#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

“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! 🤍

Dad!James and Bsf!Reader Masterlist

[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."

[waywardsummoner46]

Our Beautiful Girl

Pairing: Yandere!BAU x Reader, Yandere!Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: “Do you understand, (Y/N)? You need only understand and you won’t ever have to think again! Wouldn’t that be nice? A life without ever needing to worry about a thing? No responsibilities, no problems, nothing to trouble you ever again.”

  Years of successful cases struck you as suspicious... so you began researching. You never thought your research would come to this. You never thought your life would come to this. If you managed to survive this... who would believe you?

Word Count: 2538

Warnings: obsessive behaaviour, coercion, slight infantilism, drugging, non-consensual kisses, non-consensual touching, manipulation, the BAU and their ideology in this is fucked up

IMPORTANT A/N: My mind is fucked up. Oh well. This isn’t my darkest fic but be warned it’s a bit disturbing. I will be more than willing to do a drabble series for this if people are interested or even more parts. I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think!

DIvider by @firefly-graphics​

Everyone had heard of the legendary BAU team. They were an extremely popular department of the FBI, being called consistently to multiple parts of America and the rest of the world on occasion. They never got a break and consequently never stopped helping people. 

  Every case they had they “found the bad guy” or “arrested the unsub” and all they ever got was praise and blind acceptance. 

  Surely you couldn’t have been the only one to think that their endless streak of success wasn’t perfectly innocent. Despite only being an agent in training at the time their popularity peaked, you shared your opinions only with your closest friends and that’s where they stayed. 

  As soon as you’d left high school, you knew that being a profiler for the FBI was exactly what you wanted to do, hearing of the legendary stories of how the BAU had yet again caught a psychotic serial killer or rapist or whatever the fuck humanity had spewed up. It was intriguing to say the least. 

  You’d seen pictures of the team in pictures and read about them individually in interviews. They acted as your inspiration for the job during your early years; whenever you found something to be extensively difficult you merely reminded yourself that struggle is only a step closer to becoming as amazing as them. This became a regular technique for you, often thinking and dreaming about when you’d finally qualify and be able to explore the world and help people in your own unique way alongside the current greats of the BAU. 

  The friends you’d made shared your opinions and ultimately boosted that attitude, mirroring it actually. 

  Everything was going great! Until it wasn’t… 

  The first seed of doubt was planted in your head when you decided to do a little personal research. You looked through the archives of past cases (even though you weren’t supposed to and miraculously had access to it) and counted how many they’d solved in total. After an hour of counting and three hundred successful cases in a row, your restless hands finally slumped against the many case files piled around you on the floor and you regarded them with a raised brow and slightly pursed lips. 

  Surely there must’ve been at least one case they’d failed? Or at the very least, not caught the bad guy or charged the wrong guy? 

  Apparently not if the information from the daunting files in front of you had anything to do with it. 

  The logical thing to do was to accept it and resume your life as it had been and continue to aspire to be like this clearly flawless team yet there was something nagging you in the back of your mind just to delve a little deeper. Search a little more. 

  …no one’s gonna notice three hundred files missing right? No, surely not. Alright they would but ten or twenty at a time wouldn’t hurt and they were just begging to have some action. 

   So that day you neatly reorganised the files and put them back where they belonged but remembering to come back for a few at the end of the day. 

  After a long day of training, it finally got to home time and as you waved your friend goodbye, under the pretence that you desperately had to go to the toilet, you made your way back to the archives only to stop short at the neat pile resting on top of one of the cabinets. Did you forget to put the ones you were going tonight to take away? Surely you didn’t. 

  Then again you were tired and a bit forgetful the past few days so the situation was more plausible than not.  Deciding to reluctantly shrug it off, you reached for the files after looking around to see nobody was watching you and stuffing them into your satchel bag, crammed alongside all of your other things. 

   Letting out a shaky breath of relief, you left the room and made your way quickly out of the building, walking quickly, quickly, quickly-

  Into someone else’s body. You glanced up with an apology on your tongue only to stop short at the sight of Doctor Reid. Instead of the smooth apology flying out of your mouth, you stood their gaping like a fish struggling to form a sentence. 

  He brushed off his shirt and straightened his tie before looking up at you, eyes widening slightly when they met yours. 

  “I am so sorry, Doctor Reid! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and didn’t see you! I am so, so sorry, I-“ you rambled and we’re cut off by him raising a kind hand to dismiss you. 

  “Actually the collision was both of our faults. Statistics show we’re more likely to bump into another person or thing when feeling rushed or anxious than when not.” He said it with such fluidity and confidence that you had to close your eyes and swallow to compose yourself. “On the bright side, at least neither one of us are hurt.” 

  You looked back up at him and smiled shyly under his easygoing gaze. Out of habit, your hands came up to the strap of your satchel and began fidgeting with it, “I’m sorry again, Doctor. Are you alright?” 

   “I’m alright, thank you. Are you alright, Miss (Y/L/N)?” He knew your name? 

  You nodded in confirmation, missing how he glanced at your bag, noticing the bulge and allowing his lips to quirk momentarily, as you silently pondered over how he knew your name. 

  When your eyes met again you realised that you’d been standing there in silence for a while. “Unfortunately I should really leave now. It was nice speaking to you and again, I’m sorry for bumping into you,” you stated as you began turning to the exit. 

  “It’s no problem, we actually evaded the high chance of one of us getting hurt during the collision so I’d say that it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Take care, Miss (Y/L\N),” he said and waved goodbye, leaving out a separate door. 

  You walked over to your car, opened it and plopped down onto the seat, sighing heavily and looking uneasily at the bag on the passenger seat, wondering what exactly you were about to do. Was it really a good idea? You’d just met Doctor Reid formally for the first time and he seemed like a genuinely good person, your developing profiling skills contributing to your evaluations, so you felt mildly guilty second guessing his and his team’s sense of justice. 

  Biting your lip, you sat in silence for a good minute plotting the pros and cons of your idea. 

  No one would know you’d taken them, surely. No one has any need for them, they’re old files for god's sake! 

  Well, no one has any need for them, bar you of course. 

  With a determined nod, you put your keys in the ignition and drove home, knowing you had a long night of reading ahead of you. 

It had been two weeks since you’d taken those files home. And it was nearly the end of endless files you’d found in the archives, considering how you’ve had no luck since beginning then you were starting to think that this entire escapade had been a mistake. 

  Tireless efforts lasting overnight were slowly catching up on you, you were overwhelmed by the graphic images taken and the details in some of the cases were downright horrific. Child pornography, rape, homicide, torture… there was nothing not on that list. The amount of bile and vomit that had been flushed down your toilet was insane. You’d concluded that maybe you’re more cut out for the action aspect of the job and not the analysis of dead, mutilated bodies. 

  Despite that your mind couldn’t help but dwell on your encounter with Doctor Reid. He’d been extremely charming and you’d been itching to just speak to him again. You had no idea why but there was something about him that was just so interesting to you - something that needed a little prodding. 

  Wrenching yourself out of your thoughts, you once again tried and failed to focus on the piece of work in front of you. It was an exercise to teach and prepare you to conclude a case therefore summarising and going into detail about every aspect. Without the thrill of an actual case you found this activity to be a complete drag and elected to ignore the work until an hour before the deadline which was next week if memory serves correct. Which gave you enough time to finish the last ten files in your satchel.  

  You’d decided to stay at the BAU late that night, coming to the conclusion that the work place would increase your productivity and reduce your exhaustion. Apart from the odd agent, there was nothing that distracted you from your work.

  Each and every picture from each and every file seemed to be ingrained into your memory; the horrors not something you’d forget so easily. It made you wonder though, how exactly did the current BAU seem so… at ease with everything they’ve seen?

  Of course, they’re not not unscarred but there always seems to be some undertone of something whenever they discuss previous cases. After all, that very undertone was what encouraged you to be breaking practically every rule of your training because something was just not right.

  About an hour had passed and you were finally on the last case file. Nothing struck you immediately (apart from a disheartening disappointment), all sections and pictures just as bad as the others. Nothing was out of the ordinary… except just one thing. 

  Anyone who wasn’t studying it as vigorously as you would’ve missed it. There was a… note, of some sort, at the end of the medical examination section. 

    Do you understand now, (Y/N)?

 “Oh, (Y/N)! I didn’t expect to see you here. Is everything okay? You look a bit… sick,” the voice of Spencer Reid made you jump from your shaken stupor. Seeing your wide, teary eyes must’ve been concerning for him. He immediately rushed over to you and began soothing you, stroking the tears from your cheeks.

  “Hey now, what’s gotten you so upset?” 

  You couldn’t do anything between your tears and quivering lips so you only pointed to the case notes, not caring at all what you’d be admitting to. His lips pursed as he looked at it.

  An eyebrow raised, he said, “Yes, this does seem quite concerning. I do have one question though…” Even through your terror, you recognised that this was where all of your years of hard work would come to an end; you pushed through your crippling fear and pleaded for forgiveness one last time.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant to! I just couldn’t help myself. I’m so-”

  “No, no, no. Breathe with me, (Y/N), you’re alright. It’s not that, it’s not.” Oh, that was a relief. What was it then? “It’s simple enough, so I’ll cut to the chase: do you? Understand, that is. It’s very important to us.”

  What? 

  Slowly, you moved away from his hands and reached a trembling hand to the gun in your pocket. “What did you just say?” 

  A tight smile spread across his face at your actions. He huffed a sigh, “You can be so silly sometimes, (Y/N). My question was easy! I phrased it as comprehensively as I could! Just for you! Always, for you!”

  An obsessive, manic look took over his face, his entire body language. This was not the famous Doctor Spencer Reid. He looked too insane for that.

  “Doctor, I don’t understand what you’re saying…`’ Evidently, that was the wrong thing to say as he went from looking loopy to completely livid and then to a twisted sort of affectionate. Him settling on that sent shivers through you.

  He took a step forward and you took one back, another step forward, another step back. You carried on like this until your back regrettably hit a wall -  you were trapped. Drawing your gun, you warned him. “G-get back! Don’t come any closer, I will shoot!”

  Obediently, he paused and smiled warmly at you. “I suppose it was our fault. The likelihood of you understanding our motives was seventeen percent at best but we were hopeful. Admittedly, it was a risky gamble and what must happen now was entirely avoidable but oh well!” He was still unbearably charming even when he scared the living daylight out of you.

  Neither of you said anything for a while; him clearly enjoying watching you and you debating on whether or not to shoot him. The silence was unnerving to an extreme you were unfamiliar with.

  A lump in your throat had appeared and your grip on the gun was flimsy at best - you couldn’t help but feel that, despite how you were aiming a gun at him, he was the one with the power in the situation… if only you could figure out why. 

  “I can see your clever little brain working from over here. As adorable as it is, you need only understand and you won’t ever have to think again! Wouldn’t that be nice? A life without ever needing to worry about a thing? No responsibilities, no problems, nothing to trouble you ever again,” he was crazy, positively psychotic.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t understand, Doctor Reid! What are you saying?” Emotional exhaustion nearly overwhelmed you but you remained strong. All of your research and now his behaviour was making you even more aware that something was out of place but you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what.

  Too quick for you to realise, he’d strode towards you, grabbed your gun and forced your back to his chest - a hand calmly stroking your hair and one discarding the gun to the floor. You were screaming and sobbing like a feral beast and, answering your prayers, somebody heard you.

  Multiple somebodies as it seemed, the rest of Spencer’s team. Through your overwhelming distress, you didn’t notice the equally twisted fondness they looked at you with, only focusing on how other people were here to help. Reid’s next words made you realise the extent of the danger you were in:

  “We know, baby. That’s why we’re all here to help you!”

  We, he’d said. 

  All of the BAU were just as crazy as the others. Everything you’d ever suspected, ever hypothesised was true. This only reinforced it. 

  You felt a sharp prick on the side of your neck. Realising Spencer had injected you with some sort of sedative, you instantly began to struggle. His soothing words did anything but as you descended into an increasingly drowsy sense of panic. And as you finally succumbed to unconsciousness, you felt him place a kiss to your forehead, each of your eyelids and one lasting one to your lips

  “When you wake up, you’ll finally be home… and you won’t have to worry about anything ever again. Our beautiful little girl.”

[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.

[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:

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[thepaintedlady00]

Burden

Part 4

Part 3 | Part 5

TW: fluff, yall finally get to experience some full happiness which is totally not gonna get ripped away 💀, mutual pining, some slight angst

You looked at the blue stone, tentatively stroking a finger down the smooth shimmering edge. It had been a few years since he'd given it to you... Since Dream of the Endless had shown you a side of him you'd never seen before, had never known existed. You'd been to The Dreaming many times since that night, but you'd never ventured closer to the gate, still afraid that it would remain closed to you and that the whole thing had been nothing more than a long game. So you and Puck sat on the beach, watched the sunrise, and returned to The Forest. You'd done it so many times without a word from Dream that you were almost scared to face him now.

As the days passed you wandered closer and closer to the gate, slowly building up the courage to pass through it until you finally stood right in front of it, looking up. The Corinthian, who'd spent so much time on the beaches waiting for you to come closer had grown rather tired of being patient, groaned beside you, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, holding you in place as the gates began to open. He practically dragged you inside the second there was enough room for the two of you. "Been watching you walk around for years, time to commit Daunt!"

"Corinthian!" You growled as he howled with laughter.

The Gates of Horn and Ivory lay open before you, revealing the bright sun shining off the golden peaks of Dreams palace. Lush green forests and the life of every species natural and imagined filled the space between. It was beautiful. Open and free and bright, the air was clean and the sky was clear. For the first time in a long while you could see the blue of it, the soft puffy clouds that changed shapes above your head, and the birds that flew happily past. The Corinthian squeezed you into his side. "So, how does it feel to be in The Dreaming finally?"

"It's wonderful," you answered with a hidden smile. "Everything is so bright and clear."

He chuckled. "You'll get sick of it eventually."

You shook your head at him. "Never. I've spent far too long in The Forest to ever grow tired of a place like this."

"It's not as free as it looks," he merely said as you walked. "Lots of rules to abide by and never anything fun to do."

"Are you speaking for me or yourself?" You wondered looking up at him with a grin.

"A bit of both I'd like to think."

There was a tenseness in your friend's tone that made your eyebrow rise a bit. "You're just upset that Dream doesn't allow troublemakers to do whatever they please."

He smiled. "You're also a troublemaker, do you plan on following his stifling rules left and right?"

"He is the monarch of this realm," you stated. "And I am a guest. I must abide by his rules if I ever wish to return."

"And do you?"

"Of course." You looked at everything around you with a sigh. "I've been forbidden from entering for so long... It is nice to have somewhere else to go when things in The Forest grow too dark. Besides, if I'm welcome to return I get to see you more often."

The nightmare nodded slowly, his grin remaining but something felt wrong about it. "That is a rather strong argument. Just... Promise me you'll cause a bit of trouble now and then. Don't want you to get boring like everyone else."

Rolling your eyes you nodded. "I promise."

The Corinthian led you through the town, past the hushed whispers of Dreams subjects, and toward the bridge to the palace. Your nervousness returned as you looked up at the magnificent creatures guarding the gate. Puck moved ahead of you, yellow eyes warily watching everything you passed. "Dream will want to see you, likely to waste your time with a tour."

"That would hardly be a waste," you said quietly. "After all I've only seen glimpses of this place."

"Eh, you've probably seen enough to get the picture." He gave you a mocking bow and smirked. "Enjoy your audience with the great king, fair Daunt. If you can slip away, come  find me and I'll give you the fun tour."

You chuckled at the nightmare and pressed your hand to his cheek. "Try not to have too much fun without me, dear Corinthian."

He scoffed, laying a hand playfully on his chest. "I could never!"

The throne room looked different than the last time you saw it. The space that had once been full of life and dancing and laughter was now little more than a cold, space that mirrored the Dream you’d known for centuries. The Dream that had been nothing but cold and cruel to you since you could remember and not the one you’d seen that night. White marble glowed beneath the rainbow light from the vast ceiling of stars and galaxies above you as you walked deeper into the silent space. There at the top of the window ding stairs was his throne. It was odd… Not as grand or as large as you'd imagined it to be all these years.

Puck sniffed the ground and plopped down beside you. "I don't like it here. Everything smells different."

"Is it so different from the beach?"

"Yes." Your companion insisted. "Smells like him."

You hummed, giggling softly as you leaned down to scratch behind his ear. "Ahh yes, and we both know how much you detest the smell of the horrid Dream Lord."

"Horrid?" The voice smooth as the finest silks and deep as rolling thunder filled your ears, sending waves of conflicting emotions over you. The throne room felt smaller as you turned your head to gaze upon him. Dream stood between two large pillars, the black of his cloak standing out harshly against the cool stone, flames licking at his feet. Jessamy perched on his shoulder and his hands twisted behind his back as his glowing eyes regarded your companion with a look.

Puck growled lowly, baring his teeth to the dark figure, and curled around your feet slightly. "I would have used a far more insulting choice of words Nightmare King."

"Manners Puck," you chided softly. "We are guests after all."

Dreams eyes lifted to yours, bright and warm… An odd thing where the Endless was concerned. You'd never seen him like this, so calm in your presence and it was terrifying. He bowed his head slightly and gifted you a thin smile. "You look well, Lady Daunt."

Lady. Your mind echoed with the word. He'd called you the formal title before, all those years ago on the pier bathed in starlight. You'd forgotten how it sounded, the honey-sweetened sincerity, the low almost desperate timber of his voice… As if he were pleasing you to believe him, to forgive. Yet the memory of those hands curled around your throat remained. You returned his gesture, stiff, uncertain. "As do you, Dream of the Endless."

A look, swift and fleeting, passed over his face… hurt. He straightened and looked about his throne room. "What do you think of my realm so far?"

"I've seen little of it," you reply. The cosmos swirling above your head once again caught your eyes before you looked to his throne. It reminded you of your place, of how little your words mean to one such as he. "What I have seen is beautiful, as your creations always are."

He hummed, moving silently to stand closer to you, as close as Puck would allow. "High praise from one whose realms beauty rivals that of mine."

You almost laughed at him. The Forest was dark and clouded in mist. Its woods echoed with desperate cries of frustration and sorrow and it bent to none, not even you. "You need not attempt to flatter me."

"I am not." Dream said. "Your realm is beautiful in its own right, in a way I could never recreate… Much like you are."

Your head turned quickly, eyes wide as his words settled against your skin like pinpricks of knives. Was he mocking you? Trying to bait you into some kind of cruel game? Yet there was nothing, save the gentle gleam in his eyes and the thin smile on his lips, nothing that indicated the words were said with malice. So, you cast your eyes away. "Thank you."

Jessamy cawed from her master's shoulder. "What do you want to see first, Lady Daunt? There is much within The Dreaming to see!"

"I don't know."

"Well, surely you've thought about your visit a few times."

You looked to the floor. "I suppose I never thought I'd get to see any of it."

Jessamy made a quiet noise as Dreams dark figure appeared to grow taller. Jessamy shook her silky wings. "Why don't we start here then? The Library is just down the hall. Lucienne will certainly want to see you!"

"That sounds lovely." You lifted your head and looked at Dream, whose face had hardened. "If the Dream Lord permits it."

His brows furrowed and lips pursed. "You may go wherever you wish. I meant what I said, Daunt. My realm is open to you."

You watched him closely, still looking for any sign that his sincerity held any manner of falseness. With a tentative nod, you shifted your feet. "Such a thing is… Generous of you, Dream Lord."

Jessamy looked to her master. "So… The library then?"

Dream gestured down the hall and bowed his head slightly. "After you, Lady Daunt."

He could not stop looking at her. No matter how much he tried to go on normally, everything vibrated with just the knowledge that she was here. She'd taken so long to venture even a little close he thought this day would certainly never come. But, here she was, walking beside him to the library, quiet and timid but here.

You honestly didn't know what to expect on this tour, how willing was Dream to let you into his world? Would your presence be confined to the high walls of his palace as if to hide you from the other creatures he ruled over? Would he expect something in return for this kindness, for the supposed freedom to come when you liked? All thoughts faded as the library doors opened and the literal collection of all written creation lay before you.

The trusted Librarian of The Dreaming, Lucienne, was already waiting at the table. She offered you a bright smile and bowed her head to Dream. "Lord Morpheus, Lady Daunt

“Lucienne,” you said with a smile, “It’s good to see you again.”

“You as well, my lady.” She returned the smile. “You look well.”

Jessamy perched on the desk, quietly pecking at a book she appeared to be reading. Dream gestured to the tall shelves. “Every book that was is or will be is here. You are welcome to look through my collection."

Your lips twitched into a tiny smile as you admitted, "I've tried before, one time, while you were away. But to me, they're nothing but blank pages."

"I could read one to you."

The pure genuine nature of his offer made you pause. Your wide eyes met his. "You don't have to do that, I'm certain you have better things to do, more important things..."

With a raised hand he stopped you and gestured to the shelves once again. "I would not have offered it if there were more important things that required my attention. Please, pick whichever one you like."

You hesitated but complied nonetheless. You'd tell yourself it was mere curiosity about the books of otherworldly beauty, but the truth of it was far more simple. You enjoyed this newfound calming presence that Dream was offering, as well as his silken voice. He sat down at the head of the long table and watched you as you searched the endless shelves. After a moment you stood on the tips of your toes and plucked one from the group.

Dream seemed to recognize the rich sapphire bindings immediately and smirked to himself. You narrowed your eyes at the sight of it but still set the book down just close enough that he could reach it. "I enjoy the color."

He regarded your words with a simple nod. "It's a beautiful book. Written by a friend of yours, Will Shakespeare I believe he's called now."

You smiled to yourself. "Will, of course. I suppose you had something to do with his sudden inspiration."

"Perhaps."

"What is it called?"

"A Midsummer Night's Dream." Dream looked at Puck with amusement. "I think you'd companion will enjoy a character or two."

Pick settled on the floor with an unhappy growl. "Unlikely."

"It sounds sad," you mused, taking a seat one chair away from him near the middle of the table.

"I suppose it can be seen that way," he said, stroking his fingers along glittering letters you couldn't see. "Though many would consider it a comedy."

His eyes met yours as you settled into the chair, but he said nothing more, instead, Dream opened the book and began reading. Hours passed, but his voice remained steady, occasionally glancing up to look at you. The story was beautiful, but his voice was more so and after a while you laid your head down on the table, eyes watching Dream with a speck of wonder. Unbeknownst to you, he continued his reading unhindered but the sight of you remained in his mind.

Eventually, when he looked back up your eyes were closed. If he'd not known better he'd have thought you to be asleep. You looked peaceful, something he'd not seen… Something he'd actively prevented in the past. "Why did you stop?" Your eyes didn't open.

He smiled, just a little. "Apologies, I was lost in thought."

You hummed softly. "You don't have to continue if you don't want to."

"I don't mind, though you seem to have grown less interested."

Your eyes opened slightly as you smiled at him. A real smile, the first he'd ever recieved. "On the contrary, I am very invested. Your voice is beautiful, relaxing."

He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat as he lifted the book to shield his face from your view. "Very well, I'll continue."

You chuckled to yourself. "I'm still listening, I promise."

*

When you’d asked to visit the brothers and their beloved gargoyle, Dream had been glad to grant the request. He walked beside you the whole way and even remained as the two bickering brothers gave you tours of each of their houses. It was different, being so close to him without hearing a word of insult or complaint. It was… nice. You played with Gregory while Cain and Abel spoke to Dream about some Dreaming matter or another. Gregory was always one of your favorites of Dreams creations, though you could never understand how such a gentle and adorable creature had ever been a nightmare. 

You bid them farewell, promising to return for tea as soon as you were able to before falling into step beside Dream as he led the way back toward the village of his creations. "It's odd seeing you like this."

"Like what?" Dream questioned with a side glance your way.

You shook your head and tried your best not to feel the tingling his gaze brought to your skin. "So… Content."

Dreams eyes narrowed, "Content?"

"I don't know how to describe it," you laughed. "You're just… Different."

"I suppose it's not untrue. You've not known me to be very content in our past meetings." He sighed a quiet sound that you weren't entirely sure you'd heard. It appeared as if he wished to speak more, but his lips remained tightly shut as the two of you continued to walk down the wooded path.

When Dream had to step away to deal with something you sat on the bridge and looked out at the gorgeous orange and yellow hues of the setting sun. It was so beautiful here, so different from the mist and darkness you’d grown used to. It was almost too beautiful… like you were just dreaming and would soon have to wake up.

“There she is, the grand Lady Daunt,” a familiar voice teased as The Corinthian leisurely walked across the bridge to stand beside you. “Dream finally let you go free?”

“He’s taking care of some business,” you said, smiling. “I’ve been instructed to wait for him to finish.”

The Corinthian smirked and shook his head. “Still following the rules?”

You nodded, returning your gaze to the sun. “Of course I am. I told you, I want to be able to come back after this visit.”

He huffed. “I guess I won’t pretend to understand why you’re willing to be so buddy-buddy with him.”

“He’s the monarch of this realm, one I have to deal with quite often.” You sighed. “I’m tired, Corinthian. Tired of fighting with him at every turn.”

“Fighting with him is fun though,” your friend insisted, his head turning to look at a dreamer wandering over the bridge, standing just off to the side of you and Corinthian, looking around with his mouth hanging open at the glorious sight of The Dreaming.

You watched him closely as he forced his head to turn back to you. “Fighting with him is tedious, especially when I'm just trying to do my job.”

He shrugged. “But you’re like him, Daunt. Powerful.”

“I’m not an Endless, Corinthian,” you reminded him. “I’m not as powerful as him, nor as, well, endless.”

“You haven’t even tried to be,” he nearly hissed, frustration and anger suddenly filling his voice as his eyes drifted behind you to look at the dreamer again.

The Corinthian turned his head away from you and the dreamer, a scowl setting his lips into a frown. You tilted your head to look around him better, "Are you jealous?"

"Of Dream?" He scoffed. "Never."

"Not of Dream," you clarified glancing at the dazed dreamer. "Of them."

His face softened, a realization overtaking him as he watched the human. "I… I don't…" He turned his head back to face you. "They're accepted for who they are no matter how ugly or terrifying they can be. I… I want that. I want to feel, to experience what they do. To be accepted… Flaws and all."

You touched his cheek with a soft smile. "I accept you, Corinthian just as you are. Beautiful and terrifying and everything in between."

He leaned into your touch with a sigh. "I know you do, Daunt." There was still much restlessness in him, you could feel it, but before you could inquire more he straightened his stance and bowed tipped his hat to you with a tight grin. "Duty calls."

You watched him walk away for a moment, worry building up inside you at his odd behavior as of late, but the loud caw of Jessamy as she flew down to perch beside you shook you from your thoughts. She bowed her small head as Dream slowly made his way toward you, calm and unreadable as he always was. “Is it time I take my leave, Dream Lord?”

He shook his head. “You may stay as long as you wish to, Lady Daunt. Though I have one last location I wish to show you.”

“Very well,” you said, trying to mask your relief that he’d not come to kick you out.

The two of you walked in silence, trees, and hills of wildflowers passing by as you entered a wooded area. It reminded you of The Forest, but what you’d always longed for it to be. Animals darted through the site, butterflies flew from flower to flower and a warm comforting silence filled the space. Here there was no mist, no echoes of haunted dreamers' desperate pleas, nothing save the sound of rushing water as you near a small lake and waterfall. “It’s beautiful here.”

“This is Fiddlers Green,” Dream stated. “The jewel of my realm.”

“And a grand jewel it is, Dream Lord.”

His head tilted slightly as he looked at you, the now rising moonlight casting an ethereal glow on his pale skin. “Why do you not call me by my name?”

You’d long heard that Dream had enjoyed being called Morpheus, a name you did not know if he was gifted at the beginning of his life, or later by the humans. “I did not think I was allowed to.”

Dream nodded, his lips pursing. “You are. I… I would prefer you call me my name.”

“If that is your wish, Lord Morpheus.”

A soft smile and a light breath escaped him. “Would you dance with me?”

“Dance?” You asked, taken aback by his request. “There’s no music.”

“An easy thing to remedy.”

With little more than a gesture the meadow filled with soft echoes of music. It was almost surreal, the soft melody was familiar somehow. You blushed a little as you looked at your dirty and tattered gown. “I’m afraid I’m not dressed for a dance with a king.”

He chuckled softly. “Another thing easily remedied.”

The gown that settled against your skin at the King of Dreams will was familiar, the one he’d gifted you for the ball. Your hands slid against the soft fabric as you looked up at him with a tiny smile. “I did not think you would reuse a design. Have you run out of ideas?”

“Perhaps I simply wished to see you in this particular gown again.” He bowed his head a little and lifted his hand toward you. “And share a dance with you as I should have that night.”

Your heartbeat echoed in your ears as you took his hand, chills spreading up your arm and down your spine at the cold feel of his silken skin. “I suppose I should grant you such a simple request. You’ve given me a far greater one today.”

As the two of you swept off into a light and gentle dance he said, “I should have gifted it to you long ago.”

“I am simply glad to be here now.” You smiled at him, an action that caused his eyes to fix on your lips.

You didn’t know how long the two of you spent dancing in the beautiful fields of Fiddlers Green, but with each passing moment, the space between you grew smaller and smaller until you were right in front of him, looking up into the sparkling starlit eyes of the Dream Lord. It was so easy getting lost within them, lost within him, that you’d almost not heard the echoes of the dreamers. The two of you shared a breath as the urge to fill the space between your lips grew near unbearable. The echoes grew louder and louder until mist began to fill the fields and the trees began to shift closer together and grow darker. The Forest was calling you home.

“Forgive me,” you whispered. “My realm can be… temperamental at times.”

He looked around with a soft sigh. “So it seems. I’ve… enjoyed our time together, Lady Daunt.”

“As have I, Lord Morpheus.”

“Will you return?”

You smiled, the closeness neither of you had corrected growing almost comfortable. “Do you want me to return?”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate.

“Then I will,” you said softly. “Perhaps next time we can dance again?”

Dream’s smile was something that took you off guard. It was larger, far more noticeable than any of the others he’d given you that day. “I would cherish the chance to dance with you again.”

“Until then,” you pulled away from him, Puck’s glowing eyes waiting for you at the edge of the misty treeline. “Morpheus.”

“Until then, Daunt.”

You and Puck vanished in the trees, reentering your darkened realm with an erratic heartbeat and light flush to your skin. Puck had been inquisitive, asking you questions about what you’d gotten up to while he explored the odd-smelling realm on his own, which only made you blush harder at the memories of such intimate moments you’d shared with the Endless being. As the two of you found the path you nearly gasped at the sight of specks of white lining it. 

Flowers. The pathway was lined with small white flowers. You knelt to inspect them, careful not to be too rough with your featherlight touch. “Were these here before we left?”

“I do not believe they were.”

“How did they come to be?” You wondered as lights flickered above your head, shining softly down on the forest floor. You looked up and nearly sobbed at the sight of the tiny insects floating around you, weaving between the trees and lighting the misty forest.

Puck's nose twitched as he sniffed the small creatures cautiously. "What are they?"

"Fireflies," you breathed, lifting your hand to the air, now filled with brilliant twinkling lights.

Your companion chased the insects, eyes bright and darting from one to the next as they blinked in and out of visibility. You smiled fully as a warm laugh bubbled up from your chest and for the first time since the creation of the world The Forest was filled with laughter.

[mystictf]

Exploring Tomorrow

Avengers x Reader (AU)

1.4k Words

The sun dips low in the horizon, casting a beautiful spectrum of oranges, purples, and pinks across the expansive New York skyline. You find yourself on the balcony of your small apartment, the city stretching out before you like a vast canvas - a mixture of old dreams and new beginnings.

As the last rays of sunlight kiss the tops of skyscrapers, you lean against the railing, feeling the cool evening breeze brush through your hair. The air is alive with the sounds of the city: distant honking horns, laughter from nearby streets, and the faint rhythm of a street performer playing a soft melody. You take a deep breath, inhaling the vibrant energy that is uniquely New York, and allows yourself to reflect on the journey that has brought you here. In just a few short months, your life has transformed utterly. You remember your apprehension upon moving from your quiet hometown, the fear of leaving behind the safety of familiarity for the unknown chaos of the city. There were so many moments of uncertainty, loneliness, and the ache of nostalgia for the friends and memories left behind. But now, as the sun sets, you understand that those memories are not shadows of loss; they are stepping stones that shaped your path. You think back on the whirlwind of emotions that accompanied your first days - your father’s announcement at the diner, the bittersweet goodbyes shared with friends, and the anxiousness that enveloped you on your first day at University Heights High. But with every challenge came new friendships and the exhilarating rush of new experiences. The warmth of laughter shared over pizza, the intimate moments spent in cosy coffee shops, the late-night talks with Natasha, and the gentle, budding relationship with Bucky - all of it has added rich layers to your life. The memory of Bucky’s earnest confession fills you with a sense of joy. Since that moment, each day spent together has deepened your bond; exploring the city side by side, sharing frivolous arguments about pizza toppings, and finding unexpected comfort in the depth of your connection. Through Bucky’s laughter and warmth, you’ve discovered a tenderness that feels effortlessly right, like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

You smile softly to yourself, feeling lucky to have found that spark amidst the whirlwind. The world feels brighter when he’s around - a safe harbour in the unpredictable tide of city life. Your evenings together have blossomed into something beautiful; from quiet study sessions cluttered with books and surrounded by coffee cups to playful outings where the warmth of his hand brushes against yours, setting your heart racing with delightful anticipation. With the skyline illuminating before you, your heart lifts at the thought of endless possibilities that lie ahead. New York may have felt foreign and daunting at first, but now it embodies the excitement of adventure and the blossoming of your relationship with Bucky - a future filled with promise, joy, and the unknown. “Y/N?” The familiar voice drifts over as Bucky steps onto the balcony, joining you with a subtle grace that feels perfectly in sync with the tranquillity of sunset. There’s a warmth in his eyes that makes your heart swell, a comforting reassurance of the bond that has grown between you. “Hey,” you respond, turning to face him, feeling a rush of happiness at this presence. “Look at this view.” He stands beside you, both of you leaning against the railing and taking in the vibrant hues splashing across the skyline. “It’s incredible. Almost as breathtaking as you smiling like that,” he replies, a playful glint in his eyes.

You can’t help but laugh, the warmth of his compliment washing over you. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Barnes.” “Good to know,” he smiles, glancing back at the city. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what this city means for us. I moved here too, and so much has changed for me as well.” He pauses, turning back to face you, his expression earnest. “But what matters most is that I’ve found someone incredible in the process.” Your heart flutters as you meet his gaze, your breathing steadying as exhilaration pulses through you. “I feel the same way. We’ve built something special here, and it’s only just the beginning.” Bucky nods, a shared understanding passing between you. “Whatever comes next, I want us to explore it together. The art, the parks, the food, and everything in between - I want to experience it all by your side.” “Always,” you respond softly, your heart swelling with affection for him. “Let’s take on this city together.” In this moment, standing together on the balcony, you realise that you’re not just marking the end of a chapter; you’re stepping into a new journey - one filled with exploration, laughter, love, and endless possibilities. Embracing the adventure that lies ahead, you know that as you navigate life in New York, you are not alone.

As the sun dips below the skyline, casting a golden glow over the horizon, you feel a sense of warmth and belonging envelop you. The city lights begin to twinkle one by one, mirroring the stars appearing in the evening sky. It’s as if the universe itself is cheering you on, affirming your decision to embrace change and move forward. You take a deep breath, letting the cool evening air fill your lungs. “You know, I never imagined I could feel so much joy in such a short time,” you say, turning to Bucky, who watches you with an expression of the utmost sincerity. “When I first moved here, everything felt overwhelming. I was scared of losing the pieces of my past. But now…” “Here you are,” he finishes for you, his tone smooth and reassuring. “You’re creating something new - an amazing life full of memories that you’ll carry forward. And I’m lucky enough to be part of that.” His words settle in your heart like a gentle promise, grounding you in this moment of vulnerability and hope. You take a step closer to him, feeling the warmth radiating from his presence, and you realise that this connection you’ve built is far deeper than you had originally understood. “Thank you for being so wonderful, Bucky,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, yet holding all the sincerity in your heart. “You’ve helped me appreciate this journey, and I’m so grateful for your support.” Bucky reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m grateful too. It feels good to blossom together, doesn’t it?” You nod, catching his gaze with earnestness. “It really does. I can’t wait to explore everything this city has to offer, especially with you. I’m excited for our adventures ahead.”

As the sun finally vanishes, pulling the light with it, Bucky’s eyes lock onto yours, illuminated softly by the city lights. It’s a beautiful moment of connection - one where the world around you fades, leaving just the two of you in this space filled with promise. And as you stand there, suspended in time with Bucky, you come to understand that you’re not just opening a door to a new life; you’re embracing the beautiful uncertainty of the future. You’re bridging the joys of your past with the thrilling adventures that await you in the vibrant heart of New York. Just then, the familiar call of a distant street musician strumming a lively tune floats up to your balcony, causing both of you to laugh. “That’s our cue to go out there and make some memories,” Bucky says, his playful spirit igniting a sense of excitement in you again. With a shared grin, you intertwine your fingers with his - hand in hand, heart to heart - as you step away from the balcony and into the pulsating life of the city. Whatever lies ahead, you know you’ll face it together, filled with the promise of friendship, love, and endless possibilities. As you make your way back inside, a sense of peace washes over you, affirming that while you may have left so much behind, you’ve opened the door to a life filled with adventure, laughter, and love. You’re ready for the next chapter - a new beginning that stretches out before you like the city itself, alive with colour and brimming with unmatched potential. In the heart of New York, amid the glow of the street lights and laughter of friends, you feel at home. And with Bucky by your side, you know that the best is yet to come.

A/N: So I was thinking of continuing this AU on to reader and the gang heading to college/university. So if you like this series so far, don't worry I'll continue it on.

[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.