falling into a routine after so long of working unconventional hours at a job where no two days are the same.

Still, as days turn into weeks by his side, you wonder exactly what version of Dieter he’s presenting to you. Which face is the most authentic? You want to believe he’s himself with you, but you’re not quite naive enough to convince yourself of that. The thing that bothers you the most is that you want him to feel comfortable enough to drop the facades around you. You want to get to know the real Dieter Bravo, underneath all the masks. But you also swore to yourself, when you accepted this job, that you would be nothing but professional–and wanting to get to know him so intimately is definitely a step beyond just being his employee.

To his credit, he’s strictly professional–even if you wish he wasn’t at times. There’s a lot of rumors and gossip about him, about his hedonism and the life he supposedly leads at night, but you don’t see that facet of him. With you, he’s friendly, kind, and respectful. He’s the perfect gentleman–and that’s how you know that you’re not getting a full glimpse of the real him. There’s too much contradiction between the rumors and the Dieter that you interact with. 

No matter how straight-laced you try to be, you can’t help wondering what it’ll take to get a look at the real Dieter Bravo.

You think he starts to peek through when Dieter asks if you would be willing to work longer hours and be more of a personal assistant than a production assistant. You know him inside and out, he tells you, and it would be a pain in the ass to teach a whole new person how to deal with his errands. He even offers you a sizable raise when you pretend to be contemplating it, like you weren’t bursting at the seams to say yes before he even finished asking. 

The sad–maybe even pathetic–truth of the matter is that you’re falling for him. Every facet of his charm, from his darkly passionate eyes to his easy humor, have you completely bewitched and ready to ignore the way your hair stands on end each time his gaze meets yours. You’ll take any small fraction of him that you can get.

He eases you into your additional duties, at least; that much can be said in his favor. He starts you out with small tasks, like ordering his groceries and picking up his dry cleaning. Dieter’s so kind and patient as he explains how he likes everything done–he’s particular, but not unreasonable. He even gives you a grand tour of his home so you can see exactly where and how he likes everything done–it’s like finally getting that real glimpse of him that you’ve been hoping for.

His Sherman Oaks mansion looks like something straight out of a Bram Stoker novel on the outside, yet the inside is a testament to the warm side of his personality that you’re more familiar with. It’s decorated in shades of orange and red, with patterns that are a little out of date but still manage to feel intentional. It gives the impression of someone who was more comfortable and sure of himself in the 70’s, or at least someone who hasn’t quite adjusted to the new trends that came with the turn of the decade. The walls are covered with art–most of it signed with his familiar “DB” in the bottom right hand corner. It’s neat, but not so neat that it feels staged. It fits the Dieter Bravo that you know perfectly, and it even starts to feel like home to you when you start spending more time there with him.

There’s never anyone else around when you’re there. For someone who has a reputation for throwing the liveliest parties in all of Hollywood, he doesn’t actually do a lot of partying. Not when you’re around, at least. It’s almost like he’s trying to hide that aspect of himself from you. If he has to host, he sends you home early or lets you know in advance that you’re getting a paid night off. You’re almost disappointed–parties have never really been your thing, sure, but you feel like you need to experience at least one of his.

Plus, people are starting to talk. You hear it on set first; his co-stars whispering about how he’s gone soft, how he’s gotten boring. Even the tabloids are starting to wonder if they’ve seen the last infamous Dieter Bravo party, which were once highly coveted and exclusive events. The few times he’s hosted lately have been small, quiet affairs–definitely not the big, star-studded shebangs that he’s gained a reputation for.

A rumor even starts circulating that he’s finally decided to settle down with a nice girl, which makes your stomach twist with a little green monster that shouldn’t be there. He’s your employer, you reason. That’s all. No matter how friendly he is, no matter how much he flirts with you, no matter how much he compliments your perfect cup of coffee, that’s all he is. Your boss. And yet, despite your constant self-assertion, your brain just can’t seem to accept it. You know you shouldn’t want anything more than that, and yet you just can’t seem to stop yourself from hoping.

“What’s going on with you?”

You’re in the midst of trying to sort through the files in his upstairs home office so you can find out when his insurance needs to be renewed when you hear the voice, loud and clear due to the open floor plan downstairs. Sound travels like crazy up the double-wide staircase with Dieter’s office door right at the top. You couldn’t shut it out even if you wanted to–and you don’t. God help you, you’re a little nosy and a little curious.

“Nothing.” That’s Dieter’s voice, but you don’t recognize the other.

“Bullshit. You’re not yourself.” It’s a deep, rich tone that you’ve never heard before and it immediately has your interest hooked. Dieter doesn’t get many visitors, much less such purposeful ones. Most people like to schmooze him, but evidently not this unidentified man.

“I’m trying to be different,” Dieter explains half-heartedly. “It’s time I cleaned up a bit.”

“No. Cleaning up your act is nothing more than a good way to get yourself caught. Things happen in the party climate, that’s how you fit in. Things don’t just happen to nice rich actors.”

Caught? Caught doing what, exactly? You creep closer to the open door on light feet, curiosity peaked.

Dieter sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I’m tired.”

“So what are you going to do? Just give up? Waste away after… how long?”

“Maybe I should,” Dieter retorts–there’s grit in his tone now, maybe even bitterness. “Maybe I never should’ve taken the deal in the first place. You don’t see how fucked up this all is?”

“So, what? You’ve gotten everything you could’ve possibly wanted, and now you’re tired of playing the game? Pathetic.” There’s a sneer in the tone of this unidentified speaker and you don’t like it. You want to jump to Dieter’s defense, but something tells you this is a conversation that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on.

“Whatever, man,” Dieter scoffs dismissively.

There’s noise downstairs now–a slight thud and what sounds like Dieter grunting as if the wind has been knocked out of him. 

“What changed?”

“Fuck off,” Dieter spits.

“What. Changed?”

“You weren’t fucking honest with me.”

“Bullshit,” the stranger growls back. “You knew exactly what you were getting into.”

“No, you said everything I wanted, that was the deal. Remember?” It’s quiet for a long moment, and you wonder if Dieter’s pacing. He does that, when he starts to get stressed. “I’m still alone, though.”

“That’s your own fault,” the stranger replies–voice a little softer now. “I didn’t say I would hand you your dreams on a silver platter. You make your own destiny. Surely it hasn’t been so long that you’ve forgotten that little qualifier.”

“I can’t bring someone else into this shit and you know it,” Dieter replies. The venom is gone from his voice now–he just sounds done. Exhausted and spent.

“You can, but you won’t.” There’s a moment of silence, then a heavy sigh. “Start acting like yourself again before you raise too much suspicion.”

“Fine,” Dieter sighs heavily. 

There’s a few long moments of silence, and then you hear the heavy solid oak front door shut. Presumably the guest has gone, and while you’re eager to sneak down and see if you can catch a glimpse of who it might’ve been, it’s far too risky with Dieter down there. Something tells you that he should never find out about the way you just eavesdropped on that conversation. You don’t know who he was talking to, or what kind of deal they were discussing–you just know that it’s serious, and definitely above your paygrade.

“Did you find that paperwork?”

You didn’t hear Dieter come upstairs–his sudden question from right behind you makes you jump and whirl around to look at him. You fight to keep your calm as you catch your breath; the last thing you want to do is clue him in that you overheard his conversation with his unknown guest.

“Yeah, I’ve got it right here,” you answer after a thick gulp.

“You’re a doll,” he proclaims with a wide smile. How easily he picks up the face he wears with you after a conversation that clearly upset him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you hum with a smile. “This entire room is a nightmare. It’s a miracle you ever find anything. You need to get, like… some filing cabinets. At the very least.”

“I’ll, uhh… get right on that,” he says in a way that makes you sure he definitely won’t get right on it.

Despite the nerves still thrumming through your veins, you laugh. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re a doll,” he repeats with his trademark grin. “Oh! Hey, uhh… you have tomorrow off. Paid, obviously.”

“Why?” You ask before you can think better of it. 

He seems surprised–you don’t normally ask questions, especially about paid vacation days. “Work stuff I gotta take care of. No big deal.”

“Okay,” you answer with a slight frown. “Sure I can’t help?”

He actually does seem to be contemplating it for a moment–his eyes scan over your body, and it’s like he’s considering you more than the actual offer. “No, honey, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.” You take a short breath, then head towards the door–this was the last task on your list for the night. “Anything else you need before I head out?”

He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he follows you down the stairs. “No. Thanks, sweetheart.”

You feel heat fluttering underneath your skin at the pet name–he uses them often and they never fail to make your heart pick up pace. It’s like he can tell, because his eyes linger on your lips for a moment before trailing down to the pulse point on the left side of your neck. You wonder for a second if he can actually see it beating, but you quickly push that ridiculous thought away.

“You’re sure there’s nothing I can do for you tomorrow?”

His eyes are still trained on your neck like he’s completely zoned out or something. You watch as his tongue slowly glides over his bottom lip, trance-like; it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

“Yeah,” he whispers after a long moment–he’s standing so close now, you didn’t even notice him closing in. “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“Okay.” You want nothing more than to grab him and pull him in, to kiss him like your life depends upon it. He sounded so upset and every bone in your body is screaming to comfort him. The way he’s looking at you right now, you don’t think he’d mind at all. 

Instead you take a deep breath, grab your bag from the bench next to the door, and bid him goodnight.

Dieter doesn’t seem to realize that you’re always working, whether you’re on the clock or not. Even on ‘off’ days, you get loads of calls for scheduling requests and other tasks. Your saving grace is your trusty day planner—it holds both of your schedules, all neatly color-coded for maximum efficiency.

The worst thing you could’ve done on a weekend leading up to awards season is leave it in Dieter’s home office—and yet, as you frantically dig through your tote bag and your desk, that seems to be exactly what you’ve done.

You know Dieter’s got whatever event he’s hosting at home, but you can’t keep taking calls and scribbling notes on napkins without your schedule in front of you. The last thing you want to do is overbook him at a time where every single interview counts.

With a heavy sigh, you dial Dieter’s home number. It rings for what seems like eternity, and just as you’re about to hang up an unfamiliar voice answers.

“Hello?”

With a sigh of relief, you ask, “Hi, is Dieter there?”

“He’s busy.” The voice is high and sweet, yet her tone says she couldn’t be more irritated.

“Okay… umm, it’s kind of important.”

The stranger sighs dramatically. “I can take a message.”

“I just… I left something there, and I need to come get it as soon as possible. But I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

This time when she speaks, her tone is considerably more friendly. “Oh! Yeah, come on over. The more the merrier!”

You can’t help your intrigue, although you really don’t want to intrude without Dieter’s say-so. “Are you sure? I could always come tomorrow, I guess.”

“No no, come! It’s a party, everyone’s welcome!” Then the line goes dead without any further discussion.

You consider redialing in the hopes of speaking and clearing your visit with Dieter, but you doubt you’ll actually get through to him–and really, what harm would a quick visit do? You know exactly where you left it, on the desk in his office. It’ll be five minutes tops, a quick in and out. He might never even know that you’d been there.

You shake off the curious sense of foreboding that overtakes your mind as you grab your keys and lock your apartment door behind you.

It’s a twenty minute ride to Dieter’s house–a lot of time to spend thinking. At the forefront of your mind is that peculiar conversation you overheard last night; you’re not entirely sure why, really. Whoever that man was sounded almost as if he was in some kind of position of power over Dieter, and you don’t have even an educated guess at who that could possibly be. Dieter’s his own boss and he doesn’t take bullying–you’ve never heard someone get away with bossing him around like that before. He’s constantly in some weird form of pissing match with the directors and producers of whatever film he’s working on; he’s never seemed to be good at taking orders, even when he’s supposed to. You’ve heard many a rant about how much he values the ‘freedom of expression’. It all serves to make the mysterious visitor more confusing. Who does Dieter have to answer to?

The cab pulls up in front of his gated home before you’re able to find a plausible answer. You instruct the driver to keep the meter running since you’ll only be a minute before you step out into the crisp late-January air.

The grounds are a lot quieter than you expect them to be as the guard on duty opens the gate and closes it behind you. One thing Dieter’s famous for is noise–his parties are always reported as loud and exciting affairs akin to the fraternities in his favorite movie Animal House. There's no noise at all today, though, and it makes you curious. Is it really a party? Or was the stranger who answered the phone maybe his only guest? If the latter is the case, why would she want you to join in?

There’s a pale man in a cheap-looking suit waiting just inside the door, a tray of filled wine glasses in his gloved hands. “Take one,” he instructs, his eyes distant like he’s looking through you rather than at you.

“Oh, no thank you, I just need to–”

“Take one,” he repeats. “Master’s orders.”

Master? Of course Dieter would be into that. 

The wine is a deep red, probably that expensive vintage shit that he’s always raving about. You prefer the grocery store stuff yourself, not just because it’s all you can afford. A drink never hurts, though, and you could certainly use something to take the edge off–because that tingling sense of foreboding has only gotten stronger since your arrival.

You take a glass and swirl its currant-colored liquid around. It seems more viscous than any wine you’ve had before–probably a mark of its age, but that’s just guesswork on your part. You take a small sip, then nearly gag. It’s like drinking a pile of melted pennies. You swallow it down with a grimace anyway since you don’t want to make a scene of spitting it out in front of the server. It leaves a metallic taste in your mouth that you’re eager to wash out–thankfully, the kitchen is on your route to the stairs. You quickly deposit the glass on a table once you’re out of the server’s eyesight, then head down the hall in a desperate search for water.

Once you’re out of the foyer, there are people everywhere. Very subdued people, at that–draped over furniture like throw blankets, some even laying on the floor. You consider checking one’s pulse until he twitches and lets out a muffled groan. Clearly high on something, you’re just not sure what. You nearly trip over one person and they actually hiss at you like some kind of feral cat. Your skin starts to crawl with every step you take. Even more important than your discomfort, though, is finding Dieter. What if he’s like this, too? Do you need to call someone?

You notice a dull ache starting in your gums as you make it to the kitchen–thankfully you’re familiar with his home, and you have a glass of water in your hands within no time. It seems that no matter how much you drink, though, that coppery-bloody taste never leaves your mouth. What the hell was that stuff?

There’s a short-haired blonde woman propped up against the wall underneath the mounted phone; she reaches out a lazy hand in some sort of greeting. She looks vaguely familiar, like someone you might’ve seen on the set of one of Dieter’s films.

“You made it!” She says with a lazy smile. She must be the woman you spoke to earlier, although you’re not sure how she can identify you.

“Yeah. Where’s Dieter?” The longer you’re here, the more worried you become. Something isn’t right, and your skin is prickling with apprehension.

“Upstairs,” she murmurs, then her eyes flutter shut and she slumps a little further down. She’s visibly breathing, at least. 

For a moment, you consider picking up the phone and ringing the police. Would that cause more harm than good? Dieter must be aware of what’s going on here–you know you should talk to him before you do anything.

Your mission to find your planner momentarily forgotten, you make your way through the living room towards the stairs.

You check the office at the top first–there’s a few bodies zonked out on the couch, but none of them are Dieter. With trepidation in your very soul, you make your way down the hall. Each room is more of the same–people in varying states of unrest, no sign of the man you’re looking for. Most of them have red-stained lips and you eye more than one smashed glass along your journey. Your own mouth is starting to get alarmingly sore, but you ignore it in favor of finding Dieter.

Each step you take drives your worries deeper into your skull. What if something’s happened to him? What if he’s knocked out like all of his guests, or hurt, or something worse?

This is the first time you’ve breached the bubble of his bedroom. None of your work has ever involved this room, and while you’re a naturally nosey type of person, there’s something deeply personal and sacred about the space someone sleeps in. 

Ignoring the steady throbbing in your gums, you knock once before pushing open the door.

Dieter’s alone in his room, sprawled out like a starfish in a sea of rumpled sheets at the center of his massive bed. Something akin to a groan of horror escapes your throat as you see the state he’s in. He’s paler than a corpse and drenched in sweat, chest barely rising and falling with breath.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place. Your entire body breaks out in a cold sweat as you notice the knife in his right hand and the deep gash in the crook of his left arm, right where an IV would normally be set. You can smell the blood draining from him, you can even taste it in the air–or maybe that’s just the lingering taste of whatever you drank downstairs.

Your stomach churns violently with the sudden realization of what you’ve done, of what you’ve drank.

“Dieter!” You manage to choke out while your brain tries to remember how to send the signals required for your body to fucking move. 

He lifts his head shakily, brown eyes widening after a long moment of trying to recognize the face he’s looking at. “No no no,” he whispers hoarsely, “you’re not supposed t-to be here. You’re.. y-you’re supposed to be a-at home.”

A sharp, shattering pain in your top gum snaps your brain back into action. In a flash you’re crawling across a seemingly endless desert of mattress and it feels like you’ll never reach him. Everything is moving so slowly–each movement seems to take a hundred times the effort it should.

You spit out a mouthful of blood as the pain heightens, barely registering the two upper canines that go with it.

“What the fuck have you done?” You sob, uselessly pawing at his slashed left arm. It’s a precise cut straight across the artery–your hands are sticky and soaked with red the moment you touch him. Pressure, your brain screams at you. Put pressure on the wound.

“A real artist must suffer,” he mumbles weakly–then, even quieter, “I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re dying.” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own anymore. It’s higher, breathier. 

“You drank it, d-didn’t you?” He asks, ignoring your statement. His distant eyes are trained on the sharp fangs that have pushed your canines out. “Fuck. Fuck! You were n-never supposed to…”

“Shut up, shut up,” you plead. Every shaky breath seems to cost him years. “How do I fix this? How do I fix you?”

“Thirsty,” he mumbles. There’s water on the sideboard, your brain reminds you. You don’t even remember bringing the glass with you, much less setting it down. Everything is so fuzzy. Your arm doesn’t move nearly as fast as it should when you reach for the glass, and Dieter’s hand weakly comes up to stop you.

“Not water,” he croaks. “Need… need…”

He can’t seem to form the words required to tell you what he needs. He doesn’t have to, though. You know.

“You’re not dying on me, Bravo.” You take the knife from his slack right hand before he can stop you and grit your sore teeth together as you slash it across your palm.

“N-no, don’t…” But he doesn’t resist as you hold your bleeding palm to his mouth. His empty eyes flash back to life with the first taste, and then he takes your hand in his own and drinks greedily. You watch with nothing short of disbelief as the cut on his arm seals itself right before your eyes.

“You were supposed to stay away from this,” he murmurs as his tongue sweeps across your palm. “Why the fuck are you here, baby?”

You don’t even remember anymore. Everything is hazy, everything hurts. It’s a chore just to keep your eyes open.

“Damn it,” he growls–pushing your hand away from his blood-smeared mouth seems to take all his willpower. “I never wanted this for you.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur as you slump down against his sheets. They’re so soft and light, and you want to cocoon yourself in them for the rest of time. “It’s just a dream.”

“Why’d you have to come save me? Huh?” His voice sounds so far away that you’re not even sure he’s really speaking. 

“I love you.” It’s okay to say that, because he’ll never actually find out. It’s just a dream, after all; you’ll wake up in the morning confused but totally okay.

“You were never supposed to,” his voice echoes from some plain of existence far, far away. “Damn it honey, stay awake just a minute longer.”

You try, but your eyes are so heavy. He sighs heavily, as if he knows it’s useless.

“Promise you’ll still love me when you wake up,” he pleads through the tunnel that separates you.

Nodding saps the last of your strength, so you let your eyes flutter closed. “Okay.”

You feel his lips against yours and his coppery kiss nearly brings you back from the verge of sleep. In the end, though, your throbbing head wins. Sleep takes hold quickly despite your feeble resistance. 

How strange it is to fall asleep in a dream.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my lovelies <3

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[euphoricfilter]

Star girl || JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x F. Reader ~ ‘Stardust’ couple

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Angst || Established Relationship || Non-idol au

Summary: Sometimes life just feels like too much, where the solace of the night no longer feels as healing as it once was. Luckily Jungkook is there when everything feels like too much.

Word Count: 4.9k

Tags/ warnings: fluff, mild angst, boyfriend kook is there to make everything feel better, smut in the forms of: fingering, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid, this is fiction), holding hands during sex :(, it’s all just very soft and healing, creampie, cum play, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), he eats his own cum, overstimulation

Notes: this is part of the ‘Stardust’ universe, however it can be read as a stand alone. idk how i feel about this one :’) if there are mistakes, look away <3

(request is posted at the bottom under the taglist~ the request wasn’t specifically for this universe, however it fit the au)

my masterlist

✯ ✯ ✯

You’d always believed the night to be cathartic, something almost healing about simply living while people slept. Expectations washed away of an evening with a shower, dampened mood sated with soft sheets and far fetched dreams in far away lands much more perfect than your own.

Where the moon was your only friend, no words needed between the two of you, as you simply lived among the stars. The galaxy’s gentle caress lulling you into a blissful state of peace. 

The street lamps bleed muted orange light into your room, curtains pushed open so you could watch the world, and wonder what it be like to explore the milky way.

It’s daunting how catharsis can mutate into something a little more wretched. How loneliness can creep up on you, how it lurks in the shadows during the day— following you with silent footsteps. How it slowly consumes a little more of you with each passing night.

How you don’t seem to notice the clouds that take over the sky, how the stars in your universe don’t seem to shine as bright as they once were.

It’s strange how when the lights turn off, and you’re curled up in bed, a sticky sadness consumes your entire being until you’re falling. Drowning in an endless darkness, scaly hands of solitude tugging you further into the abyss until bile rises up your throat and your eyes sting with unwanted tears; where you start to feel sorry for yourself and that icky feeling only seems to amplify.

It’s an awful feeling, that no matter how much you toss and turn, an overwhelming sadness plagues your mind until sleep seems to scuttle out your grasp, leaving you to rot in your own self-deprecating thoughts. A phantom hand locked around your throat, weeding its way into your heart, squeezing in a way that has you breathless.

A prisoner to your own mind. Until days bleed into one another— how that rotten sadness gnawing away at your mind— the sadness that had only ever caressed your cheek in the dark, had slipped between the cracks of your resolve. Bleeding into the crevices of every thought that consumed you.

If you weren’t absorbed with the mountain of assignments, your thoughts always seemed to wander in the direction of the unexplainable loneliness that hugged you, leeching of your emotions until you were left drained, utterly exhausted.

You think you’d lost count of how many days you’d kept yourself tucked in bed, a false sense of security easing a small portion of your mind as you simply exist under layers upon layers of blankets. Pretending anything that lives and works beyond your four walls doesn’t exist. Because if you didn’t acknowledge the wider world and your problems then they simply weren’t there.

Your laptop lays propped up at the end of your bed, and you think the battery died three days ago. You hadn’t bothered to plug it back in. Knowing that if you did, a long list of untouched assignments would greet you, and if you didn’t have to look at them then the deadline meant nothing. Prickly guilt eating away at your mind each time you remember an assignment that had passed, and a lecture you had missed.

You didn’t particularly enjoy skipping classes, knowing the workload would crush you when you finally got back into the groove of student life, but the very thought of getting up is enough for tears to slip down your cheeks.

With eyes shielded by the velvet blanket Jungkook had bought for your one year anniversary months ago, your gaze is veiled from your room that looked like it had seen better days.

You’d gotten to the point where cleaning seemed near impossible, with clothes strewn across the floor, with any other pieces of your room that had fallen victim to your slight rampage a couple of nights ago, finding a permanent home on your bedroom floor.

You had the decency to at least eat in the living room, and from what you can remember there’s probably a few too many boxes of food laying around, dishes probably piled high in the sink.

You don’t miss the jingle of keys outside your door, nor do you make any move to sit up when you hear your boyfriend milling through your apartment in search for you. You’d have felt an ounce of shame if Jungkook hadn’t seen what can happen when you get into a bit of a tizz, locking yourself away so you didn’t have to be a functioning member of society.

“Oh, pretty thing” Jungkook coos, bed dipping under his weight as he sits by your feet. Gentle not to startle you.

You pull the duvet down under your chin, “Kook?” you murmur, watching his lips tug up into a soft smile; a look of understanding washing over his features.

“Hey, baby. You doing okay?” a silly question on his part, but at least he knew you were alive.

You nod, albeit hesitant.

“Why are you here?” you murmur, eyebrows creasing.

“You haven’t answered any of my calls, I was worried” his hands finds their way to your thigh, touch ever so soft you feel the telltale signs of tears coating your eyes.

Your gaze flickers over to your phone, pulling your arm from under the cocoon of your blanket you tap on the screen, “It must have died, I didn’t notice. Sorry” you turn your attention back to your boyfriend.

“How about we get you washed, and then I’ll cook us something yummy?” he offers and you sink further into the pillows surrounding your head.

“I don’t really—” you sigh, “I’m okay”

“None of that, my darling” he soothes, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead before he’s pushing himself to stand.

You watch as he wanders into your bathroom, your eyes squinting at the blaring light that spills over your bedroom floor. The first sign of light in your room in almost a week.

You throw the blanket back over your head at the sound of running water. Jungkook’s voice echoing throughout your bathroom as he hums a song he’d probably been listening to on his way over to your place.

He’d always been a good singer, though he refused to ever show anyone other than you— a little secret the two of you had. And maybe it was selfish, how you’d get giddy each time he would sing for you, because you’d always been the only one to see him like this, hear him like this. A special something only the two of you had cupped in your hands, delicate like a butterfly’s wings but ever so beautiful.

“Come on” Jungkook tugs the blanket from your body, and goosebumps raise up the skin of your arms.

“Why are you shirtless?” you frown, fingers skimming the edge of your blanket, grasping at the material, ready to pull it back over your body. If it had been any other day then maybe you’d ogle at his toned chest a little longer.

“We’re taking a bath together. I put extra bubbles, just for you” he juts his head in the direction of your en suite.

You watch as he bends down, arms hooking around your body.

He throws you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, and you watch the muscles of his back flex in that delicious way that has your thighs clenching; heat simmering in your stomach that only he’d ever be able to sate.

The mirror had steamed up, a little relief washing over your body; aware you probably looked like absolute dog shit. You can’t remember the last time you even bothered to shower, let alone wash your face. Your nose scrunches up in distaste before Jungkook’s easing you back onto your feet.

He grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head with practiced ease.

“Hands on my shoulders” he tells you as he bends down, fingers hooking around the waistband of the pyjama pants you were wearing.

You press your weight against your boyfriend as he helps you out of your panties, flinging them back through the door into your room before he’s discarding his own clothes.

He holds your hand as you step into the tub, toes tinging from the scalding water— heat smoldering up your body.

“You sure this isn’t too hot for you?” you smile over your shoulder, “You complain about how hot I have my showers”

Jungkook scoffs, a failed attempt at coving the smile that threatened to pull at his cheeks.

You sink into the water, feeling the bubbles tickle your bare skin. Muscles melting as you bask in the warmth, uncaring as Jungkook slips into the tub behind you.

Your boyfriend’s knees knock against your hips, a little bit of a tight squeeze but neither of you seem to care as you lean back into his chest.

“Feeling better?” he whispers, lips pressed against your shoulder, warm breath tickling bare skin.

You nod, eyes slowly falling shut. Sleepless nights finally catching up to you as you finally find the comfort you’d been craving for so long. The unsettling feeling of pure loneliness fading into a warm love that spreads over your chest.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy with classes” Jungkook’s hands run down your arms, tips of his fingers exploring places he knew better than he knew his own body. Knowing where to touch you, where to avoid.

“It’s okay” you whisper.

He sighs, “It’s not. I shouldn’t put shitty assignments over you. I should have known something was wrong when you stopped reading my texts”

“I’m sorry about that” you peek over your shoulder, though Jungkook simply smiles. Nothing indicating any agitation towards your bad habit.

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s my job to always be by your side. I’m sorry i’m like, four days late. I’ve been swamped with classes I didn’t even realize you’ve been having a hard time”

“You don’t have to apologize.” you mirror his response, “Even before we were dating, you always did so much. I’m grateful, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to do all this”

“I do it because I love you, baby” he tilts your head up from your chin, gentle kiss pressed to your lips. And you sink further into his chest. Somehow wishing the two of you would simply melt into one being, forever intertwined.

“I love you more”

“Impossible” he snickers, “I love you more”

“For every star there is, in every galaxy, even the ones we don’t know about, each one is a piece of my love for you” you declare, unaware of Jungkook’s morphing expression.

An unfathomable, bubbly feeling of pure love consuming his entire being, bursting at his seams. A feeling so unfamiliar yet welcoming, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“That’s a lot of love, my little star girl” he muses, hands running over your hips as his lips skim over your jaw. “I love you as much as you love the stars”

“That’s a lot of love, too” you hum, pushing yourself to turn around and face your boyfriend.

You smile at the flush of his cheeks, dusted rosy from the hot water. Ends of his air damp from the steam. Bubbles touching him in places you’ve kissed, worshipping his skin like you have as they trail over his stomach— inching down to more intimate places. Another part of him only you’ll ever see.

“You’re pretty” you tell him, watching his ears flush, red hue bleeding down to his chest.

“You’re prettier” he counters and you laugh.

“You’re impossible”

He tugs you closer between his legs, water sloshing around the two of you, “But you love me for it”

“I do” you admit, “And I wouldn’t change you for the world”

“Is that so?” he hums, your favourite smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “Now why don’t you tell me what you’ve been feeling while I wash your hair?”

“That sounds nice” you agree, hands cupping his cheeks, “Thank you, Jungkook. I really mean it”

“I know you do” he leans into your touch, hair falling over his eyes a little from where he’d been growing it out, “Thank you for being here” he takes ahold of your hand, gentle as he presses a kiss to the tips of your fingers.

✯ ✯ ✯

You sit on the edge of your bed, old sheets torn off, slung on the floor for the wash that Jungkook promised he’d do after helping de-tangle your hair.

He’s ever so gentle, and never once complains when your head tips forward too far, or you fidget, feet numb from the way you’d sat on them.

He’d helped you wash your face, having you sat on the counter as he brushed your teeth before chucking you in one of his old sweaters he’d left at your place. Folded neatly where he’d left it the last time he’d spent the night, other items of his clothing slung over your desk and the frame of your bed.

“I’ll wash up while you sort this room out, okay?” he smiles, tugging your curtains open.

You watch orange light flood into your room, eyes transfixed on the full moon as Jungkook plugs your lamp in beside your bed before he makes his way into the kitchen. You wonder how long it had been since you’d star gazed.

You wonder why the stars seem to shine that little bit brighter than they had the last time you’d looked at them. Something acutely similar to Jungkook’s eyes when they light up, passion evident in his gaze, maybe even love. You’d hope it was love, the stars in his eyes always that little bit brighter when he look at you.

Jungkook had always been your little laundry fairy, easily navigating your washing machine with ease, even before the two of you were dating. His new domestic passion being washing up. Something about his hands soaking in bubbly water and clean dishes bringing an extra sparkle to his eyes. Almost as sparkly as when the two of you locked gazes.

You didn’t particularly like washing the dishes, always finding your hands felt grossly dry afterwards where no amount of sweet smelling hand cream could redeem the damage done.

Your boyfriend has had a few too many conversations with you about what chores he’d take on if the two of you were to ever move in together. And you had been more than happy when he’d stepped forward for washing up and laundry duty.

Your gaze snaps towards the door when you hear the grating sound of a pot colliding with your tile flooring.

“You okay?” you call out, bending down to pick up the clothes blanketing your floor.

“I’m fine!” Jungkook shouts, “The handle was slippy”

✯ ✯ ✯

“Thank you” you whisper, tucking Jungkook’s hair behind his ear.

He smiles, “Stop thanking me.”

“I just feel really shitty that you have to do all of this stuff for me”

Jungkook’s arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer to his body until your nose nudges his chest. Your eyes slip closed, body hyper aware of your boyfriend’s fingers as they brush up across your back.

“I don’t have to do anything. I do it because I want t— hey, what’s wrong” he frowns, peeking down at you when he hears a sniffle.

Your hands come to cover your face, body shaking, chest jittery as a sob wracks throughout you.

“Nothing” you hiccup, “You’re just too good to me”

Jungkook laughs, nudging you onto your back before he’s pushing himself up— body caging your own. “You forget all the things you do for me too” his arms flex as he eases a kiss over your eyelids.

Your arms wrap around his neck, tugging him down for a kiss. It’s salty, tightness in your chest chocking you as you tilt your head.

Jungkook’s tongue licks at the seam of your lips, a silent request for access. Your lips part, another tear slipping down your cheek.

“No more crying, my star” Jungkook whispers, lips moving against your own. He pulls back briefly, watching your eyes search his own. Watching as they glisten with unshed tears, his thumb gentle as he brushes it over your wet cheeks.

“I’m sorry” you swallow, hand coming to wipe your eyes, only Jungkook stops you, back of his fingers brushing the delicate skin under your eyes, always worried you pull at them too much when you get upset.

“No more apologies either, okay?”

You nod, lips parting in awe. Smile pulling onto Jungkook’s face, and you’re kissing him again.

Your fingers thread into his the back of his hair, tugging gently, an attempt to mould yourselves further into one another.

One of your hands trail down the front of his body, hand firmly pressing against his cock.

Jungkook pulls his face away from you, “We don’t have to do that, pretty. I didn’t come here to have sex” he pants, tongue laving over his bottom lip.

“I know” your voice breathy, “Still want you”

Your hand squeezes his cock over his sweatpants, twitch of interest dampening your panties as you feel him slowly harden.

“You sure?” he presses a kiss to your jaw.

“Mhmm” you hum, impatient fingers pulling the sweater over your head, panties easily shucked off and thrown onto the floor, your boyfriend following you as he sits up, pulling his clothes off.

Jungkook’s thumb parts your slit, coated in a thick sheen of your arousal— and you moan as he brushes over your clit. Thumbing meanly over your little bud as he leans down for another kiss.

He drinks in your moans, lips swollen, glistening in a mixture of both your saliva as his tongue prods into your mouth— always having liked it a little wet and messy.

Your hips buck up, fingers clasping the sheets as a fingers teases over your entrance.

Your mouth falls open as Jungkook presses a finger into you, lips sucking the skin of your neck.

“Feels good” you whine, walls clamping around his finger as his thumb continues to brush over your clit.

“Yeah?” he croons, pulling his finger out before adding another. Curling them deliciously.

Your hands blindly trail down his body, nails accidentally dragging across Jungkook’s cock-head. He lurches forward, thumb pressed firmer against your clit and you cry out from the shock of pleasure that fizzles up your spine.

“Sorry” you pant.

“Fucking hell, tell me next time” he laughs, head falling between your tits as your hand wraps around his shaft.

“M’ close” you warn, thighs clamping around Jungkook’s hand, though that barely deters him, relentless as he scissors you open; wet squelch meeting your ears with every thrust into you.

You tip over the edge as he eases a third finger into you, “I’m cumming” your thighs shaking around his hand as he brings your slick up over your clit— messily elongating your orgasm with quick flicks of his wrist.

Your hand falls away from his cock, Jungkook’s nose scrunching up as it slaps wetly against your thigh. Bead of pearly pre-cum staining your skin.

Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him into another kiss as his fingers ease on your clit, dipping between your slit before he’s slicking his cock up with your cum.

“Think you’ll be okay?” he murmurs against your lips, running the tip of his cock over your cunt, your eyes squeezing shut as the tip nudges your clit.

Your hips jolt upwards, and Jungkook laughs. A hearty one that has you smiling up at him.

“I love you”

Jungkook presses another peck to your lips, “I love you”

Your fingers part your pussy lips, and Jungkook’s holds the base of his cock, lining himself up with your entrance.

“So pretty” he murmurs, entranced.

You squirm under his gaze, cheeks flushing red as Jungkook’s eyes meet your own.

His smile had always started with his eyes, worming its way towards his lips as he gently pushes into you— head of his cock splitting you open.

Jungkook’s fingers thread with your own, hips languid as he thrusts into you. Your eyes flit between his, watching as his eyebrows furrow in the building pleasure he’s feeling.

There’s nothing rushed in Jungkook’s movements, the mere act of the two of you connecting in such an intimate way fulfilling enough. The raw emotions swimming behind his eyes with each wet squelch of your sodden cunt that overshadows both of your shaky breathing, is enough to slowly bring you hurdling towards another high.

You squeeze his fingers, thighs wrapping around Jungkook’s waits as he leans down, wet, open mouth kisses pressed to your tits— gentle thrum of pleasure sparking down your body as his tongue laves over your nipple.

“I’m close, pretty. Cum with me” Jungkook grunts, eyes closing in utter bliss.

One of your hands slip out of his grasp, worming between your bodies until you brush over your clit.

“Good girl, play with yourself for me”

Jungkook rocks into you, hips stuttering as he nears his release, thighs clapping obscenely against your ass. Your fingers pick up their pace on your clit, staccato of moans tumbling past your lips— Jungkook’s deep groan harmonizing with you.

“Gonna cum” you hiccup, thighs tightening their hold they have on your boyfriend.

You feel his cock twitch, cry of pure pleasure muffled by his lips as Jungkook’s release paints your walls white. And that’s what pushes you over the edge, the world around you seems to muffle, crackling in your ears as you feel unadulterated pleasure course throughout your body in thick waves.

“Well done” Jungkook’s hips pull back a fraction before he’s pushing back into you, “Did so well for me” he croons.

Your chest stutters out a breath, hands mindlessly grasping onto any part of Jungkook you can hold on to. Warmth of his sweat slicked skin helping the buzz of your high melt. Bodies still one, the closest the two of you will ever physically be.

“You okay?” he whispers, lips pressed against your forehead and you nod; legs falling from around his waist.

“Thank you, Kook”

He snickers, “You don’t have to thank me for this, darling” he pushes the sweaty strands of hair from your forehead.

“Not for this” your nose scrunches up at him, “Just—“ you start, lip tucked under your teeth, “Just for everything”

“I love you”

Your muscles relax, giggle bubbling up your throat, “I love you more”

“We should have put a towel down, we just cleaned the sheets” he groans, falling on top of you.

You wheeze out a breath as his full weight settles over you; groaning as your walls clench around his cock that’s still nestled inside of you.

“I have a surprise for you” Jungkook’s lifts his head, and you crane your neck.

“Surprise?”

“Yeah, go pee and then I’ll show you” he tucks your hair behind your ear.

You thighs twitch at the slow drag of his softened cock as he slips out of you.

Jungkook’s fingers drag through your slit as his cum leaks out your hole, a whine pulled from the back of your throat as he fingers his cum back into you.

“How messy” he teases, and your cunt clenches around nothing as he smears his cum over your pussy, “Let me help clean you up”

Your boyfriend scoots down the bed, trail of kisses setting your skin alight as he makes himself comfortable between your legs.

He kisses over your clit, tongue flicking out, toying with the swollen little bud before he’s wrapping his lips around it. He continues to push his cum back into your sodden cunt, walls pulling him in until he’s knuckle deep inside of you.

You whine as he crooks his fingers upwards, stomach tensing as he slowly drags them out of you, mouth leaving sloppy kisses over your entrance, tongue teasing as he circles your hole.

You moan at the lewd noises your cunt makes, burning hot pleasure shooting straight to your throbbing clit as Jungkook’s fingers draw tight circles over the bundle of nerves.

“Cum on my tongue” Jungkook pulls away briefly, only to shove his face further into your cunt, scooping out his own cum and letting it coat his tongue.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, shuddering as his nose nudges against your clit, “I’m cumming” you whine, hips bucking into Jungkook’s face. Using him to get yourself off.

Jungkook hums, vibrations thrusting you head first into another orgasm, body still thrumming with the aftershocks of your previous high.

Jungkook doesn’t stop, tongue licking a bold stripe up your pussy, lips wrapping themselves your clit again— teeth gently scraping over the sensitive skin.

You sob, thighs clamping around his head. Another gush of slick leaks out your cunt and that’s all it takes for Jungkook to finally pull away.

You moan into the kiss as he holds himself up over you, mixture of your releases coating your lips. Jungkook’s chin shiny with your thick arousal. “Always so good for me”

✯ ✯ ✯

“Careful there’s another step” Jungkook warns, arms wrapping around you waist, helping you up the final step.

Your hands remain over your eyes, blindly trusting that Jungkook wouldn’t let you hurt yourself. A sentiment that doesn’t fly over his head, something he definitely thinks about way more than most boyfriends would— but he simply can’t help himself when it comes to you. Everything you’ve ever done is effortlessly perfect to him, and the fact you trusted him like this is enough to have him pressing kisses in all your favorite places.

“What are we doing?” you dare ask, knowing he wouldn’t give you a hint. He’d be adamant on keeping it a secret as the two of you showered and he helped you change.

Goosebumps prickle the skin of your arms when a door swings open. Breeze pushing your hair out of your face as Jungkook pulls you outside. First gust of fresh air causing the hair on the back of your neck to raise.

You’d always believed the night to be cathartic, something almost healing about simply living while people slept. The air always a little fresher, freedom easier to grasp. The world at ease when night fell, where the sky felt closer to the ground; endless possibilities sat at your feet like you finally had control over your life.

“Open your eyes” Jungkook gently pulls your hands away from your eyes.

You look around, “We’re on the roof?” you turn back to Jungkook, eyes furrowing in confusion.

“Look up” he points to the sky.

Your head tips back, mouth opening in awe at how clear the skies were— a million little stars winking at the two of you. Flickering like little fireflies, and you can’t help but smile as you spot a shooting star. Silent wish on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook seems to have the same idea as his eyes flutter closed.

Jungkook pulls the blanket off his shoulder after making his wish, spreading it out on the floor. One the two of you had used countless times for picnic dates in the park.

“I thought we could stargaze. There aren’t any clouds tonight” he pats the blanket. Silent invitation for you to join him.

You wonder if it were possible to fall in love with someone all over again. Whatever love you felt for them amplifying until all you can feel in an inexplainable love for someone else.

Love is never linear. Never constant. It influxes, where maybe the lines of yours and Jungkook’s love cross paths every now and again when the two of you spend time alone like this. Everything seeming ever so easy when all that existed in your worlds were one another— orbiting until every other planet in the solar system is out of reach, where you’ll always stay together even as the universe crumbles around you.

Loving Jungkook has always been so easy. And truly you believe that for as long as there are stars in the sky, your love will forever be with him. Trusting that he’ll delicately hold your heart as you hold his, because there’s no one else in the entire universe you’d rather have by your side than your best friend.

“I really love you” you blurt, as the both of you lay side by side, “I love you doesn’t feel like enough to explain it”

“I feel like that a lot. It’s a weird feeling” he hums thoughtfully, and you nod your agreement.

“I like it” you murmur, fingers finding Jungkook’s, pinkies intertwined, “It’s a good feeling”

“I like it too” Jungkook turns his head to look at you, endeared smile on his face when you meet his eyes, “My star girl”

You smile at that, tilting your head, featherlight kiss pressed against Jungkook’s lips. Where he chases after you for another, and then another.

“There’s a meteor shower in a few weeks, we should go camping and watch it” Jungkook tells you mindlessly, a thought he’d been meaning to bring up days ago but had been lost somewhere in the dark corners of his mind.

“I’d like that” you nod, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“I’d like that too” his nose scrunches up, and you kiss it; laughter bubbling up Jungkook’s chest, contagious as you start to giggle too.

Meeting Jeon Jungkook had been the luckiest part of your life, and maybe he was your special star. The one you always find whenever you turn towards the sky, no matter where you are, always watching over you.

To Jungkook, he’s more than certain you’re his. You’d always be the prettiest star in his universe, and he’ll continue to follow you until you fizzle out into stardust.

🪐 thank you so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

request:

[moonblossom7]

Lucifer x gender neutral reader

Could be platonic or romantic, depends how u look at it.

Genre: comfort/ very light angst (maybe)

Warnings: anxiety, light suicidal thoughts 

A/N : I wrote this while I was low-key spiraling about how some important parts of my future are entirely out of my control, so while I tried to make sure it was generic comfort, some parts might be me specific idk

God, you felt sick. It felt like there was a storm in your stomach or maybe a witch's cauldron. Either way it was a horrible, queasy, twisting feeling. You tried your hardest to ignore it. you knew focusing on the feeling the thoughts caused only made it worse. But God, this was awful.

It felt like there was an elephant sitting on your chest and lead in your very soul. And your mind was running a million miles a minute. Bouncing from horrible thought to unlikely solution to worse case scenario and then around and around in an endless loop.

You tried to reason with yourself. The worse that can happen is dying, and death isn't so bad... But maybe the path to it was. There were so many ways it could happen, so much that could cause it, and maybe it might be better to do it yourself,at least that takes the 'what if' out of it. But then everyone would be sad, and do you really wanna die? No,not really, you just want to feel better. But it's not really possible to feel better,is it?

You decided to just get out of your room. Maybe go visit Luke, he could always cheer you up. Or curl up for a nap with Belphie. You were sure you could bribe him into making sure you have pleasant dreams.

You'd be grateful for any distraction from anyone.

You were so lost in thought, the awful combination of trying to find a solution with the anxious onslaught of unsettling thoughts, that you turned a corner and actually walked right in to Lucifer.

"Ouch" you mumbled, rubbing where you'd hit him just a bit harder than your body cared for. "I'm so sorry" you said quickly, looking up at him. You stammered your way through an excessive apology, but Lucifer was hardly listening.

"Are you alright?" He interrupted. "You look... unwell." Unwell was an understatement. Your skin had taken on a shade so pale that you could blend in amongst ghosts and you were more than a little shaky.

You nodded. He gave you a questioning look, to which you sighed and said,"Not really but..." Your voice trailed off and you shrugged.Lucifer studied you for a moment. He then turned, walking off to the kitchen. "Follow me."

Now, usually you'd argue a little, just for fun,say that he couldn't just boss you around and all that. But you hardly had the energy so you just followed a few steps behind.

Once in the kitchen, Lucifer began digging around in cabinets and looking through shelves. He sat aside some odd looking herbs and berries,or at least they looked odd to you.

"Tell me what's bothering you" he said,as he began making tea of some kind. You just watched for a minute, trying to remember if you'd ever seen him do something like this. It was a domestic thing, and you tended to think of him as too serious and professional to do anything of the sort.

Slowly, you began to tell him what was causing your problems, trying very hard not to say it a way that made it seem dumb. He listened attentively, nodding and humming occasionally to show he was listening.

"Well, my dear... your worries are certainly nothing I've experienced, however...I do sympathize." He said after a while, passing you a cup of tea. You took a sip, and it was horribly bitter at first. The bitterness gave way to warmth and a pleasant, slightly sluggish feeling though, so you kept drinking.

"I think you're thinking too much in absolutes." Lucifer said gently. "There is always a tomorrow. There is always an end to things, even if they seem daunting and like you won't survive them. This will pass,as all things do. In the meantime, do what you can to find hope."

You nodded. This was much more optimistic than you'd expect from him, but it was a good change of pace.

"You aren't alone in this." He continued. "You have your friends, your family..." He placed his hand on yours and looked into your eyes, like it was crucial you pay attention. "And you have me. I'm here for you, and I will be for as long as you need me."

You smiled. "Thank you." You mumbled.

"Of course. Now, how about we go somewhere comfortable-a spot by the fire, perhaps? And get you calmed down more?" Lucifer said, kindly. You agreed, taking your mug and following him. The two of you settled in by the fire. Lucifer wrapped a blanket around you as casually as he could manage.

He watched you as you watched the flames. He saw the muscles in your face relax and the color return to your cheeks. He preferred this. He knew he could be aggravating to you sometimes, other times frightening, but he always preferred when he managed to make you feel at peace. 

You leaned against him, the dread in your stomach slowly melting away. You didn't know if it was the tea or his company, but you were glad something made you feel better. Lucifer held you close. "I'm here for you." He said again. "And I always will be."

[theloveliestloona]

Danger!Miss Circle x Reader - Circle returns home after a long mission - Part 2

Miss Circle/Fundamental Paper Education by @/A3DGhost on X/Twitter

Danger AU by @/cho_to10720 on X/Twitter

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warnings - mentions of reader losing weight (not significant to the story), ooc??, Circle doesn't have a flamethrower arm, kind of short (lazy)

Part 1

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Song - Always Forever - The Cults

You know you’ve got me in your pocket

You don’t just have to wait around

You know I’ll keep you in my locket

Just come here and we can settle down

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“I’m here now.” She whispered against your dampened cheek with another kiss. “I'm not going anywhere.” Another kiss.

They were addicting. Like a familiar drug — nothing could replace the feeling of Circle’s warm lips against you. Each gentle caress of her lips chipped away at the tormenting loneliness that had encapsulated your very being, making you feel whole once again.

Circle was determined to rid you of your sorrows—to chase away the emptiness that had found its home in your heart. She continued to whisper soft reassurances into your skin; her voice, once strained, was now softened. It was the way she’d always spoken with you. Circle had almost been afraid she’d forget how to use it, but it returned to her like a much-needed breath after being submerged in the suffocating harshness of war for so long.

Your heart-wrenching sobs slowly filtered into flustered, albeit tired, giggles. She finally ceased her onslaught of kisses, pulling away to simply admire the beautiful woman before her. She noted the slight hollow in your cheeks, evidence that you hadn't cared for yourself. She understood it all too much. If it weren't for the pressure to succeed in battle, she likely would've fallen down the same path.

However, she couldn't ignore the guilt she felt seeing you in such a state. She wanted to apologize endlessly, to convey how awful she felt leaving you alone for so long. But she still knew you. She was well aware any attempts to blame herself would be futile—you were adamant on blaming anything else but her, even if it meant attacking yourself.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice, as it always did, pulled her out of the endless spiral of an unforgiving guilty conscience. She shook her head, dismissing the daunting thoughts to focus on you—not your malnourishment, but your well-being as a whole. Her fingertips graced the skin of your delicate cheek, admiration replacing the worry in her eyes.

“You look tired.” Circle murmured, her voice far from accusing — but not worried either. She was observing. She'd always been observant or calculating — always assuming every problem had a set solution.

“I'm exhausted,” you breathed with a sheepish chuckle before continuing, “but I'm sure it's nothing compared to how you're feeling.”

She nodded, though, no matter how endearing the idea of sleep seemed, Circle didn't want to waste any more precious moments that could be better spent with you. Sleep meant dreams, and dreams usually meant nightmares. She was scared to get stuck in them as she did so many times away from you. She knew she should've been more confident that laying beside you, your presence, would chase them away. But now, she could only think about being torn away from you once again. That idea alone was enough to bring a crashing wave of dread that swept away her exhaustion, leaving her to suffer the awareness of her body'sthreat to collapse.

On the other hand, Circle felt incredibly selfish in keeping you awake. She hated that she knew you wouldn't sleep if she didn't follow you.

“We’re together now. None of that matters.” Circle finally responded, the contemplating furrow of her brows softening. A content hum elicits from her throat as your fingers find their way through her hair, settling against her scalp. The gentle touch contrasted the harshness she’d been so used to — even more so as you push her head back against your chest, back against the steady lullaby of your heart.

“Rest, my love,” you whispered — she felt the overwhelming need to comply.

“Tomorrow is a new day.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

[lynnerdo]

* The heart is not meant to rule *

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader

Tag list: @wo-ming-bai

Slow burn, knife kink, blood kink, strangers to lovers, softer!Feyd-Rautha, CONSENT, 18+, arranged marriage, assassination, poison, murder, etc

Previous Chapter - Herald of the Change Current Chapter - Leaving Caladan

***

The journey to Giedi Prime was a mix of tension and excitement. As the Atreides ship descended, you couldn't ignore the anticipation thrumming through you. Upon arrival, the Harkonnen stronghold appeared as imposing as ever, the atmosphere inside laden with formality. Yet, despite the stoic surroundings, the glances exchanged between you and Feyd were almost giddy with unspoken emotion.

The formalities seemed endless. Feyd stood beside you, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the cold decorum. When he finally had a chance, he pulled you aside, his eyes filled with gratitude and warmth.

"Let me explain," he began, his voice low. "The Baron made the mistake of using poison from Caladan. Let’s just say I’ve grown quite immune to it."

He smirked, but he meant it, he was happy about it. He wanted to kiss you all over to thank you, but people were watching so he had to find the strength in him to supress the emotions. He spotted right there that you were wearing the pendant he gave you. His eyes turned soft for a few seconds when he looked at you and he had trouble abiding by his own laws.

“Feyd, I-“he cut you off by crashing his lips on yours.

He hadn’t heard your voice in so long, he forgot how mad it used to drive him even before the two of you were married. Fuck formalities, he was Baron now, he would be able to do what he wanted. You kissed him back fiercely, allowing him to press you against the wall of the cold palace, his hand snaking down your back and holding you close to him. His tongue darting on yours, making you blush at how intense and open he was with you.

“I love you, Baroness”, he whispered as he broke the kiss.

Duke Leto and Lady Jessica observed from a distance. Leto's stern expression softened, while Jessica's eyes were bright with a rare joy.

"The path is now set and secured," she said, her voice filled with reassurance and hope.

As the evening wore on, the formal events finally concluded. Your family retired to their quarters, leaving you alone with Feyd. He took your hand, his touch gentle but firm.

"Come with me," he whispered, leading you through the quiet corridors of the Harkonnen stronghold to your private room.

Once inside, Feyd turned to you, his eyes vulnerable. He knelt before you, taking both your hands in his.

"You have my loyalty and my heart."

His voice trembled with emotion, and you felt your own heart swell in response.

"I owe you everything. Your love, your support—it kept me alive. And now, all my dreams for the future, they’re because of you."

Tears welled in your eyes as the depth of his words sank in.

"I love you, beyond anything I ever thought possible," he continued, his voice breaking slightly. "Together, we can face any prophecy, any challenge."

His sincere confession made your tears flow freely. You realized in that moment just how deeply you loved each other, how your bond had become unbreakable. Feyd looked up at you, his own eyes moist with emotion, clearly surprised but moved by your tears.

"I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Whatever the future holds, as long as we’re together, I know we can face it."

Feyd rose, pulling you into a tender embrace. The warmth of his body, the strength of his arms around you, made you feel safe and cherished.

"I love you," he murmured into your hair. "More than anything."

As you held each other, the significance of this moment deepened. It felt like the dawn of a new era, a future where your love would conquer all adversities. The prophecies that once seemed daunting now held a glimmer of hope.

[thepaintedlady00]

Burden

Part 5

Part 4 | Part 6

TW: fluff, a bit of mutual pining some slightly scary descriptions (nothing too major), Dream's kind of a simp in this part and I'm here for it, a bit of heart-wrenching angsty character death to prepare you all for Part 6 😅

“You can’t be serious,” the smooth voice purred dripping with condescension and judgment.

You huffed and pushed past them. “You are not welcome here.”

Desire laughed, a sound you hated more than any other. They turned to you, the exaggerated smile on their lips the only thing that made their current appearance flawed. The dark hair and pale skin were unsettling, but the way they mimicked his eyes truly made you uncomfortable. “I knew all those years ago that I felt something shift in your pitiful little pool of desire, but this…” they clicked their tongue as they pulled at the dark fabric that adorned them. “Is simply pathetic.”

“Get. Out.” The low growl of Puck echoed from behind you and the trees groaned as their roots began to shift. 

They rolled their eyes, in a blink returning to the blonde hair and gaudy outfit that suited them best. Desire checked their nails, confident and unbothered by your display. “Come now, Mistake. I came to extend an olive branch after all.”

“There is nothing you could offer me that would make me believe anything that came from your mouth.”

“Ouch,” they whined, pretending to wipe a tear from their eyes. “Trust me or don’t, that’s on you. But I feel compelled to warn you that your little… crush on my big brother will be the end of you.”

You shook your head at them. “I’ve entertained you long enough.”

The roots of the trees bound them tightly, but Desire only chuckled. “One way or another he will cast you aside and remind you that all you are is a Mistake. A Burden. It may not be today or tomorrow, but the time will come.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your side. “Enough.”

This time Desire appeared to be upset at your darker tone. “Suit yourself, but do remember I tried to reason with you.”

The Forest settled almost immediately after the pestering Endless’ presence was gone. You stood on the path, breathing heavily for a moment… shaken by their unannounced presence and even more so by the sting of their words. You’d heard it all before, of course, but Desire was always adept at twisting words and situations to shape how they pleased. Slow pants echoed the path behind you as Puck tiredly made his way to your side. He sat down instantly, looking up at you with sad eyes. “Forgive me, I should have been quicker to apprehend our intruder.”

Your dear companion had grown older quickly. Much like Gaia and the others had. He’d lasted just as long as she did, but you feared his time was nearing its end. You sat beside him, stroking his slightly damp greying fur and letting the rest fade away. Desire’s insults meant nothing, were nothing. It was all just another game, another attempt to rile you into doing something drastic. You’d not let them bait you now. “There is nothing to forgive Puck. Desire wished to speak with me, and they would not have left until they got what they wanted even if you had gotten here first. I am simply glad you’re by my side.”

His snout pressed to your cheek. “I shall be at your side for as long as I am allowed, my lady Daunt.”

*

The earth felt odd beneath your fingertips, damp and soft yet stiff. Abel knelt beside you, guiding your hands with gentle instructions and encouraging words. As time passed with your constant visits to The Dreaming you found yourself drawn to the brothers and their gargoyle companion. They bickered about everything, Cain often killed Abel over minor inconveniences and poorly timed words, but you could still feel the deep bond the two shared. Perhaps they were not close like most brothers would be, but their oddities made you feel more comfortable within the perfection of Dream’s world. 

As you gently placed the plant in the small hole Abel had dug for you a smile crept onto your face. “There you go!” Abel praised, helping you bury it the rest of the way with a laugh. “I told you it would work!”

“As much as I love your enthusiasm the plant has not yet grown,” you pointed out looking down at the little pale-leafed thing. “It’s not likely to, but I suppose it has more of a chance than the others.” You turned, looking over at the white withered plants that had not survived your touch.

Your friend waved dismissively at the words. “This one is going to be the most beautiful flower in our garden, I just know it.”

Cain looked down from over your shoulder and made a low noise of agreement. “If it blooms it will indeed be quite the sight.”

Dusting off your hands you sighed and looked over at The Corinthian who stood against one of the trees a ways from where you all stood. Poor Gregory sniffed at him, tentatively trying to pass him the ball that he adored so much. The Corinthian, of course, ignored the creature's attempts and instead looked over at you, dark shades reflecting Cain and Abel's garden… or more accurately the darkened and dead version of it. “What do you think Corinthian?”

“I think we’ve been here for hours and the tea party has gotten boring.”

“Boring, boring, boring,” you huffed. “Is that all you’re concerned about?”

That sparkling wicked grin of his flash. “Oh, I got plenty more to fuss over.”

You smiled back. “Fuss as you see fit, Dear Corinthian, but do try to let us boring people have some fun as well.”

The nightmare seemed to bristle at your words, as he did much in the months that passed. The Corinthian was hostile by nature, it was his function to be the dark and twisted nightmare that humans feared, but there was something deeper in his darkened shades and his tight smile. Something that you’d seen before in Destruction. Discontentment… A plan begins to shape inside the pearly whites of your friend's eyes. It frightened you, the thought of losing yet another being you called friend. What frightened you more was how poorly Dream would take this departure. You could nearly still feel the cold of his hands around your throat, could nearly still see the cold callous rage that his eyes held. 

As if summoned by thought alone a dark figure walked across the bridge and entered Cain and Abel's beautiful garden of color. The star blue eyes of the Dream King met yours and you offered him a humble smile before turning to look back at your friend, only to find him gone. Cain and Abel rushed to Morpheus’s side, blabbering on and on about the honor and offering him everything they had on hand to please him as he visited. With a calm and smooth face, Dream merely waved the two off. “I’m afraid I’ve only come to retrieve the Lady Daunt.”

“Am I in trouble, Dream Lord?” you teased, slowly making your way toward him.

“Hardly,” he replied, lips perking up into a fraction of a smile. “Lucienne simply wished to show you some books before the sun sets in the Waking World.”

You hummed and curtsied to Cain and Abel. “Thank you both for your time. I always enjoy my visits to your beautiful homes.” Gregory rubbed his head against your arm until you pulled him in for a hug and scratched his chin. “Goodnight Gregory.”

Abel smiled, bright with eyes full of mirth. “It is always a great honor to host you, Lady Daunt.”

“You are always welcome in the House of Mysteries.” Cain bowed lowly.

“And the House of Secrets of course!” Abel bowed even lower.

Walking beside Dream felt lighter now than it had when you first truly entered his realm. There was space between both of you, his hands were always woven together behind his back and yours were always brought together at your front, but the small space that separated your two bodies grew smaller and smaller with each passing day. Sometimes, when you weren’t feeling stubborn, you’d admit to yourself how much you longed to feel him as you had the night in Fiddlers Green. You’d danced once or twice since that night, but those dances never required you to touch. 

It was embarrassing, the feelings that had begun to swell within your chest. This was hardly the first time you’d had them, but those were far more fleeting and small while the new ones… You spared a glance at Morpheus, taking in the way his dark hair grew even messier in the light breeze and the way his pale skin stood out amongst his darkened clothes, the way the ruby shimmered with each movement he made. These feelings were far more complicated… far more laced with danger and pains of the past. It was unlikely either of you would be able to move forward in such a way, and yet it was all you seemed to wish for in recent days. Foolish, You scolded yourself, looking straight ahead again. I refuse to have a measly crush on Dream of the Endless of all beings. Absolutely not.

He couldn’t help but watch you, as you sat beside Lucienne at the library table and politely looked at the books she held before you. Though much time had passed since you first ventured into his realm you’d been cautious of what you touched, though Dream couldn’t exactly blame you for such things. He recalled all the stupid and hurtful comments he’d made to you about the fickleness of your touch. So many times he’d berated you for having the nerve to change what was his, to touch what he’d made with your hands. It was something he thought of often in the quiet moments when he watched you, something he longed to take back. He hoped that with enough time you’d grow more comfortable here and would begin to feel safe enough to reach out and hold the books on your own, to shake his people's hands, and to interact with The Dreaming as he did.

It was not often he could gaze upon you without being blatantly discovered by either you or his librarian, who’d give him a knowing look before silently returning to her work. It was Jessamy that could never keep her beak shut about his long looks. She’d perch on his shoulder for hours after your departure and scold him for not making a move. She didn’t understand, none of them did… none except The Corinthian.

His nightmare was many things, but Dream had never expected him to care about your feelings and certainly hadn’t expected the nightmare to approach him with thinly veiled threats. Dream may have been his creator, his king, but The Corinthian respected you… loved you in a way Dream had never thought possible. It was concerning, but the endless allowed it because The Corinthian made you feel safer here, welcome, and Dream selfishly wanted to see you as often as you would allow.

*

“Something occurred to me the other night,” Dream said thoughtfully as the two of you walked along the pier.

The gentle lapping of water that surrounded you made you feel at ease. This place was one of the few that you knew from before and the familiarity of it made you relax. “Oh?”

“I’ve not ever seen your work.”

“No, I don’t suppose you have,” you mumbled in reply.

Dream made a soft noise, a hum of curiosity. “I would like to.”

“You wish to accompany me?” You asked, turning to look up at him.

He tilted his head and smiled down at you. “I do.”

Anxiousness bubbled up in your throat at the thought of what his sudden request meant. Desire’s poisonous words echoed in your mind as you looked into his deep eyes, searching for any fragment of the hate and the anger and the disgust that he’d held for you not too long ago. For a moment you thought about refusing him, of telling him he could follow another night… but the longer you looked into those eyes of his the more you wanted him to come with you. It was often lonely, traversing the minds of creators and hiding away their beloved thoughts of inspiration and creativity. Dream could perhaps help ease that feeling, or of course, he could make it worse.

“You would have to abide by my function,” you reminded him. “I did not think you would be so willing to cause your beloved human's such distress.”

He offered only a light chuckle in response before turning away from you. “I suppose I shall leave you to it then.”

“No!” You hurried and grabbed him by the sleeve, huffing out a breathy laugh as he turned back to you with a smug expression. Damn him. “You can join me if you wish to.”

You stepped off the pier and stood on the water, looking back up at him with a smile as you held your hand out for him to either take or reject. There was a pause as the air around you filled with mist and echoed cries of dissonant voices and for a moment you could have sworn Dream looked uncertain. The usual plainness of his features had downcast into a thoughtful and hesitant look. Still, he took a step forward and took hold of your hand letting you guide him out onto the water. The mist curled around the two of you as you stood, the voices growing louder as he looked around. “Now what?”

It was your turn to smirk at him as your hand tightened around his and you replied, “Now you hold on.”

The water below your feet sucked the two of you into the depths of unconscious thoughts. The darker beings that dwelt within forged a path away from you, further than they normally did because of their creator's presence at your side. The rush of it all never lasted long, the water rushed by you pulling and desperate as it always was, but this time there was a gentle nature to it, a caress of something that felt oddly like Dream’s magic. His hand tightened around yours as one voice began to cry out louder than the rest and you soon found yourself standing in an ornate dance studio.

You discreetly checked to make sure Dream was still beside you before you walked deeper into the space, weaving around the statues of dancing figures. This dreamer was one you’d been expecting to see again. He stood looking over papers scribbled with the foot placements he had slaved over for years. The dreamer's face was pursed tightly, scrutinizing the work in front of him, a look you’d seen far too many times. Lifting your palm you gently blew a haze of mist toward him, watching as the papers caught in its pull and swirled around the room, hanging high in the air as the dreamer jumped and whined trying to grab them.

He turned to you, eyes filling with tears as he shook his head in anger. “Why? Why must you torment me, witch?”

For a moment you felt Dream’s power pulse to life beside you, but it silenced when you set a gentle hand on his arm and walked toward the dreamer. “You do not need them.”

“I do,” he insisted as tears began to spill from his eyes. “I cannot dance without the steps.”

You lifted your hand to his face, gently wiping away the sparkling liquid. “You already know the steps. Now you must only trust in your feet.”

The dreamer looked up at his work and shook his head. “No, I need them.”

Stepping out into the large space you slowly began to move through the steps of his dance, moves you’d grown familiar with during each of your visits. The dreamer watched you for a moment before he hesitantly fell into step beside you and began moving with you through the various dancing movements. You smiled at him and stopped, gesturing for him to continue. “Trust your feet.”

You and Dream stood beside one another and watched as the papers above slowly began falling to the ground as the dreamer danced through them with ease, laughter, and joy filling the dancing studio with golden hues of light and misty figures of dancing people. Another voice echoed in the space, drawing you away from the dancing and toward the mist with the Dream Lord at your side. The walk through the mist was almost always a long affair, shapes of trees and figures occasionally caused you to drift to one side or the other. Usually, it would be walked in silence, but as you moved Dream spoke, “You helped him.”

Looking over at him you nodded. “That is part of my function.”

“I…” he paused, shaking his head. “I suppose I always thought it would be far more malicious than that.”

Thoughts of what Desire had told you as well as that familiar dull ache of old pain roiled within you. “Do you think me a cruel being, Lord Morpheus?”

His starry eyes lit in the dark mist. “Perhaps I did long ago. Perhaps I was too keen on making you the villain that I could not see the truth of your nature, though it was bare before me.”

“I don’t fault you,” you said softly. “For many years I was unknown to you, a stranger with access to parts of your home without your knowledge or consent. I can only imagine what it must have been like for you.”

“That first hundred years was quite… stressful. However, there was no need for me to continue such unpleasant behavior. You did not deserve such treatment.”

You smiled at him as the mist began to thin. “I hope we can put the ugliness of the past behind us now.”

The dark sleeve of his coat gently rubbed against your arm as the two of you gravitated closer together. “That is my hope as well.”

When the mist finally cleared the two of you stood in a crowded theatre filled with mumblings and low whispers. On the stage, a woman dressed in a beautiful gown and fine jewels stood, wide-eyed and fearfully looking out at the crowd. You walked toward the stage as the conductor hissed heated words at the poor girl and gently you took her hand, drawing her eyes to you. She almost sobbed. “I cannot sing… I cannot remember the words.”

“We’ll sing it together then,” you offered as you began humming the beginning note.

The two of you slowly worked past the awkward and soft start and steadily the fear began to dwindle from the singer's eyes as she found herself remembering the words and the notes. It was only when she began to look away from you, to engage with the crowd that you’d let go of her hand and silently slipped back into the crowd beside Dream.

He didn’t understand how he could have ever thought you were cruel. The more he thought about it the more obvious it was that he’d never truly witnessed an occasion in which you’d enjoyed the darker aspects of your duty. Your function was not unlike his, he after all was responsible for the nightmares that also plagued humanity. As he watched you hold the singer's hand and sing gently beside her, voice soft and melodic, Dream found himself lost within your voice. Even when you spoke he felt pulled to you, but now, it was undeniable that Dream of the Endless found you beautiful… more than beautiful.

When you rejoined him in the crowd he had to actively stop himself from reaching out to touch you, and the whole walk to the next location he had to remind himself to keep his feet moving forward so as not to drift closer to you. When the familiar tall trees and darkened misty woods opened up around you two, Dream noticed you stiffen. The Forest may have been your realm, but it seemed that when the dreams of others were involved you did not feel comfortable within its woods, and as the two of you walked further into the depths of The Forest he understood why.

There in front of you looking around lost and afraid was a small child, ten at the oldest. Children were a sore spot for Dream, something only his closest confidants knew. You approached the child with gentleness and patience, kneeling to look into her eyes as she turned to you. “I’ve lost it. It was the best and most beautiful thing and I’ve lost it.”

“The Forest tends to draw in many beautiful things,” you explained softly. “If you follow the path you will find what was lost.”

The child looked ahead at the path down an even darker portion with mist and gnarled trees. “I am afraid.”

You smiled at her. “I shall be beside you, but it is you that must lead the way.”

With a timid nod, the child took your hand and you turned, quietly telling Dream to follow behind at a distance. The two of you walked hand in hand down the narrow pathway as Dream watched with a tender and remorseful feeling in his chest. For this one quiet moment, he allowed himself to think of his son, to remember what it had been like to be a father to such a small and fragile being. Dream remembered when you’d found out about his son and had congratulated him, even though he’d been nothing but cruel to you during that visit. As he watched you now, kind and patient and gentle, he regretted not introducing you to his son… regretted every time he made you flee Calliope’s side when the two of you just so happened to cross paths. How many times had he driven simple and innocent companionship from your grasp? How many times had he denied you the only thing you ever longed for?

The child's eager cheers echoed back to him as he stepped beside you. A cat, covered in glitter and changing colors leaped down from a tree branch and into the girl's arms. Before she could even turn to thank you she was gone, swallowed by a wave of mist. “Does this happen often?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “The Forest call is a powerful thing. Some creators, no matter how young, get drawn here… pulled into the realm.”

He hummed softly, watching you wave your hand to clear a path through the trees. For a moment neither of you spoke, the question was poisoned on his tongue, wanting and waiting to be spoken. "I've not seen much of your realm."

Looking at him you tilted your head curiously. "No, you're not. I did not think you would find it interesting."

"Would I not?"

"You are used to grand palaces, gold, and marble, subjects to greet you. There is none of that here."

"And yet I still find myself marveling at its beauty." He replied. "I shall bid you goodnight if it is your will, Lady Daunt, but I do find your realm interesting. I would cherish being shown more of it, if and when you would allow such."

You hummed softly at his gentle voice and beautiful eyes. Years ago such a request, especially from him, would have made you feel apprehensive and tense, but now you felt… Seen. This was not the great King of Nightmares or the Dream Lord asking you, it was Morpheus, the endless being behind his vast titles. With a curt nod, you spoke, "There have been some changes that may be to your liking."

He smiled. "Do you intend to keep me in suspense?"

"Perhaps I should," you teased. "I've heard such tales of your patience, great Lord Morpheus."

The sound of his low and joyful laugh sent shivers up your spine, but unlike the times before they were ones of wants and a desire to hear him laugh again. "I am certain you've heard much about me."

An old howl echoed around you and the quiet pants of Pucks breathing fell into step beside you and Dream. He regarded your dark companion with narrowed eyes and then bowed to you. "I trust your duties have been fulfilled for the night, Lady Daunt?"

"Of course darling Puck."

"Do you require assistance banishing the Dream Lord from our realm?"

"Not this time," you assured him, looking at Dream with a smile. "He's asked to receive the tour."

Puck grumbled at your side as you crossed the bridge and walked toward the hut. “I shall accompany you then. Make certain our… guest… remains on his best behavior.”

You knelt and smoothed your hand over his fur. “I am quite certain he’ll behave. You should remain here and rest.”

He growled lowly. “I am to protect you. To remain beside you always. Yet I cannot…”

“You have done that and more.” Pressing your head to your loyal companions you sighed. “I wish for you to rest now, my friend. If only for a few moments.”

“Will you call for me, should you need me?”

“Of course, I will.”

Puck said nothing more but followed you to the door to your home. Dream hesitated to follow, but did so once you beckoned him forward. The hut was small, truly only enough room to fit you and Puck inside it, but it was warm and held everything you’d collected from dreamers over the years and things from the Waking World that caught your eye whenever you visited. Puck pulled himself onto your bed and curled up in the center of it, his face illuminated by the fire as you knelt and pressed a kiss to his head. “We won’t be long.”

His bright eyes looked past you toward Dream. “I will not hesitate to hunt you down should any harm befall my lady.”

The Endless nodded. “I mean her no harm.”

When the two of you left Puck to his rest, Dream walked straight toward the wilting garden just down the path. He examined each plant with a gentle touch. “Abel thinks I can get them to grow eventually. He says I frighten them.”

“Frighten the plants?” He replied with a chuckle. “You are rather terrifying.”

“Only when I need be,” you insisted, gently stroking down a dark leaf. “I hope to see them bloom one day. They would be so beautiful.”

“They will be,” Dream agreed. “Now, you said there had been changes to your realm. I must admit I am curious.”

You nearly blushed under his soft gaze. “They aren’t anything extravagant.”

“No gold?”

“No gold, I’m afraid you remain the King of such finary.”

It wasn’t often you walked through The Forest without Puck, but with his health declining you’d not ventured far in a while. It felt nice to do so with someone beside you, someone that appeared to be enjoying the gnarled trees and misty ground. Whether it was an act or genuine you didn’t know, nor did you care. He was here… He was curious and that was all that mattered. The two of you walked for a while longer before you came to the mossy willows whose white leaves and fuzzy patches had sunlight filtering through them. You’d noticed it a week ago, noticed how this small part of the path was brighter than the rest with hardly any mist and bright golden rays of the sun.

"Sunlight!" You breathed smiling up at him. "There's sunlight here, Morpheus!"

He smiled, eyes shimmering in the golden glow. "Indeed there is."

"It's so beautiful," you insisted looking up at it, feeling the heat of it on your face.

"Yes, it is," he replied, though it was not the sun he looked at but rather your glowing face... Your happiness. That was the true beauty in the Dream Lords' eyes.

You felt vulnerable, felt like you would shrink under his intense gaze, and yet you enjoyed it. Blushing you shook your head and began leading him toward the mountains. “Pardon my enthusiasm. I’ve never seen the sun here.”

Morpheus bent over, catching your gaze. “I enjoy your enthusiasm, Daunt. It is so rare that I am present to see it.”

You never thought you’d hear the words enjoy and you in the same sentence. Smiling even brighter you came to the cave's mouth and entered the darkness without hesitation or fear. Behind you Morpheus paused. You turned, offering up your hand once again. “Come now, Dream Lord, if I’d wanted to smite you I’d not do it in the dark.”

The damp darkness of the caves didn’t frighten you anymore, in fact, you found the constant dripping and slight smell of moss to be comforting now. The deeper you got the stronger the smell grew until you reached the larger area where the ceiling glowed a vibrant blueish green and crystals of every size and color shimmered around you. Morpheus’ face changed from slight doubt to awe. “It is beautiful here.”

“It is,” you agreed. “However what I wanted to show you is up ahead.”

“You have something grander than this?”

With a simple shrug, you pressed forward. “Perhaps not grander, but it’s my favorite spot here.”

As you exited the darkness The Forest opened up around you with tall trees of emerald surrounding a wide open lake of sapphire blue. From where you stood on the rocks you could see the white fish swimming below, could feel the gentle breeze that blew a small tuff of mist over the top of the water. It was peaceful here, quiet… home.

Morpheus stood beside you, eyes roaming over every inch of the space you shared with him, bright and full of wonder. He breathed in a deep breath and smiled. “The air feels lighter here.”

Stepping off the rocks you stood on the water and gestured for him to follow. “Would you dance with me, Morpheus?”

“Dancing with you is something I could never tire of.” He took your hand and the two of you glided across the surface of the water, dancing until the skies above you cleared to a clear view of starlight.

You tilted your head back, looking up at the stars with tears in your eyes. “Thank you for asking to come with me.”

“It was enlightening,” he admitted, his eyes glued to you. “Thank you for showing me your home.”

You looked back down at him and sighed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I am simply glad you wished to see it.”

“Goodnight, Daunt.”

“Goodnight, Morpheus.”

*

The day was one you dreaded for a long while. You sat on the bridge with Puck in your lap, quiet and sad as his breaths grew more labored every moment. It wouldn't be long now. He'd kept his final days simple, walks with you through dreams and The Forest, nights watching the fireflies and afternoons beside the lake. You had fulfilled every wish, all but one.

"I do not want to leave you."

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you pressed your face into his fur. "I do not want you to go."

"When Death comes, I do not want you to remain."

"I will not abandon you."

Puck whined softly. "I do not wish for my last look upon you to be etched with sorrow. I cannot pass on to the next life knowing I left you in such pain."

After a long moment of silent thought, you nodded. "Very well, my darling Puck."

"Thank you, my Lady Daunt."

It wouldn't be long now.

Death was rarely the one who sought out Dream, but she clearly believed that this time his presence would be helpful. She walked with him beside her, quiet and thoughtful as he always was before that curiosity finally overtook him. “Where are we going?”

She smiled at him, sad and reverent. “I’ll tell you if you promise to be nice this time.”

His head tilted at her phrasing. This time? “I promise.”

“The Forest.” She told him, realization immediately pulling his lips into a tight frown. “Daunt’s companion will be passing into my lands today. I thought you might… perhaps… be able to offer her comfort.”

“What makes you think she’ll be glad to see me?” He inquired. “Last time I was present for such an intimate exchange I was nearly smothered by roots.”

Death shook her head at him. “You’re not fooling anyone, little brother. You and Daunt have been far too civil as of late.”

He huffed, the breath curling in the air as they shifted through the border and into Daunt's realm. “I was not aware you were watching us.”

“I wasn’t,” Death insisted, only to be met with his smirk and sideways glare. “Okay, maybe I popped in once or twice to check up on things between you two, but I was not watching!” She nudged his arm and offered him a sincere smile. “I’m glad you two are spending time together. She’s sweet and you could use a bit of that.”

The pair grew silent as they crossed the bridge to find Daunt lying beside her greying wolf. She spoke softly to him, her smooth skin gliding across the dull coat of the wolf as it labored in every breath beside her. Dream could see the tears in her eyes, could feel the hurt and fear in the air that surrounded them. He remained behind as Death walked forward and knelt beside the pair. This time it was Daunt that spoke first. “He’s asked me not to stay.”

Death paused, pulling her hand back with a nod. “He won’t be alone.”

“I know,” she whispered, pulling her face into the beast's fur, mumbling a soft farewell to her beloved friend before she stood and placed a hand on Death’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Daunt walked to his side and stared ahead into the thick trees and mist. Dream said nothing as he watched his sister. He said nothing as he tentatively took hold of Daunt’s hand and held it. For a moment the only sound that could be heard was the gentle flap of Death’s wings as she lifted the wolf Puck to the Sunless Lands. The moment that followed was quiet, and then the trees began to groan and shriek as Daunt wept. His firebrand coat wrapped around her and the sounds of the forest grew quiet as he held her in his arms.

[cloudss-space]

Lilies at dawn

( killer chat ) ronin x reader ... fluff ...

trigger warning:

slight gore

Living with Ronin is like waking each morning to the glow of a gentle dawn, his presence the horizon that promises light even on the stormiest of days. His voice, low and steady, carries the warmth of the sun's first rays kissing frosty fields. There is a gentle permanence to his existence, an unyielding gravity that draws you close and holds you steady when the world tilts unexpectedly. You've learned to breathe with him, to let his rhythm synchronise with yours in an unspoken harmony, the kind of cadence that turns ordinary moments into poetry.

Every day, his laughter wraps around you like the familiar weight of a favourite blanket. It is rich, textured and layered, a sound that carries the memories of a thousand shared jokes and countless moments of pure joy. His humour is never cutting, but sharp enough to make you feel seen, to let you know he notices every nuance of your soul. And when you laugh together, it's like music, a melody that only the two of you understand, weaving your lives closer together with every note.

The past four years have felt like a walk through an endless garden. Together, you've planted the seeds of hope, nurtured the fragile shoots of dreams, and rejoiced in the blossoms of shared accomplishment. You've weathered storms, moments when the skies darkened and the ground threatened to give way beneath your feet. But even then, Ronin stood beside you, her hands firmly on yours, a pillar unshaken by the storm. You've learned that love isn't just the flowers; it's the roots, deep and intertwined, that hold strong through the fiercest storms.

In quiet moments, when the world falls away and it's just the two of you, his presence feels like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. There's a constancy about him, a steadiness that makes you feel safe enough to bare your soul. His touch is deliberate, every brush of his hand against yours a reminder that he chooses you, again and again, in ways both great and small. And in his embrace you've found a sanctuary, a space where time slows and the world softens at the edges.

The way Ronin looks at you still makes your heart stumble, a dance it's been practising for four years but hasn't yet mastered. His eyes are a map of places you've been and places you've yet to discover. They hold a quiet admiration, a depth of feeling that words could never fully capture. In his gaze you see not only love, but a reflection of the person he believes you to be - stronger, kinder, more beautiful than you often see yourself.

You've built a language together, a language of shared glances and secret smiles, of touches that speak louder than words. It's in the way he knows when to hold you close and when to give you space, how he senses the unspoken needs you struggle to put into words. And it's in the way you've learned to do the same for him, to read the slight shift of his shoulders, the weight of his silence, the way his hand lingers just a second longer when he needs you to stay close.

Every argument, however rare, has been a lesson in how to love better. They've taught you that love is not perfect, but it is resilient. Ronin never lets the sun set on anger, his apologies are sincere and his arms are always open. You've learned to meet him there, to soften your edges and let your pride dissolve in the face of the deeper truth: that you'd rather be together than right. Those moments forged an unbreakable bond, tempered by fire and made stronger in its wake.

Your adventures together are like pages torn from a storybook, each chapter more vivid than the last. Whether you're scaling the metaphorical mountains of life or wandering aimlessly through quiet, sunlit afternoons, you've discovered that the journey is as much about the company as the destination. With Ronin, every road feels less daunting, every horizon more inviting. His hand in yours is both promise and compass, guiding you through the unknown.

The mundane becomes magical in his presence. Cooking dinner together, folding laundry side by side, even sitting in comfortable silence on a lazy Sunday afternoon - these moments are suffused with a golden glow, transformed by the simple fact of sharing. Ronin has shown you that love doesn't need grand gestures to be profound; it lives in the everyday, in the way he always remembers how you take your tea, or the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your keys.

Four years have passed and his love still feels like a gift you unwrap every day. It's in the way he remembers the little things, the songs you hum absentmindedly, the books you love, the way your eyes light up at the first snowfall. His attention isn't just thoughtful; it's a testament to how deeply he cares, how much of his heart he's given to understanding you, piece by piece, layer by layer.

When you think of the future, it's his silhouette you see standing beside you, steadfast as ever. The years ahead are an unwritten symphony, but you know the melody will be sweet because Ronin will be there, adding his harmony to yours. Together you've built a foundation that feels unshakable, a home not of bricks but of trust, laughter and a love that grows deeper with each passing year.

His imperfections make him human, and his efforts make him extraordinary. Ronin has shown you that love isn't about finding someone perfect, but about choosing each other every day, despite and because of your flaws. He doesn't shy away from vulnerability, and he's taught you to embrace it too, to let down your walls and let him see the parts of you that aren't polished or easy.

Ronin is your partner in every sense of the word. He doesn't just walk beside you, he walks with you, matching your pace, adjusting when necessary, always in tune with the rhythm of your steps. He is the steady beat to your melody, the anchor when your thoughts threaten to drift too far. With him, you've learned the art of true companionship, of being two halves of the same whole without losing your individuality.

Your love story isn't about perfection; it's about perseverance, about showing up for each other even on the days when it feels hard. It's about the quiet, unglamorous work of building a life together, brick by brick, moment by moment. And it's about the joy that comes from knowing that no matter what, you are each other's safe place, each other's home.

Ronin's presence in your life is a gift that can never be taken for granted. His kindness, his patience, his unwavering support - these are the threads that weave through your days, holding everything together. And though you've told him countless times how much he means to you, it never feels like enough, because words can only scratch the surface of the ocean that is your love for him.

Sometimes, late at night, you watch him sleep, his face soft in the moonlight, and you're struck by the sheer magnitude of your gratitude. For him, for the life you've built together, for the countless moments that have made these past four years feel like a lifetime and yet not nearly long enough. In those quiet hours, you trace the contours of his face in your mind, committing every detail to memory, a silent vow to cherish him forever.

With Ronin, love feels like a journey with no destination, just an endless expanse of shared moments and unspoken promises. The past four years have been a testament to how beautiful life can be when you share it with someone who sees you, truly sees you, and loves you for everything you are and everything you're not. And as you look ahead, you know that this love, this life with him, will only grow deeper, richer, more extraordinary.

Ronin has taught you that love is not a noun but a verb, an ongoing act of giving and growing and choosing. It's in the way he shows up, day after day, with his steady heart and gentle hands, ready to weather life's storms and celebrate its triumphs by your side. And as you step into the future together, you do so with the quiet confidence that comes from knowing you've found something rare and precious, a love that transcends time.

This love you share isn't just a feeling; it's a legacy, a story that unfolds with each passing year. It's the kind of love that shapes you, that teaches you not only how to love another, but how to love yourself more fully. And as you hold his hand and walk forward into the unknown, you know that whatever lies ahead, with Ronin it will always feel like coming home.

The day before your anniversary dawns with a gentle hum of anticipation. The air feels heavier, sweeter, as if time itself has slowed down to savour the approaching moment. You rise early, the weight of tradition and the pull of emotion guiding your steps. White lilies, their delicate petals curling like whispers of unspoken promise, rest in your arms. Their scent is pure, almost ethereal, and as you carry them, you can't help but think of Ronin - his quiet strength, his unwavering kindness, his ability to find beauty in simplicity.

You've chosen these flowers carefully, knowing their significance as symbols of devotion and renewal. Each stem feels like a vow, each petal a fragment of your love, fragile yet enduring. As you arrange them, tying them with a ribbon the colour of twilight, you imagine the moment he will see them. His face will soften, his eyes will have that familiar warmth that always makes you feel like the centre of his world. It's a gift to him and to you - a ritual that says: "This is how I love you. This is how I will always love you.

When you meet him later that day, lilies in hand, his smile is the first thing you notice. It's a smile that starts slowly, unfolds like a secret he's eager to share, and reaches his eyes with a glimmer of something you can't quite put your finger on. His voice, when he speaks, is deep and rich, enveloping you like a favourite song. "You brought me lilies," he says, as if the gesture holds the weight of a thousand lifetimes. And perhaps it does.

You watch as he takes the bouquet from your hands, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments. His touch is deliberate, reverent, as if he understands the care with which you've chosen each flower. He doesn't say much after that, but he doesn't need to. The way he holds the lilies - gently, almost as if afraid to disturb their perfection - says it all. And when he looks at you again, there's something in his expression that takes your breath away.

Then he reaches into his pocket, his movements slow and purposeful, and when his hand comes out it holds a small box. The air seems to still, the world shrinking to just the two of you. "For you," he says, his voice soft but steady, and he opens the box to reveal a necklace. The pendant catches the light - a small calcified heart, its surface smooth yet textured, a study in contrasts. It's beautiful in its imperfection, a piece of earth transformed by time and care, much like the love you share.

As he places the necklace in your palm, his fingers linger and you feel the weight of the gesture. "It's a part of me," he says, his words simple yet profound. "Something that has endured, something that has grown stronger with time. Like us." His voice carries a vulnerability you don't often hear, and it roots you in place, your heart full to the point of aching. You think to speak, but words fail, caught in the tide of emotion that rushes through you.

He moves behind you, his hands deft and sure as he places the necklace around your neck. The pendant rests against your chest, cool and solid, its weight both grounding and comforting. You touch it instinctively, your fingers tracing its contours, feeling the truth of what it represents. It's more than a gift - it's a symbol, a talisman of the years you've shared, the trials you've faced, the love that's grown more unbreakable with each passing day.

As he steps back, his hands rest briefly on your shoulders and you turn to face him. His eyes search, as if looking for some unspoken reassurance. But all he finds is your love, shining as brightly as ever. "Thank you," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper, and you mean it with every fibre of your being. For the necklace, yes, but more for the way it has always, unfailingly, made you feel seen, cherished, understood.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of quiet joy, the necklace a constant, grounding presence on your skin. You find yourself touching it often, each time reminded of his thoughtfulness, his care, the way he loves you with a depth that defies explanation. He catches you once, a small smile curving his lips, and his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. It's a silent exchange, a shared understanding that words could never adequately convey.

That evening, as the sun sets, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, you sit together, the lilies in a vase nearby, their scent mingling with the cool night air. He leans against you, his head on your shoulder, and for a moment the world feels impossibly perfect. The pendant presses lightly against your chest, its weight a reminder of the love you carry, the love you've built together, the love that will always be.

You don't speak much, content to exist in the quiet, sacred space you've created together. His hand finds yours again, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin, and you think about how natural it feels to be with him, how effortless and yet how profound. The lilies nod gently in the evening breeze and you can't help but think that they reflect your love - graceful, enduring, a testament to beauty in simplicity.

As the stars appear, their light fragile and eternal, you marvel at the gift he's given you, both the necklace and the years you've shared. Each moment feels like a miracle, a small eternity contained within the fragile boundaries of time. And you know that whatever the future holds, this love will endure. It will harden and strengthen, like the heart around your neck, a testament to all you've built and all you will continue to create.

You press a kiss to his temple, your lips lingering against his skin, and he sighs, a sound of contentment and belonging. "I love you," you say, the words simple but carrying the weight of everything you feel, everything you can't quite articulate. His response is immediate, whispered against the stillness of the night, and it wraps around you like a warm hug. "I love you too."

The night deepens, the world grows quieter, and yet you remain together, two hearts beating as one. The necklace lies cool against your skin, a reminder of this day, of this love, of him. And as you close your eyes, leaning into its warmth, you know this is what it feels like forever.

The morning of your anniversary begins in a cocoon of warmth and quiet intimacy. The soft golden light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls. You wake slowly, the feeling of Ronin's arms around you grounding you to this moment, this place. His breath is steady and warm against your neck, the rise and fall of his chest in perfect rhythm with yours. You feel his presence before your eyes even open, a quiet strength anchoring you in the here and now.

His arm is draped over your waist, his fingers spread lightly against your belly, as if to remind you that he's there. He shifts slightly, pulling you closer, his body a solid, reassuring presence against yours. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and unhurried, a quiet drumbeat in the symphony of your shared existence. It's a moment of perfect stillness, the kind that makes you forget the passage of time, as if the universe itself has paused to honour the love you share.

His lips brush against your neck, soft as the first petals of a blooming rose, and despite the warmth of his embrace, a shiver runs through you. The kiss is lingering, a whisper of affection that lingers like the faintest trace of perfume in the air. He presses another, and another, each one deliberate, each one a silent declaration of love. There's something sacred in the way he moves, the way he holds you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice deep and rich, like the first notes of a favourite song. His breath tickles your skin and you can't help but smile, the sound of his voice a balm that soothes even the smallest of worries. You shift slightly, turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair is tousled with sleep, his eyes still heavy with dreams, and yet he looks at you as if you've hung the stars in the sky.

You don't answer at first, content to let the moment stretch between you, a thread of unspoken understanding. His lips find your neck again, lingering a little longer this time, and you feel his smile against your skin. It's a smile that carries a thousand memories, a thousand promises, and the weight of a love that has only deepened with time. "Happy anniversary," he whispers, the words soft and intimate, meant only for you.

You reach for his hand, your fingers curling around his, feeling the slight squeeze he gives in return. His touch is familiar, comforting, a language you've both become fluent in over the years. He shifts again, his kisses trailing up to your ear, and you can't help but laugh softly, the sound spilling into the quiet room like sunlight. "Ronin," you say, his name a silent reminder and plea at the same time, and he chuckles, a low, warm sound vibrating against your back.

The room seems to float in a kind of golden haze, the outside world forgotten in the sanctuary of your bed. His scent surrounds you - clean, warm, with a hint of the cedarwood cologne he always wears - and it fills you with a sense of home. His hand moves slightly, tracing lazy circles against your stomach, and it's as if he's writing love letters on your skin with his fingertips. You close your eyes again, letting yourself sink into the sensation, the quiet intimacy of the moment.

His kisses become softer, more languid, each one a brushstroke on the canvas of your morning. "I love you," he murmurs, the words so soft you almost think you've imagined them. But they fall on you like a warm blanket, wrapping you in a feeling so deep it makes your chest ache. You turn slightly in his arms, just enough to meet his gaze, and the look in his eyes is enough to take your breath away. It's a look of silent devotion, of a love so deep it feels like an unspoken vow.

You reach up to touch his face, your fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw, and he leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "I love you too," you whisper, the words carrying all the weight of your heart. Then he smiles, a soft, genuine smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and it feels as if the sun has risen just for you. He kisses you again, this time on your temple, and the tenderness of the gesture brings tears to your eyes.

The morning stretches on, the two of you enveloped in the quiet sanctity of your shared love. His arms remain wrapped around you, his kisses a constant reminder of his presence, his affection. The world outside continues to spin, but for the moment it feels as if it's just the two of you, existing in a bubble of time carved out by love. It's a feeling you'll carry with you long after the day is over, a memory etched into your soul.

The anniversary itself will bring gifts and laughter, shared meals and whispered promises, but this moment-this quiet, tender moment-is the one you'll remember most. It's the way he holds you, the way he kisses you, the way his love for you feels as natural and essential as breathing. And as the morning light grows brighter, casting its golden glow across the room, you know without a doubt that this love, this life you've built together, is the greatest gift of all.

The morning unfolds slowly, as if the world itself understands the significance of this day. You wake to the soft sound of ronin breathing, steady and calm, a quiet melody in the silence of the room. The sunlight filters through the curtains, golden and soft, casting warm patterns on the walls. You feel the weight of his arm draped over you, his presence grounding, a comfort you've come to appreciate. The room smells faintly of him - cedarwood and something uniquely his - and it fills you with a sense of belonging that words could never capture.

His body stirs against yours, a subtle shift that tells you he's waking too. There's no rush, no urgency, just the quiet rhythm of two souls finding their way into the day together. His lips brush your temple, a sleepy, instinctive gesture, and his voice follows, low and raspy with the remnants of sleep. "Morning," he murmurs, the sound wrapping around you like a soft embrace. You smile, turning slightly in his arms to meet his gaze, his eyes heavy and warm as they take you in.

You lie there for a while, neither of you speaking, content to bask in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His hand moves to your back, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin, a touch so familiar and tender it feels like second nature. You lean into him, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat filling the spaces between your breaths. There's a serenity to these moments, a sense of timelessness that makes you wish you could stay here forever.

Eventually, the pull of the day becomes too strong to ignore. You sit up slowly, reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth you've been sharing, and his arms tighten around you briefly as if in protest. "Stay a little longer," he says, his voice soft and teasing, but you both know the day is waiting. You press a kiss to his jaw, a promise wrapped in a gesture, and his smile is enough to make you consider his offer. But you rise anyway, pulling him with you into the morning.

The room is bathed in a soft golden light as you move about, each action unhurried, each moment filled with the quiet joy of being together. Ronin stretches lazily, his movements fluid and relaxed, and you catch the way the sunlight dances across his skin, highlighting the strength and beauty you've always admired. He catches you watching and grins, a boyish, endearing expression that makes your heart flutter. "What?" he asks, his tone light, but there's a warmth in his gaze that says he already knows.

You shake your head, smiling, and turn to the dresser, pulling out clothes for the day. Behind you, you hear him move, his footsteps soft on the floor as he comes up behind you. His arms are around your waist, his chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and you feel the pressure of his lips against your neck. "Thank you for waking up with me," he whispers, the words simple but carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken feelings. You reach up to touch his hand, your fingers intertwining briefly as the moment stretches between you.

The morning routine feels like a dance, each of you moving in harmony without speaking. You brush your teeth side by side, the mirror reflecting the quiet affection in your shared glances and soft smiles. He nudges you playfully with his elbow, and you return the favour with a little drop of water, your laughter mingling in the air. These moments, these small, seemingly insignificant exchanges, are the threads that weave the fabric of your love.

As you both prepare for the day, the rhythm of your movements speaks of years of learning and loving each other. He buttons his shirt with practiced ease and you pause to adjust his collar, your fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. He catches your hand and plants a kiss on your knuckles, and you feel the warmth of his affection seep into your skin. It's these small acts of care, these everyday gestures, that remind you of the depth of what you share.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee or tea fills the air as you walk into the kitchen, the rich, earthy aroma a comforting start to the day. He hands you a cup, his fingers brushing yours, and you take a sip, savouring the warmth that spreads through you. He leans against the counter, watching you with a soft, thoughtful expression, and you wonder how it's possible to love someone so much. The silence between you isn't empty; it's full of understanding, of shared history, of promises both spoken and unspoken.

When you finish your coffee or tea, he takes your cup and sets it aside, pulling you into a gentle embrace. His arms are strong and firm around you, and you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. "Ready for today?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your cheek. You nod, your hands resting lightly on his back, feeling the subtle shift of his muscles as he holds you closer.

The morning stretches on, each moment a quiet celebration of the life you've built together. The anticipation of the day ahead lingers in the air, but for now you're content to just be. You look up at him, your gaze meets his, and the love you see reflected there is enough to fill every corner of your soul. This is what it means to wake up with him, to start each day knowing you're loved, to share your life with someone who feels like home.

The morning's golden haze begins to shift as Ronin prepares to leave for work. The weight of the morning together hangs in the air, soft and comforting, but the ticking of the clock reminds you both that time doesn't stop for love. He's standing by the door, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms dusted with the faint grease stains that seem to be permanently etched into his skin - a mechanic's mark of devotion to his craft. His keys jingle softly in his hand, a sound that tugs at your heart, knowing it means goodbye, if only for now.

Ronin turns to you, his smile warm and just slightly crooked, the kind of smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. His eyes, a deep, smoldering shade, meet yours and for a moment he just looks at you, as if trying to memorise every detail before he steps out the door. The silence between you is not heavy, but filled with a quiet understanding that doesn't need words. "I'll see you tonight," he says, his voice deep and rich, each syllable carrying the weight of his promise.

He steps closer, his boots heavy but measured on the ground, and you can feel the warmth radiating from him as he cups your face with one hand. His touch is gentle, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, and you instinctively lean into it, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When you open them again, he's watching you with an intensity that takes your breath away. "Don't forget," he murmurs, his tone teasing yet tender. "Dinner at nine. Wear something nice."

His lips meet yours in a kiss that is soft but lingering, filled with a kind of affection that makes you ache with its tenderness. It's not just a goodbye kiss; it's a kiss that says I'll be thinking about you all day. It's a kiss that carries the weight of a thousand unspoken words, a kiss that leaves you feeling both cherished and a little bereft when he pulls away. His forehead rests against yours for a heartbeat, his breath mingling with yours, and then he steps back, his hand trailing down your arm until it reluctantly lets go.

You follow him to the door, watching as he grabs his jacket and throws it over his shoulder with practiced ease. His movements are unhurried, but you can feel the undertone of efficiency that defines his work ethic. He turns back to you one last time, his grin softening into something that feels like a secret shared only by the two of you. "Don't be late," he says, his tone playful but with a hint of sincerity that makes you smile. "I have plans."

You watch as he steps outside, the sunlight catching in his hair, making him look impossibly golden in the morning light. He walks to his car, a classic that he's lovingly restored over the years, its metallic sheen a testament to his skill and dedication. The door creaks slightly as he opens it, and you can't help but chuckle softly at the sound - it's a project he's always wanted to do, but never quite found the time. He looks back at you, catches the expression on your face and laughs, the sound deep and rich, like the hum of an engine coming to life.

The car roars to life, a low, throaty growl that seems to echo off the quiet street. He gives you a final wave, his hand resting briefly on the open window as he leans out to look at you one last time. There's something in his expression - a mixture of longing and anticipation - that makes your chest tighten. "I love you," he calls out, the words carried on the wind, and you return them without hesitation, your voice steady and sure.

As his car disappears down the street, the sound of the engine fading into the distance, you're left standing in the doorway, the morning light warm against your skin. The house feels quieter now, emptier, but the memory of his touch, his kiss, his presence lingers in every corner. You look at the clock, mentally counting the hours until nine, and a soft smile plays on your lips. The thought of seeing him again, of sharing a quiet dinner and all the love that goes with it, fills you with a quiet kind of joy.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of activity, each moment marked by thoughts of him, the way his hands will feel when they find yours again, the sound of his voice as he tells you about his day. You picture him in the garage, his concentration intense as he works, the lines of his face softened by focus. You can almost hear the clatter of tools, the low hum of engines, the quiet camaraderie of the shop - a place where he's in his element, where he brings machines back to life with the same care he's always given you.

As the hours tick by, you prepare for the evening, your heart pounding with anticipation. You pick out an outfit, something simple yet elegant, something you know he'll appreciate. The pendant he gave you rests coolly against your skin, a constant reminder of him, of the love you've built together. The sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of gold and rose, and you can't help but wonder if he's thinking of you as he wraps up his day.

The clock inches closer to nine and your excitement grows with each passing second. You imagine the moment he'll walk through the door of the restaurant, the way his face will light up when he sees you, the way his presence will fill the room as it always does. And as you take one last look at your reflection, smoothing the lines of your outfit, you feel a sense of quiet assurance. This is what love feels like - a series of moments, big and small, each building on the last to create something unbreakable.

The evening air is cool against your skin as you stand in your room, the anticipation of the night ahead beating gently in your chest. The soft golden light of a bedside lamp bathes the room in warmth, casting soft shadows across the walls. Outside, the world has begun to settle into its nocturnal rhythm, the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional bark of a dog drifting through the window. Tonight feels different, special, charged with the unspoken promise of love and celebration.

You turn to the wardrobe and slide the door open with a soft sigh. The rows of clothes greet you like old friends, each piece holding a story, a reminder of moments that have shaped your life. Your fingers run over the fabrics, the textures cool and familiar under your touch. Tonight requires something special, something that captures the quiet strength of who you are and the love you share with Ronin. You search with a deliberate slowness, savouring the ritual until your hand lands on a piece that feels just right.

The outfit is understated yet elegant, a perfect balance of comfort and sophistication. It's something that transcends traditional boundaries, a mix of tailored lines and soft edges that feels authentically you. You pull it from the wardrobe and drape it over the bed, taking a moment to admire the way the fabric catches the light. There's a quiet confidence in the choice, a sense of peace that comes over you as you imagine how Ronin will smile when he sees you.

You step into the bathroom, the mirror reflecting a version of yourself that feels ready for the evening ahead. The steam from a warm shower still hangs faintly in the air, softening the edges of the glass and giving everything a dreamlike quality. Leaning closer, you study your reflection and begin the careful process of preparing for the night. Every detail feels important, every action a deliberate step towards the moment you'll see him again.

Your hands move with practiced ease, smoothing stray hairs, adjusting the folds of your clothes, adding subtle touches that enhance without overwhelming. You don't feel the need to do too much; Ronin loves you exactly as you are, and knowing that brings a quiet kind of confidence. Still, there's a thrill in the preparation, a sense of creating a moment that will linger in both of your memories.

The pendant he gave you rests coolly against your skin, the calcified heart nestled against your collarbone like a whispered secret. You touch it lightly, the texture grounding you, reminding you of his words, his presence, his love. It feels like a talisman, a piece of him that you carry with you even in his absence. Its weight is comforting, a subtle reminder of the bond you share.

You take a step back from the mirror and survey the finished look, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The outfit feels perfect, the way it moves with you, the way it reflects the person you've become. There's no flashiness, no overstatement - just a quiet elegance that feels like a celebration of your journey together. You can already imagine Ronin's reaction, the way his eyes will soften, the way his smile will curve, the way he'll reach for your hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The room around you is charged with anticipation as you gather your things. A light jacket draped over your arm, a phone slipped into your pocket, keys jingling faintly in your hand - it all feels like part of a larger ritual, a sequence of movements leading you to him. The quiet excitement of the evening hums beneath your skin, a reminder that love is as much about the moments leading up to togetherness as it is about togetherness itself.

As you move towards the door, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the full-length mirror. There's something in your posture, your expression, that speaks of confidence and joy, a quiet strength that comes from being loved and loved in return. The light catches the pendant again, its subtle glow a testament to the bond that binds you and Ronin together. You pause for a moment, taking it all in, before stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind you.

The cool night air greets you as you step outside, a light breeze brushing against your skin, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. The stars above you twinkle like scattered diamonds, their light soft and inviting. The city hums softly around you, its rhythm a soothing backdrop to the anticipation building in your chest. Every step you take feels deliberate, purposeful, as if the universe itself is aligning itself to bring you closer.

The streets are alive with a quiet energy, the glow of the streetlights illuminating your path as you make your way to the restaurant. Every step feels like a countdown, a beat in the symphony of the evening that will culminate in the moment you see him again. You can almost hear his voice, feel the warmth of his hand in yours, imagine the way his eyes will light up when he sees you. The thought is enough to quicken your pulse, to fill you with a sense of excitement that feels like a gift in itself.

As you approach your destination, the sounds of the city begin to fade, replaced by the soft murmur of conversation and the faint clink of glasses. The restaurant comes into view, its warm lights spilling out onto the pavement, inviting and intimate. You pause for a moment outside, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, the cool air filling your lungs and grounding you in the present. The pendant rests heavily on your chest, a silent reminder of the love that brought you here.

You step inside, the warmth of the room enveloping you, and your eyes immediately begin to search for him. The anticipation that has been building all evening reaches its peak, your heart beating a little faster with each passing second. And then you see him, sitting near the window, his posture relaxed but alert, his gaze scanning the room until it lands on you. The smile that spreads across his face is like the first rays of sunlight after a long night, and you feel your own lips curl in response.

You walk towards him, each step bringing you closer to the man who has become your home, your anchor, your everything. He rises to greet you, his eyes never leaving yours, and when you finally reach him, his hand finds yours, warm and steady and reassuring. "You look incredible," he says, his voice low and full of admiration, and you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. He leans in to plant a kiss on your temple, a gesture that feels both intimate and reverent, and you know without a doubt that this night is only the beginning of something extraordinary.

The restaurant is bathed in a warm, intimate glow, the kind of light that seems to slow time down. The air is filled with the faint hum of soft music and the soft murmur of distant conversation, but your attention is drawn to the private booth waiting just for you. Tucked away in a secluded corner, it's the perfect blend of elegance and intimacy, with a window that frames the city lights like a living painting. You feel your breath catch as you notice the details - the table is adorned with a delicate arrangement of white lilies, their petals pristine and softly glowing in the candlelight.

Ronin is already standing by the table, his presence at once commanding and comforting. He's sharply dressed, his shirt fitting him in a way that accentuates his quiet strength, his sleeves casually rolled up just enough to hint at the work he puts into his craft. His smile is a mixture of pride and tenderness, the kind of expression that makes you feel like you're the only person in the world. When he sees you, his gaze softens even more, and he steps forward to take your hand as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"This," he says, his voice deep and warm, "is all for you." He gestures to the table, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and affection. The white lilies are your favourite, their sweet scent subtly filling the air. You can tell he's thought of every detail, from the arrangement of the flowers to the way the tablecloth falls. The candles flicker softly, casting shifting patterns across the polished wood, and the view out the window reveals a city buzzing with life.

He pulls out a chair for you, his movements fluid and effortless, as if this is where he was meant to be tonight - right here, making you feel appreciated. You sit down, your hand in his for a brief moment longer than necessary, and the warmth of his touch lingers as he takes his own seat across from you. The table feels small in the best way, the space between you nonexistent as your eyes meet, the soft glow of the candlelight reflected in his eyes.

The lilies seem to nod gently in the light breeze from the window, their presence a silent reminder of the love that has grown between you over the years. The scent mingles with the aroma of freshly baked bread and the faint sweetness of wine being poured into glasses. Ronin reaches for the bottle, his hands steady as he pours for both of you, the deep red liquid catching the light like a ruby. As he hands you your glass, his fingers brush yours and you feel the spark of a bond that has only deepened with time.

"To us," he says, raising his glass, his voice steady and sure. The words are simple, but the depth of emotion behind them is profound. You clink your glass gently against his, the sound resonating softly between you, and take a sip, the richness of the wine filling your senses. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence comfortable and full, the kind of silence that can only exist between two people who know each other's hearts.

The conversation begins naturally, flowing like a river, winding through the memories of the past five years. He tells you about his day, his voice animated as he recounts a particularly tricky repair in the workshop, his hands gesturing in a way that makes you smile. You share stories too, the words flowing easily, your voice carrying a lightness that matches the mood of the evening. Each laugh, each shared glance, feels like a thread that weaves you closer together.

The food arrives, each dish a work of art, but your focus remains on him. The way his lips curl as he takes a bite and nods in approval, the way he leans forward slightly as you speak, his attention entirely on you. The world outside the window seems to fade away, the lights of the city blurring into a soft haze, leaving just the two of you in your own little universe. The lilies continue to stand guard, their delicate presence a constant reminder of the love that fills this space.

As the evening progresses, the atmosphere becomes even more intimate, the low hum of the restaurant fading into the background. Ronin reaches across the table, his hand finding yours, his thumb tracing slow circles across your skin. "Five years," he says softly, his voice filled with awe. "Can you believe it?" You smile, your heart swelling with gratitude and love, and squeeze his hand gently in response. "With you?" you reply. "Every moment feels like a gift."

The city outside begins to wind down, the lights dimming slightly as the hour grows late. The candles on the table have burned low, their flames dancing a little slower, but the warmth between you and Ronin only grows. He leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours, and you feel the weight of his gaze settle over you like a soft blanket. "Thank you," he says quietly, the words carrying a depth that goes beyond the surface. "For being here. For being mine."

The moment lingers, timeless and perfect, and you realise that this is what love feels like - not just the grand gestures, but the quiet moments of connection, the shared glances, the feeling of being seen and understood. The white lilies, their petals still perfect, seem to glow even brighter in the fading light, a symbol of the purity and beauty of what you've built together. And as you look across the table at Ronin, his expression soft and full of love, you know that this is only the beginning of a lifetime of anniversaries to come.

The candlelight flickers softly, casting shadows that dance across Ronin's features, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the warm curve of his smile. His hand remains in yours, his thumb continuing its gentle path along your knuckles, as if memorising the texture of your skin. Outside the window, the city pulsates faintly in the distance, its rhythm a stark contrast to the silence of this private moment. The lilies shift slightly in the light breeze, their delicate petals catching the soft glow of the candles, a reminder of the tenderness that fills the space between you.

Ronin's gaze is steady, his eyes holding yours as if there were no one else in the world. His voice, when he speaks, is a low murmur that carries the weight of all the years you've spent together. "I never thought life could be so good," he says, his words hanging in the air like a secret meant only for you. "You make every moment brighter, every day worthwhile." There's no need for flowery language or grand declarations; his tone alone carries the depth of his feelings, grounding you in the certainty of his love.

The meal is long over, but neither of you makes a move to leave. The table between you seems to shrink as you lean closer, your conversation weaving effortlessly through memories, hopes and quiet laughter. The lilies remain silent witnesses, their scent a subtle but constant reminder of the occasion. Each petal seems to glow with its own light, a soft reflection of the love that has blossomed and grown over the years.

Ronin's hand slips from yours to rest against your cheek, his palm warm and calloused, a testament to the life he's built with his hands. "You're incredible," he whispers, his eyes searching your face as if looking for something he hasn't seen a hundred times before. His thumb brushes gently along your jawline and you lean into his touch, your heart swelling at the sheer simplicity of the moment. The world outside the window continues its low hum, but in this room time seems to have stopped.

The waiter approaches briefly, her presence barely registered as Ronin thanks her quietly, his attention never quite leaving you. The remnants of the meal are cleared away, leaving the table bare except for the lilies and the soft glow of the candles. The intimacy of the setting feels almost sacred, as if the world itself had conspired to give you this moment. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window, the two of you framed by the soft glow of the room, and it feels like a memory you'll cherish forever.

Ronin leans back slightly, his hand slipping from your cheek but finding its place over yours again. "Do you remember the first time we came here?" he asks, his tone playful but tinged with nostalgia. You laugh softly and nod, the memory of that earlier dinner flooding back - the nervous energy, the stolen glances, the way his hand had hovered just a moment too long before brushing over yours. "I knew then," he says, his voice deep and sure. "I knew you were the one for me."

The words settle over you like a warm blanket, and you squeeze his hand in response, your own voice catching slightly as you reply. "I knew it too," you say, your eyes meeting his. The bond between you feels almost tangible, a golden thread that binds your souls together, unbroken and unyielding. The lilies sway gently again, their movement catching your attention, and you smile at how they seem to mirror the quiet dance of emotions between you and Ronin.

The candles are low, their flames reduced to soft, flickering embers, but neither of you is ready to end the night. Ronin leans forward again, his elbows on the table, his expression open and full of wonder. "Five years," he murmurs, shaking his head slightly as if he can't quite believe it. "And I still wake up every day thinking I'm the luckiest man alive." The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten and you find yourself leaning forward, drawn in by the magnetic pull of his presence.

The waiter discreetly brings over a small dessert - a single slice of cake decorated with delicate sugar lilies. Ronin chuckles softly, the sound rich and warm, and he takes the fork, cuts off a small piece and holds it out to you. "For tradition," he says, his grin soft and teasing. You laugh as you lean in, tasting the sweetness on your tongue, but the real sweetness is in the way he watches you, his expression filled with an affection that makes your heart skip a beat.

You take the fork from him and return the gesture, and the moment feels playful and intimate at the same time. It's the kind of exchange that speaks of the comfort of years spent together, of a love that has settled into the marrow of your bones. The dessert disappears quickly, but the shared laughter and stolen glances linger, weaving themselves into the fabric of your memories. The lilies on the table seem to bloom even brighter, their petals a testament to the beauty of love that endures.

As the night deepens, the restaurant begins to quiet, the other diners gradually filtering out, but the two of you remain, cocooned in your private world. The city lights outside shimmer faintly, a silent reminder of the life that continues beyond the glass, but for now this is all that matters - Ronin's hand in yours, the soft glow of the candles, the scent of white lilies surrounding you. You feel a deep, abiding gratitude for this moment, for this man who has become your home.

Ronin finally stands, his hand still holding yours, and helps you to your feet. He pauses, his gaze sweeping over you one last time, his smile soft and full of love. "Thank you," he says, his voice almost a whisper. "For everything." You smile in return, your heart full, and together you step out into the night, leaving the lilies and the candlelight behind, but carrying their memory with you.

The cool night air embraces you as you step outside, the city spread out before you in a blanket of twinkling lights. Ronin's hand, warm and steady, rests against the small of your back as he guides you through the softly lit streets. The low hum of the world around you seems distant, muted, as if the universe itself has paused to give you this moment. You walk in step with him, each step a reminder that this journey - your journey - has been and will continue to be one of love, companionship and unwavering trust.

You reach the car and he opens the door for you, the gesture so natural, so him. As you slide into the seat, you look up at him, catching the flicker of something tender in his gaze. He stands for a moment, taking in the night, before joining you in the car. The engine hums as it pulls away from the kerb, the low rumble beneath you a grounding rhythm that matches the beating of your heart. The silence is comfortable, a space to reflect, to breathe, to know that everything is exactly as it should be.

The city begins to fade as you leave the busy streets behind, the lights becoming fewer and further apart. The car glides along the road and the air seems to thicken with the weight of the night's significance. Ronin reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and you feel the pulse of connection, the electric spark of love that has only grown over the years. The silence between you is no longer a lack of words, but a conversation all its own - one of shared understanding, of knowing and being known.

Soon you come to a small, quiet place - a park on the outskirts of the city, where the stars are clearer, the world quieter. It's a place you've visited before, a hidden corner of your shared history. He parks the car and turns to you, his eyes soft but intense in the moonlight. Without a word, he gets out and opens your door, holding out his hand to help you out. You take it, step out into the cool night air, and together you walk towards the edge of the park, the only sound being the rustling of leaves under your feet.

There, under the stars, he stops and turns to face you, his eyes never leaving yours. The world seems to hold its breath, and for a moment it's as if nothing else matters but the two of you standing in this space, this time. Ronin pulls you close, his hands resting on your shoulders, his gaze searching your face as if looking for something deeper than the surface. "Five years," he whispers again, the words carrying a quiet reverence, and you nod, your heart full. "Five years," you repeat, your voice thick with emotion.

He smiles, a slow, tender thing that makes your chest tighten with affection. "I can't imagine life without you," he says, his words both a promise and a truth. You lean in, your forehead resting against his, the touch soft and intimate, the stars above bearing witness to this moment. The cool breeze moves around you, but for the moment it's just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of shared love and the quiet certainty that no matter where life takes you, this connection will remain.

And as you stand there, under the vast sky, time seems to stretch endlessly before you. This moment is not the end of a chapter, but the continuation of a story - one written in laughter, in shared silence, in the delicate touches that have become second nature. With Ronin by your side, there is no end, only new beginnings, every day a new chance to build on what you've already created.

As you pull back slightly, he reaches into his pocket, a familiar, secret smile playing on his lips. He pulls out a small, carefully wrapped box and your heart flutters with an unspoken understanding. He opens it slowly, revealing a simple ring - elegant, understated, but shining with a quiet brilliance. "I don't need anything to change," he says, his voice steady, "but I want to keep building this with you, forever." The words hang in the air between you, and in that moment, everything falls into place.

You take the ring, feel its weight, the symbolism of this next step in your journey together. Without a word, you slip it on your finger, the perfect fit. Ronin smiles, a look of contentment and joy spreading across his face, and you know that no matter what life brings, you will face it together, hand in hand, heart to heart. The stars above seem to shine just a little brighter, as if in agreement.

And there, under the sky, with the city spread out before you, you know that this moment - the five years you've shared and the years to come - will be yours forever.

[callsigns-haze]

Short love: Chp 18

Summary: The is about widowed father Bradley Bradshaw who enlists his brother-in-law Jake Seresin and childhood best friend Robert Floyd to help raise his three daughters, eldest Donna Jo Margaret (D.J for short), middle child Stephanie and youngest Michelle in his San Diego home. 

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Warning: Fluff, flirting

With a shared vision in mind, Jake and Y/n roll up their sleeves and dive into the renovation project with gusto. The attic, once a neglected space filled with dusty boxes and forgotten treasures, is soon transformed into a bright and spacious bedroom, complete with multiple functional areas.

Together, they brainstorm layout ideas and design concepts, drawing inspiration from magazines, online resources, and their own creativity. They envision a space that is not only stylish and modern but also practical and versatile, catering to their various needs and preferences.

The first step is to declutter and clear out the attic, sorting through years of accumulated belongings and deciding what to keep, donate, or discard. With determination and teamwork, they tackle this daunting task, motivated by the prospect of creating their dream bedroom.

Once the space is cleared, they begin the renovation process, starting with structural improvements such as insulation, flooring, and walls. Jake's handyman skills come in handy as he handles the more technical aspects of the project, while Y/n lends her creative touch to the design and decor.

They install large windows to let in plenty of natural light, creating a bright and airy atmosphere. They also add built-in storage solutions to maximize space and organization, ensuring that every corner of the room is utilized efficiently.

As Jake focuses intently on drilling the wooden plates into the walls, Y/n watches with a mixture of amusement and admiration. She can't help but chuckle as she sees him maneuvering the drill, occasionally getting stuck or encountering a stubborn spot.

"Need a hand there, handyman?" Y/n teases, her laughter filling the room.

Jake looks up with a playful grin, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "I've got this under control," he insists, determined to conquer the task at hand.

But as he continues to drill, a particularly stubborn spot causes the drill to jam, and Jake lets out a frustrated sigh. Y/n can't help but laugh at his predicament, finding his determination endearing.

"Maybe I spoke too soon," she quips, moving closer to offer her assistance.

With a grin, Jake accepts her help, and together they work to free the jammed drill and continue with the task. As they work side by side, their laughter fills the room, turning the mundane task of renovation into a fun and memorable bonding experience.

As they continue renovating the attic, Jake and Y/n find themselves knee-deep in paint cans, power tools, and endless to-do lists. Despite the occasional mishaps and setbacks, they tackle each challenge with determination and a sense of adventure.

One afternoon, while attempting to install a new light fixture, Jake finds himself tangled in a mess of wires, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to decipher the instructions. Y/n watches from a safe distance, stifling a giggle as she sees him struggle.

"Need any help there?" she offers, trying to suppress her amusement.

Jake grumbles in frustration but eventually accepts her offer, grateful for her assistance. Together, they work to untangle the wires and install the light fixture, laughing at their shared clumsiness and enjoying the camaraderie of working together.

Another day, they decide to tackle the task of painting the walls, armed with brushes, rollers, and plenty of drop cloths. But their ambitious plans quickly take a comedic turn when Jake accidentally spills a can of paint, sending a cascade of white paint splattering across the floor.

Y/n's eyes widen in disbelief as she surveys the mess, but before she can scold him, Jake bursts into laughter, realizing the absurdity of the situation. They spend the next few hours cleaning up the mess, turning the ordeal into a lighthearted paint fight and making memories in the process.

Despite the inevitable hiccups and mishaps, Jake and Y/n press on with their renovation project, fueled by their shared determination and love for each other. With each coat of paint applied and each piece of furniture assembled, they inch closer to transforming the attic into their dream space, creating a home that reflects their love, laughter, and unique bond.

Jake looks up from his work as Y/n enters the room, her eyes sparkling mischievously as she approaches him, a small item hidden behind her back. He furrows his brow, curiosity piqued by her secretive demeanor.

"Hey, Mr. Handyman," she says smiling and kicking her feet.

"What do you have there?" he asks, unable to contain his curiosity.

Y/n smiles mysteriously, holding the item out of his reach as she teases him with a playful gleam in her eyes. "You'll have to wait and see," she says, her tone teasing and coy.

Jake chuckles, leaning in closer to try and catch a glimpse of what she's hiding. "Come on, don't leave me hanging," he pleads, reaching out to try and snatch the item from her grasp.

But Y/n deftly sidesteps his attempts, dancing out of reach with a playful laugh. "Not yet," she says, her smile widening as she revels in his curiosity.

With a grin, Jake sets down his tools, determined to uncover the mystery behind Y/n's secretive behavior. He follows her playfully around the room, determined to discover the surprise she's hiding. And as they laugh and tease each other, their bond grows even stronger, fueled by the joy of their shared antics and the love that binds them together.

Jake's eyes widen in astonishment as Y/n reveals the positive pregnancy test hidden behind her back. For a moment, he's speechless, the weight of the moment sinking in as he realizes the significance of what she's showing him.

"Is this...?" he begins, his voice barely above a whisper, unable to fully comprehend the news.

Y/n nods, her eyes shining with unshed tears of joy as she confirms his silent question. "We're going to be parents," she says, her voice trembling with emotion.

A surge of overwhelming happiness washes over Jake as he wraps his arms around Y/n, pulling her close in a tight embrace. He presses a kiss to her forehead, his heart bursting with love and excitement for the new chapter they're about to embark on together.

"We're going to have a baby," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder and awe.

As they stand together in the newly renovated attic, surrounded by the promise of their growing family, Jake and Y/n share a moment of pure happiness and anticipation for the journey ahead. With their love as their guide, they're ready to embrace the joys and challenges of parenthood, knowing that they'll face them together, hand in hand.

tagging:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@callsign-dexter

@horseslovers2016

@rosiahills22

@djs8891

@hookslove1592

@emma8895eb

@hardballoonlove

@kmc1989

@dempy

@mamachasesmayhem

@senawashere

@buckysteveloki-me

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@itsmytimetoodream

@jessicab1991

@ahh-chickens

@86laura11

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 As Dawn Breaks: Chapter One

As Dawn Breaks: Mother Night and Father Time, after having sired seven Endless to personify life in the known universe, create Earth and human life begins. One last Endless is created: Dawn, the personification of illumination and hope, the beginning of a new day, and a chance for happiness and improvement. A love will span thousands of millennia, breaking with every sunrise and renewing hope come sunset. Yet, even the personification of hope can lose the very notion of her existence from the sting of a broken heart.

Warnings: None. 

To Note: Dream/Morpheus x Endless!FemaleReader(Dawn), This Involves Themes That Are Not For Everyone. 

Word Count: ~2.7k

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Mother Night and Father Time created the seven Endless to personify life within the known universe. Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, and Delirium. They did their jobs admirably, and well, for eons. Destiny personified a life journey. Death, the end of life. Dream oversaw the dreams and nightmares. Destruction, so that creation may happen from ruin. Desire embodied the darkest secrets one held. Despair embodied a feeling that all lifeforms felt at some point in their life and the youngest of the Endless? Delirium, the epitome of chaos and previously known as Delight. All was well within the universe, millennia going by in harmony. Then a life-sustaining planet came to be and it quickly became abundantly clear that the new race of sentient life was lacking in one last personification. So Mother Night and Father came together to create one last Endless. You. 

You were created on a bed of lavender and stars, swathed in blankets of shimmering ebony. Against your naked breast lay a morning dove whose wings were of grey and pink. You had been woven from stars, oceans, and daffodils to culminate the very essence of what you were to represent: hope. You would rise and fall with the sun and moon, come and go like the great tides of oceans, and feel with the crescendo of the tallest waterfall. The capacity in which you were created to understand and feel human emotion was like none of the previous Endless before you. Eyes flickering open, you saw the inky black of the universe, touched with stars, planets, and dust. You had the knowledge of the universe, but the sight before you still took your breath away. 

Rising from your cradle, dove fluttering into space, you felt the blankets that had been covering you, travel and drape across your body until you were dressed in a simple onyx shift. Your eyes gazed out at the universe in wisdom and innocence, enraptured by the overwhelming beauty and life that stretched out before you. Your dove fluttered in front of you and holding your hands out, you let her land on your joined fingers. She was your companion your creators had gifted to you, she would represent you, be your sigil, be your closest friend. Cradling her light body in one hand, you stroked a finger over her head and down her soft grey back speckled with black. She cooed at you and leaned into your shift, her black eyes closing in contentment. Already you could feel the bond you shared with her. While you stroked your companion, you felt a shiver run across your shoulders. You looked up into the vastness of space, feeling Mother Time and Father Night. 

They did not need to speak physical words to convey their message to you. You had a job that they were entrusting you with, the entire reason for your creation after so many eons of on seven Endless. You were to personify the one natural force that life could not exist without. It was a daunting task but you, in your newborn state, were ready to take on such a task. As your creators drew back to return to their duties, you felt a ripple of energy and then the blossom of seven powers much like your own. Your predecessors had arrived. Holding your dove close to your body, you slowly turned around, your bare feet sliding across space rocks and rubble. The seven Endless, eons older than you, were lined up in order by creation. The oldest, Destiny, spoke to you first. 

“We welcome you, sister,” Destiny had a kind voice and was draped in cloth, his face covered. You knew he could not see but he still had sight and saw the possibilities of everything. “To the beginning of the endless and all that you may bring to creation.” He was wise and all-knowing, a heavy burden you could feel.

“Come now brother, you don’t need to be so formal and mystique,” Death interjected, kind brown eyes looking at you with softness. She held so much life behind her eyes, despite the very task she was made for. 

“Mystique? It’s rather amusing, actually,” Desire cooed, their golden eyes washing over your form and to the little dove you held against your bosom. “Our parents appear to have made such a fragile and innocent Endless, how are you to help creation?” You remained silent to their provoking words. “Will you not speak little dove? Surely we aren’t that terrifying.” Your head tilted to the side in curiosity as the older siblings proceeded to chide Desire for attempting to pick on you. Desire merely rolled their golden eyes. 

“Dawn has been made as Mother Night and Father Time bid, Desire,” Destiny called out, shifting his grasp on the book chained to his wrist. “We shall leave our new sibling to her new realm.” The siblings bid their farewells, giving you curious last looks for your lack of speech. As Desire prepared to return to their realm, a voice broke the silence in a sweet almost intangibly beautiful lit. 

“Tell me, Desire,” You spoke, your eyes focused on Desire as the rest of the siblings turned around in surprise. Gently, you moved your hands away from your body and held out the one holding your dove within. “What is life without hope?” Your dove soared from your hands into the blanket of deep space, speckled heather gray wings stretched out. As flower petals started to swirl around the skirt of your shift, you gave Desire the briefest of smiles, your eyes glowing with the embers of your true power. Then you disappeared in a swirl of flower petals and stardust, leaving behind the nest of lavender and stars you had been born in. 

To the surprise of their siblings, Desire let out a genuine laugh and smiled deviously. 

“Well, what do you know? She has a backbone after all. What fun she’ll be,” They mused with sly rhetoric. A red shimmer surrounded Desire. “I like her already, I wonder what other surprises Dawn holds behind those innocent eyes of hers.” Destiny, Death, and Dream were the last to leave and the three oldest siblings exchanged looks. 

“It is troubling that Desire has taken a liking to our newest sibling.” Death commented softly, looking to Destiny. Destiny did not immediately reply, his mind absorbed in the endless futures of the newest edition to the small family. 

“Hmm, sibling, I do not believe… not purpose, hope…” He trailed off, his mind fully entranced in the future and possibilities of Dawn of the Endless. Dream and Death watched as he walked away disappearing in a fade.

“Do you think that Desire shall tempt her?” Dream asked, addressing his remaining sibling. Death considered what she had witnessed and what she could feel from their new sibling. 

“I believe that it is far too early to assume anything about Dawn, for we do not know who she is as an Endless, what she is like, or what she is capable of. We all could feel the immense power Mother and Father placed within her… only time shall tell.” A troublesome thought, Dream considered as he returned himself to his realm, questing the intersection of dreams and hopes. He was sure that out of the siblings, you would have the most interaction with him. After all, what was life, what were dreams, without hope?

Your realm was called The Gardens, but unlike the eldest Endless, yours was not a labyrinth. No, your realm was the epitome of all beauty found within a garden. Lofting waterfalls, endless woodlands, lakes, rivers, and oceans, and homes made from the trunks of trees. At the very heart rested the citadel, your home. It was a sprawling stone fortress that looked overgrown with trees and vines… but make no mistake, the flora was the very lifeblood of your home and was the brick and mortar that held the space together. In total, your realm housed a culmination of mythical creatures from those that took shelter within the tallest of trees, to those that slept in the deepest depths of the ocean, only surfacing when the moon was at its peak. You rather liked having the creatures mortals only dreamed of, inhabiting your realm, it made it extra special. 

You had surrounded yourself with dryads to take care of the living gardens that popped up sporadically within the citadel, and they also helped you keep track of the growing count of hopes that appeared within your library. With each passing year, the numbers grew exponentially and you were well busy. The hopes that the precious humans had were Endless. You supposed that is what gave them their charm. 

“… remind you that the spring flooding in the Flowering Wetlands has, once again, displaced several Will-o'-the-wisp families, three Naiad families, and—“ Rita passed to look at the scroll in her hand, her green finger running down the list. “Ah, yes, the Jengu has decided to make home in the papyrus again, farming has been… difficult. Bezia, I think her name is?”

Pausing in your efforts to prune the over-growing vine of ivy vines within the heart of your citadel, you looked at the stressed Ruta, your head handmaiden. 

“Take a group of handmaidens to reconstruct the flooded homes, I’ll talk with Bezia. I’m sure there is something we can do about her residency” You told her, returning your pruning clippers to the basket of garden tools. The skirt of your dress swirled around your bare feet as you approached Ruta and looked at the scroll in her hands. The spring floods caused mayhem each and every year, but the residents of the Flowering Wetlands refused to live anywhere else. You had no issue with that and were glad to help rebuild what got ruined every year… but Bezia the Jengu, or swamp mermaid, repeatedly used the flooding to take residence in the papyrus fields. You couldn’t have that because it impeded parchment production for the library… but you couldn’t exactly remove Bezia from what made her happy. 

“I see that you have a plan, my lady?” Ruta questioned with a knowing smile. You smiled back and looked up at the sky that shone in the open courtyard

“I’ll be back soon, expect the realm to tremble with change anew,” You spoke over your shoulder, flower petals and stardust swirling around you. Your dove cooed overhead seconds before you and her disappeared. Your journey to the Flowering Wetlands only took seconds and soon you were standing knee-deep within muddy waters, floating plants and flowers surrounding you. Your dove cooed and fluttered down to your shoulder. Scanning the papyrus around you, you spotted a glimmer of a green tail before it disappeared beneath the water. “Bezia?” You called, slowly walking towards the Jengu. 

You spotted the mischievous Jengu watching you from the shallow waters, swimming between the papyrus plants and never staying in one spot. 

“Bezia, I wish to speak to you, will you not pause in your mischief merry-making?” You called out. There was another splash, and you saw her tail flick a couple of plants before she popped out of the water in front of you. The dark-skinned Jengu eyed you wearily, her tail swishing about in nervous energy. “You can’t keep taking residence among the papyrus fields, Bezia, we need them for the library.” Her facial features scrunched in distaste.

“The papyrus fields are the best home to have, my lady, the salt water chafes my skin and the freshwater doesn’t feel right on my fins,” Bezia replied, flashing you her pointed teeth. Your eyes flickered around you, observing the papyrus fields.

“Which is why I shall make an extension to the Flowering Wetlands to provide you with a home you may take residence in year-round.” You explained to her, a kind expression on your face. “I do not wish for the residents of my realm to feel not at home, that includes you Bezia.” 

The Jengu regarded you carefully, assessing to see if you spoke the truth. Then she nodded. With your eyes sparking to life, you looked to the heavens of your realm and raised your arms, shifting and molding the nearby landscape to stretch and bend, expand and reform. Muddy water sloshed against your dress, staining the white fabric as you worked. When you were done, there was a winding path through the papyrus fields that led to a new grove. In that grove were twisting vines and flowers that wove halls and rooms, a perfect home for any Jengu that further sought home. Bezia’s eyes glowed with happiness, and without a thank you or word, she swam her way to the newly made grove with the excitement of a child. 

You smiled, knowing that she would be much happier now that she had a place to call her own. Raising your eyes to the heavens of your realm, you spent a moment enjoying the nice breeze breaking through the heat of early summer. While you were closing your eyes and feeling the soft gales caressing your body, you felt a summons. 

Dawn, I stand in my gallery and I hold your sigil. I request permission to visit your realm to speak with you on a matter regarding recent dreams. 

You blinked and your lips parted as you exhaled. You could see in your mind's eye that he held an ivory dove in his hands, his starlit eyes staring down into the carved sigil. 

As long as my gates remain open, Dream, you are free to visit me however you shall design. My gates welcome you, you may meet me in my courtyard, I will be but a moment. 

You felt Dream acknowledge your words and enter your realm, his presence emerging within your palace walls. His presence always made you feel more connected to the Waking World. While you carried their hopes, Dream carried their dreams, and together you made dreams come true. Blinking out of your inner thoughts, you looked down at your soiled dress. It wasn’t completely ruined… so gripping the part of it that was mud-stained, you began ripping the hem. Your dress hem was torn to your knees by the time you decided you were satisfied with your work. Wiping your damp palms on the skirt of your dress, you focused on transporting yourself back to the citadel. Ruta will be happy to know that Bezia would no longer be a problem among the papyrus fields. 

Walking barefoot down a hallway you spotted Ruta speaking with Zinnia, the dryad who was in charge of keeping the rooms tidy and neat. In other words, making sure that the plants that intertwined with the castle didn’t get overzealous in their growth.

“My lady,” The dryads echoed as you approached them. Ruta peered at you with a knowing look. 

“I take it out papyrus problem is no more?” You smiled and bowed your head.

“A minor adjustment to the realm was all that was needed, Ruta. There was no malignancy behind Bezina’s actions.” Ruta bobbed her head and drew a line through a point in her checklist. 

“I thought so, I have a few more items to sort out within the Forest of Songs… but I can do that by myself. I believe Lord Dream is waiting for you within your courtyard?” 

“Yes, we have business,” You confirmed, your eyes lifting to the hall that led to the inner sanctum of the palace. “Please contact me if you run into any more problems, Ruta.”

“Of course my lady,” Ruta replied before she and Zinnia bid their farewells and departed. You resumed your course to your courtyard, walking beneath the curtained waterfall that flowed at all four entrances of the open space. At your footfalls, Dream, who had been standing and observing the pond in the very center of the courtyard, turned around. His eyes met yours, then widened when he took in your state. 

“Apologies for my state of dress, I was assisting with the spring floods within the Flowering Wetlands and it gets… muddy this year,” You said in a soft explanation. Dream’s lips twitched at your words. “You said you had a matter of recent dreams you wished to speak of? How may I help you?” 

Date Published: 1/16/23

Last Edit: 1/16/23

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[somethingusefulfromflorida]

I was tagged by @onmywaytonarnia so here's some stuff about me

Nickname: Florida Man or just Florida (god help me, I hate it down here...)

Sign: PEDESTRIAN X-ING, REST AREA - 3 MILES, or perhaps SPEEDING FINES DOUBLED WHEN WORKERS PRESENT (I do not believe in astrology)

Height: 6'1" or 6'2"

Last thing I googled: Perseverance rover

Song stuck in my head: for some reason I have a mashup of Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls and Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson stuck in my head. I don't know if I actually heard a mashup somewhere, or if they were both part of that 4-chords song by Axis of Awesome, but I can't stop thinking of the two choruses layered on top of each other (🎶and I don't want the world to see me cause I don't think that they'd understand/🎶I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly🎶)

Follower count: officially 3222, but I noticed when I was just starting out that tumblr inflated the actual count by like 20, 30, 40%. When it said I had 100 followers, I counted, and I actually had 85. When it said I had 1000, I only had like 700. I stopped counting after that, so I have no clue how many I actually have right now. Probably more than 1000, but probably not more than 2000. I have maybe 100 followers who regularly interact with my stuff, about 30 of whom are mutuals (maybe 10 or 15 close friends).

Amount of aleep: AHAHAHAHAHAHA (5, maybe 6 hours on a good night? Sometimes none, just endless tossing and turning because my brain won't shut off)

Lucky number: 13, and I'm not being ironic about that. I'm serious. 13 is my favorite number of a variety if personal reasons

Dream job: I want to be part of a creative team, I want to work with a bunch of people to make something for people to see! I want to make art, and I want to collaborate so I'm not alone. Writing scripts or making props or dressing sets, some manner of production design. I want to craft!

Wearing: Goodfellow t-shirt and cargo shorts

Movie/book that summarizes me: Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir feels like it was written for me personally. That is how my thought process works, that is how I deal with problems, that is who I want to be. I have a higher than average understanding of math and science but I always try to explain it in as simple terms as possible for people who find it all too daunting. This is the kind of book I want to write, sci-fi that explains the sci.

Favorite songs: Ramblin Man, the Gambler, Country Roads, the Devil Went Down to Georgia (I'm noticing a country pattern...), anything by Weird Al Yankovic (Hardware Store and Albuquerque are probably my top 2 of his),the Little Shop of Horrors movie soundtrack, White Squall and Northwest Passage by Stan Rogers (I went through a sea shanty phase when Wellerman was big), anything by Jonathan Coulton (Skullcrusher Mountain, Code Monkey, Blue Sunny Day, Big Wide World One, Shop Vac, Mandelbrot Set, to name a few), Climb Out Your Window, Addicted, and Here We Go by Walk off the Earth, and the Celtic Woman cover of Danny Boy (this is my go-to cry song; if I need a nice long cry, I put this on and it all comes flowing out of me)

Favorite instrument: I love brass, trumpet specifically, I could listen to Louis Armstrong all day

Aesthetic: analog technology, typewriters, instant photography, clockwork watches without quartz, sacrificing convenience for the sake of privacy, nostalgia for the early 2000s (but through the eyes of a child, so no George W. Bullshit)

Favorite author: per capita, Andy Weir. He's only written 3 books, but I love them all and want to emulate him. Max Brooks for World War Z. Cormac McCarthy for The Road (very depressing, but hopeful near the end; one of the only books to really tug at my heartstrings). John Steinbeck for Of Mice and Men (another heartstring tugger). Audrey Niffenegger for The Time Traveler's Wife.

Currently reading: Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

Favorite colors: cyan, lime green, heliotrope purple

Favorite animal sounds: the scuttling of crabs on pavement, the sneef-snorfing of a curious dog, the bleat of a baby goat, the EHHH of a baby sloth, the MEHH of a baby deer, the chirping of bats, ethereal whale songs

Last song: either I'm Going to go Back There Someday from the Muppet Movie, or Hey I Don't Work Here by Tom Cardy

Last Series: Owl House (Lulu + Hootcifer 4ever!!! Oh yeah and lumity's pretty good too I guess)

Random: I once learned all the lyrics to Bobby Darin's Mack the Knife without ever actually listening to the lyrics of Mack the Knife. Like, I listened to the song all the time, but I never paid attention to what was being said. It was just gibberish to me, but I learned the gibberish, and I sang along to it in the car one day and my mom asked why I was so enthusiastic about murder. Turns out Mack the Knife is about an old londontown ripper named Macheath. Still a banger though.

@goldenmoldies @olivia-online @nsomniacsdream @schifty-al @richardjager @n-brio @orange-birdie

[forabetterlifethanthis]

Blob?

Blob blob blob blob blob blob blob blob blob. Looking for something insightful? Blob blob blob blob blob blob. Just to clarify: blob blob blob. That is as much wisdom as you shall find.

Replace every word I write with blob and you shall find the same level of enlightenment. Why do I say this? Because it’s true? Why is it true? Because it is.  I spout the absolute worst garbage that syrups its way from the back of my brain to the front of my mind.  Then why read this? For a glimpse of honesty perhaps.  In a world that denounces such a thing.  I can’t offer any original ideas or instant enlightenment.  All I can offer is my honesty.  Is that worth your time? It depends on you. Who you are, and how you see me. 

I really didn’t want to do this today, but here I am doing it nonetheless. How I wish I had something to say. But, like an awkward first date, I just have nothing to say. It’s all the same. It’s always the same. Some brief turn towards a possible happy future with friends and love and hope.  And then a return to the me that only reveals itself when me is alone. The me that is full of distrust, distaste and dissatisfaction with all people and all things. The me that writes this now.  Hello. 

I am the inside evil. The thing that thinks but never speaks. The one that places doubts and removes trust. I am the malice that creeps into your head at night and whispers how you are not good enough and never will be. How everyone will be better off without your infectious negativity.  The thing that tries to bring you down to my level, because there is no hope of raising me to yours’.  It hides away when I am around people.  But as soon as they are gone, it rears its ugly head and exudes its poison. It takes control of me and makes me spit hatred into the world.  Hatred in words; hatred in actions. It is the insidious being that strangles my hopes and punctures my dreams.  It wraps itself within the chords of my brain and tugs and pulls it into shapes that represent the worst of me. 

But it is me. I am it.  It is my foundation and it will probably be my downfall.  I can feel it now.  I can hear it. Pulsing through my head with the pain.  Am I going mad? No.  I’ve always been mad. It is only now that I am allowing the madness to pervade my consciousness.  I hate it. I attach every pejorative that I know to it, but know I am cursing only myself. 

People talk of ‘toxic’ people.  People that bring nothing good to their lives. Well, that I fear is I.  Someone has to be it, else it wouldn’t be a thing.  I feel so much hate towards this thing inside of me.  This thing that is me.  I can’t get away from it.  I can drown it in pills and cover it in positivity, but it is always there and it always comes out on top.  The more effort I put in to quelling it, the more obstreperous it becomes.  It eats me from the inside out.

I raise the question for the x-illionth time.  Is there still hope? When there is time, there is hope.  And I do have time. Time is slow and drags and drags and drags. The idea of endless pontifications is a daunting one.   was told yesterday that I need to make the effort to find reasons to live and to be happy. The honest response was not so savory. There are reasons for hope and reasons for happiness.  Reasons to be able to live a high-quality and high-quantity life despite impending blindness and impervious pain.  However, there are reasons to be sad and reasons to want an end.

An ending.  Dying. Death. Dead.  Something that you will be one day. Everyone will be. So why is it such a delicate topic?  There is an answer somewhere there, but not one that I have yet to extricate.  I am so bemused to why the idea of someone dying by means other than what was ascribed to them by fate is so silenced.  Everyone dies.  Get over it. Get used to hearing it.  Talk about it, because believe it or not life is not a brilliant experience for everyone. Here is my suppository for saying what I really want to say.  No matter how pernicious it may be. Maybe if I turn enough people against me, it will make it easier.  Vindicate me.  Prove to me that I am right and that I am the worst of humanity.  Because of the words I say. The words that you aren’t supposed to say.   

This is where I now have read back what I have written.  I see how poisonous it gets and I am about to apportion a good chunk of it to the never-was-sphere of the backspace button. 

Five hours on, and I have enjoyed a lovely meal out for my mum’s birthday.  A lot can change in a few hours. Now I can focus on staying calm about tomorrow. The day of my last resort surgery.  Probably the most significant day of my life so far.  Being hubristic, I would say that I have nothing to lose and there is a good chance I’ll be in a better situation after than I am now. Following my far more natural negative tendency, I would say that I have everything to lose. My future rests on this outcome. 

So, I approach this night that I know sleep will not find me easily. Uncertainty, anticipation, trepidation: all feelings that will keep my mind a-turning.  I would like to thank the people who have read this so far. Writing has helped me so much, knowing that I may need not suffer alone, and not all people will reject me for my honesty in the darkest time of my life. 

Just to remind anyone who somehow found themselves here: I am having surgery on both my eyes tomorrow that will pretty much dictate whether I will have vision in the future. So pretty significant for me. I know the next week will most likely be very difficult for me. I will be back, for better or for worse. Probably for the worse.