#i can’t wait to go back it kind of feels like a little dream realm especially bc it’s hidden next to a junkyard

[besarelcielo]

lung steam with osha, tulsi, mullein and eucalyptus please save me…

[sadhours]

infected boys - 1

billy hargrove x steve harrington

cw: 18+ minors dni, first person pov, mutual masturbation, pining, drug use

He interrupts me, “I feel bad. I can’t stop thinking about it. You like me, Billy. You have a… you have a crush on me.”

“Alright, King Steve, calm down,” I scoff, not wanting pity from the guy. Either he likes me back or he doesn’t. I live either way. “I read you wrong. It’s no big deal. We can be friends.”

“It’s a big deal! Billy, it’s… do you?” He turns towards me.

“Do I what?” I play stupid. I know what he’s asking.

“Like me,” he breathes, sounds like he can’t believe it.

Or

Billy has a crush on Steve but they’re friends now.

read on ao3

Alright. I’m stoned and maybe the acid is starting to kick in. The Marlboro waves in front of my eyes each time I take a hit but I did accidentally squish the box in the door when I was stumbling in to take a piss so now all the cigarettes are kinda crumpled. The particular one I’m smoking has a slight tear in the paper above the stamp but I’m determined to not let it go to waste, though it ain’t hitting like it should. I feel like a dumbass about it. Susan was filling the dishwasher and the dumb thing is positioned in front of the garage door so when I opened it, cheap particle board wedged into the plastic door of the dishwasher. My boots are a little too heavy for my intoxicated state and I swayed against the garage door, smashing the box of cigarettes when I did so. Susan looked at me with angry eyes and like, scolded me. Like she’s my fucking mom. And the bitch doesn’t do housework often, so I told her I didn’t expect her to be doing the dishes. She said something about how l didn’t need to open the door so forcefully. I had to piss.

That’s all besides the point. The cigarette is moving. Or I think it is. I smack the back of my hand against Steve’s Member’s Only jacket and wiggle my brows, eyes trained on the Marlboro perched between my lips. I mumble around the cigarette, “You seein’ this shit?”

Steve’s voice is all out of sorts. Gooey and gargled, like there’s syrup dripping down his throat. Guys gotta be more fucked up than I am. Sounds like he was miles away when he replies, “Huh?”

“It’s moving. Waving,” I inform him before inhaling, watching as the ash stem lights up and burns through the paper. “See?”

“I— no,” Steve murmurs disappointedly, “I think I got a bum tab.” His fingers scratch at his bony knee, eyes trained on my cigarette and he’s squinting like maybe if he tries hard enough the acid’ll work.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I cackle, “You sound high.”

Steve heaves a sigh and sinks in the chair, “Just stoned.”

I shrug and pull the cigarette from my lips, “Give it a sec. Mines working.”

Tommy’s guy usually comes through but to be honest, I don’t know much about acid. I’ve only taken it a handful of times and never was I anywhere near sober before. It’s certainly in the realm of possibility that Steve did get a bum tab. Once I glance up at Steve, I’m sure my acid has kicked in. His hair is waving too. Like the waves I used to glide through back home. It curls and recedes, calmingly. I’m tempted to run my fingers through it but I’m luckily, not that far gone. Especially after the last time we got high and I woke up in Harrington’s bed, boxers around my ankles and a fat hickey on my pec. We haven’t talked about it. I don’t remember what happened and I’m fucking praying he doesn’t. Hawkins is too small. Word like that’ll spread like wildfire and land on the unaccepting ears of my father. And I had fully anticipated on sticking to women when we moved here, but Harrington is pretty and after I tried to rearrange his face with my fists, he became kind of the only real friend I have here. Tommy’s a friend, I guess. But I don’t tell him whatever I’m thinking and we don’t stay up late, sharing secrets and dreams. Steve’s different. At first, I thought we were like, total opposites. Deep down, we’re both just really fucking lonely.

“Wait,” Steve sits up with his eyes wide, “Your hair is growing.”

I smile smugly, shaking my head to illuminate his hallucination, “Everyday.”

“No,” Steve giggles and that smile makes my stomach churn. I kinda want to punch his face again. “Like I can see it growing.”

“Bum tab, my ass,” I quip and kick his ankle with my boot. As I grab for my can of beer, I remember it’s empty and it’s the last one. “Think you can walk, pretty boy?”

Steve hums, sticks his feet out and kicks them like he’s checking to make sure they still work, “Yeah. It’s doable.”

Now normally I’d drive, but the last time I did while on acid, the lines in the road curved when they really didn’t and Hopper pulled me over with a disgruntled look on his face. But when he insisted he drive me home, I told him Steve’s address. And his face got all contorted and scary but he didn’t say anything. Just drove to Loch Nora, knocked on the door and asked Steve, “He live here?” to which Steve replied, “Tonight he does.”

That’s when I decided I liked Steve. And not just ‘cause I thought he was good looking and he was fun to talk shit at. He cared enough to let me stay, and he combed my hair out with his fingers while I laid my head in his lap and told him what I’d been up to that night. We don’t talk about that either.

“‘Kay,” I stand on wobbly legs and announce, “Minute Mart, here we come.”

Harrington follows me through the open garage and out onto the street. It’s the rare occasion we’re at my place. Steve’s is usually safer, but dad’s been on my ass about being gone all the time and I guess maybe, I’m a little attached to Harrington ‘cause I still wanted to see him. And he never turns down a sleepover. I think he’s lonely.

Cherry Lane is dark at night. Not like in Loch Nora where the street lights only shut off when the sun's out. Again, my boots are too heavy and I know I’m stumbling, so I accept when Harrington grabs my bicep to steady me. Minute Mart is the only place in Hawkins that’s open 24 hours a day and luckily, it’s the closest convenience store to my house. It’s like, usually a fifteen minute walk. But I’m seeing like fifty more slugs on the sidewalk than I normally do. I freeze, pointing at them as they wiggle around.

“Those real?” I ponder, leaning into Harrington’s support.

He frowns and purses his lips, “They are now.”

“You’re a dickhead,” I tell him with fondness and he pushes us forward, exaggeratedly hopping over slugs that may or may not exist. I let him do it, like they’re secretly explosive or something and I step over the ones he does.

When the neon lights come into view, I feel excitement dripping down my throat and my mouth waters at the promise of more cheap beer. Most likely free because Harrington doesn’t often let me pay. Which is fine. ‘Cause the money I have is slim and I’ve been saving it from my summer job at the community pool. Once we’re inside, I make a beeline for the cold beer and Harrington dilly dallies around the plastic wrapped pastries. A true opposite in our personalities. The man loves sugary things. Even keeps a damned candy bar in his glove compartment of the Bimmer. I asked him if he was diabetic when I found it.

Once I’ve successfully obtained the sixer, I meet back up with Steve and his hands are full of snacks. He empties them on the counter and beams at the bored cashier. I slide the cans up beside the sweets that make my stomach queasy just at the sight alone and ask for a pack of Reds.

“It’s pretty late, isn’t it, boys?” the cashier points out as he pokes at the register.

“Maybe it’s early,” Harrington offers as he pulls out his wallet. I cackle but the cashier doesn’t seem amused, counting the bills Steve hands him.

“You owe me a dollar,” the guy insists and I rip my wallet from my pocket, racing Steve to hand him the bill. I win and Harrington grumbles but I feel proud I could contribute something.

The walk back is brutal, it seems longer than the way there but that’s probably because it’s uphill on the way back and now our hands are full. But once the pulsing porch light my dads been bugging me to replace forms into view I’m antsy. We have to sneak back in. And go to my room. The doorknob vibrates as I stare at it. Harrington is the one to twist it open. Walks through the living room without a care in the world and I’m jealous, know I could’ve done the same thing but I just couldn’t. Don’t trust the quiet and the darkness.

He collapses on my bed as I shut the door, sprawls out on it and his polo rises up enough that I can see the trail of curly brown hairs leading down to what I’ve been too chicken to really think about. Now, in the isolation of my room and the weed, booze and acid clouding my judgment, I think about Harrington’s cock. How I’ve seen it soft in the showers at school. And worse, how I’ve potentially seen it hard and don’t remember. The fact that I want to see it, want to touch and taste it.

“We have to be quiet,” I whisper, more to get out of my sinful thoughts than to warn him.

Harrington hums, eyes closed as his hands scratch at his stomach and result in exposing more of his abdomen to me. My stupid, gay thoughts run wild and I imagine getting my lips on that soft, mole speckled skin. I really wish I could turn on my stereo, drown out these thoughts but dads voice in my head helps enough. Faggot, on repeat has me avert my eyes and grabbing a beer. I don’t allow myself to sit on the bed with him, instead I lower to the floor and rest my head on the mattress. My eyes flutter shut without really trying, I’m starting to feel exhausted from the short walk to the Minute Mart. The sound of Harrington’s steady breathing fills my ears and it’s almost like a lullaby, I can feel myself starting to slip away while waves of brown hair flood my closed lids.

I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until the sun starts peeking in through the blinds and birds start singing a symphony of early morning alarms. I’m unrested, bones aching everywhere and I wonder if I even slept or if the acid hallucinations just felt like dreams. I look at the alarm clock, it’s 6 am. Dad’s probably already left for work so I figure it’s safe to crawl into bed with Harrington. His skin is warm. I don’t mean to press into him but he’s in the center of the bed, sprawled out like a starfish. I turn on my side so my back is pressed to him. He makes a gargled, sleepy noise and wiggles around. Which gives me more room but now our skin isn’t touching which I’m only a little bit bummed about. God this is stupid. It’s a bad idea being friends with Harrington. But hey, being friends is better than hating each other. He turns.

His arm hooks around my waist and I fall back asleep easily.

—

Harrington has an impressive skin mag collection. It would be creepy, but they’re pristine. Organized chronologically. Playboys, Hustler, Penthouse. He’s got them all. Stacked neatly in a plastic tub hidden in his walk in closet. He showed it to me about a month ago and we haven’t brought it up since. But now we’re sitting in the living room, skunky air permeating from the joint we shared. And weed makes me horny. I think it makes everyone horny. It makes Steve about ten times dumber which I didn’t know was possible but it is, he pants like a dog when he’s stoned. His eyes look thoughtless and I have to call myself a fag so I stop staring at him. Harrington doesn’t notice when I stare at him or if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

“How long you been collecting them nudie mags?” I try to ask casually, hoping Harrington can’t tell from my voice that my stomach and thighs are tight and warm with arousal.

His eyebrows shoot up as his face contorts deep in thought. Mouth pursed as he tilts his head, counting behind his eyes. Up in that empty little head of his. Except Harrington has a huge head. All square. I chew on my cuticle as I look at him, waiting for him to answer. His hazy mind is making it harder for him to remember, I can tell by the way he scrunches his face up before he finally replies, “Got my first one when I was like thirteen? Kinda got obsessed after that. Not even like for the porn part, they’re just pretty.”

“The girls?” I assume and Steve laughs softly before shaking his head. His chestnut hair bounces with the motion. His hair moves a lot.

“The photos. The girls too but they’re just cool. I like the ads a lot,” Steve explains as he reaches for his can of Coke.

I laugh, “Gay.”

Steve rolls his eyes before reaching his hand out and shoving my bicep. I ignore how his touch lights my body up. It’d be pretty fucking embarrassing to pop a stiffy right now, though I could blame the weed. ‘Cause it’s definitely the weed making me feel this way and not because Harrington’s eyes look green with all the red clouding the whites.

“I literally jack off to them, how is that gay?”

“To the ads? That’s super gay, Harrington,” I cackle, leaning back against the couch as I bring my beer to my lips.

Steve groans, “No, dickwad, I jerk off to the girls.”

“You got a favorite?” I ask, eyeing him over the rim of my beer. I’m itching for a cigarette but Mrs. Harrington can somehow tell if someone smoked inside. And what particular model has Steve’s dick hard is more pressing than my need for nicotine.

“Yeah, obviously,” he laughs, though it sounds nervous. Am I making him nervous? And why does the thought of that have my balls tightening?

I smirk at him, “Go get ‘em. Let’s see if your taste in women is as piss poor as your taste in music.”

“You have no respect for the classics,” Steve kicks my ankle as he stands and hops up the steps. I do, but my dad would actually like it if I listened to Sinatra instead of Tank. And that would make me sick if my dad approved of anything I like. It was funny when I asked Harrington what he listened to besides the radio. And he said big band. I almost hacked up a lung laughing and choking on the bottle of whiskey we were sharing. He insisted it was good and put on a Sinatra album super loud. The worst part is he sang along and Christ, Steve can sing. Crooning up to the ceiling and I hated how sexy he sounded.

I hear Steve’s heavy feet down the steps before I can cock my head around to see him. About ten magazines in his arms. He drops them carefully on the coffee table. More than half are Hustlers which makes me chuckle because I know those are the actual filthy ones. It’s not just chicks, you get to see cock in pussy. I don’t own any. I have a pathetic collection of Penthouses. And a tried and true VHS tape stashed where dad or Max won’t find it.

“Alright, Harrington, who is the girl that gets your dick hard, let’s take a look,” I say with a sigh, like he’s burdening me with this stuff and I didn’t ask.

Steve makes a face at me, mock offensive but his long fingers grip a magazine and he then he narrows his eyes at me. “Listen, this is vulnerable and I’m just warning you, I haven’t looked at this spread without getting a boner.”

“Like Pavlov,” I chuckle and nod for him to continue but he looks at me confused.

“Pavlov?” his nose wrinkles, “Is that a model?”

“No, like the scientist,” I explain, thinking that might clear things up but his face still looks puzzled, “Like Pavlov’s dog? Ya know… he conditioned dogs to—“ Steve stares at me blankly so I wave the thought away, “Nevermind, show me this smokeshow.”

Harrington has a goddamn sticky note marking the place of the centerfold. He flips it open and points with his hand, “She’s my favorite.”

It’s a blonde. She has big and bright blue eyes, long and curly black lashes and pretty pink, plush lips. She is hot. I can’t deny Steve’s taste. Funny though, this is a Playboy. It’s the most tame you can get. Steve just finds this girl pretty enough. She’s nude, but she wears knee high black boots. Her bush is thick so you can’t even see her pussy but she has full, round tits and pink nipples. I take a glance at Steve’s face and it’s flushed, just from looking at her.

“Why don’t you hang it up in your room if you like her so much?” I wonder, lowering my arm down over my crotch. My cocks filling out quick. The girl is hot but the fact that Harrington beats his meat to this photo is the real reason my own dick is getting hard.

Steve gasps and laughs, “My parents would kill me. Plus, I’d fucking get hard every time I walked by it. Isn’t she a babe, though?”

“Oh, yeah,” I muse, looking closer at the spread, “Her tits are massive.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, “But like her face… she’s pretty.”

I wonder about Steve fucking girls. If his eyes are on their faces. I look at their bodies. So I ask him, “That where you look when you fuck?”

“Faces?” he asks, my eyes catch his palm moving down to press against his crotch.

“Uh huh,” I say and because he’s doing it, I also rub my palm against my cock. It makes my eyes roll back. I didn’t even realize how turned on I was until now.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out harshly, “I like to watch how they react. Like the pleasure on their face.”

It occurs to me that Steve and I have sex with girls very differently. It’s more about me getting off, I don’t really care if they do. I’m selfish where Steve gets off on his partner's pleasure. I have to grip my cock through my jeans then. Christ. That’s stupid hot. This is bad. But Steve flips the page and the centerfold is exposing herself. Red acrylic nails spread her folds for Harrington and I to see. My eyes scan the other photos and yeah, this is as nasty as it gets.

“Kinda tame,” I note, “What else ya got?”

Steve chews on the inside of his lip as he reaches for a Hustler. Again, there’s little sticky note bookmarks sticking out of the pages. This is his spank bank. And he’s showing it to me, completely unashamed. It’s way different than looking at Tommy’s collection. Tommy’s isn’t taken care of like this. His pages stick together. And Tommy has more tapes than magazines.

“This one’s nice too,” Steve mumbles as he peels open the magazine, it’s a couple. Guy with a huge cock, girl on him. Reverse cowgirl. Holding herself open for the guy. I can’t help but glance at Steve again. His face is so flushed. And for some reason his lips look… bigger. Begging to be bit. But that’s gotta be my dumb, gay imagination. C’mon Billy. Focus on the porn, not the fucking bimbo of a man beside you. Except Steve’s knee knocks mine and fuck. Alright. We’re doing this.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” I mumble as I unbutton my jeans and shove my hand into them, gripping my cock. Steve seems to take that as a cue and does the same, I try my fucking hardest not to stare at him stroking himself under his jeans. I really try.

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Steve’s hand moving under his jeans. I’m setting the pace here so I push my jeans down to my calves, lazily palming myself in my underwear. Steve follows suit and I can’t help myself, I gotta ask.

“What would you do? With that blonde,” I mumble out, moving to cup my balls.

Steve inhales sharply and out of the corner of my eye I can see the head of his cock bobbing up and down against his white briefs. Alright. It’s not a problem. I’ve looked at his cock in the showers. I’ve seen it soft. And it was hanging then. From the small glimpse I’ve got now, there's no fucking doubt that Harrington is packin’. There’s heat in those stupid whitey-tighties. I have to look away because if Steve catches me looking this is all over. Eyes on the porno. That cock is huge. Stretches the woman out. Her face says it all, and well, I’ve learned that’s where Steve looks. Alright, Billy. Look at her face. You can do it. Christ, that makes me last longer. Maybe that’s why Steve does it.

“Ah,” a moan, soft and pretty, slips from his lips and I cannot react. Christ, that was hot. He’s vocal right now, he has to be with girls. Fuck, I can’t think about that. I’ll bust. I squeeze the base of my cock and push my underwear down to my thighs. I spit in my hand and return it to my cock, slow strokes up and down.

Steve whimpers as he tugs his underwear down and exposes himself. I glance. I have to. I have to look. He’s huge. Bigger than mine. Bigger than Tommy’s.

“I’d…” he swallows, “I’d eat her out. I— I’m good at that. I been told.”

I’ve heard. There’s rumors about what the hell King Steve meant and I heard more than once it was about his tongue and not his cock. The thought of watching Steve make out with a girls’ pussy has me squeezing my cock.

“Yeah,” I laugh because I can’t help myself, “You like eating pussy, pretty boy?”

“Uh huh,” he moans, stroking his cock faster like my words are fueling his arousal. This is definitely gay but I don’t care. Our knees keep knocking together.

“You ever make a girl cum? With your tongue?” I’m not entirely curious but I can see this is getting Steve going and I’m inclined to push the boundary.

Steve whines, squeezes the head of his cock and I pretend I’m not focused on him in my peripheral. “‘Course, how d’you think I even got that name?”

I laugh because I don’t really know how else to react. I wonder if he’s done this with Tommy. I have and Tommy and I don’t talk during it. Solely pretending to be focused on the porn but I’m not completely new to this shit and Tommy’s adoration drips from him like grease. It’s obvious the dude’s into me and it’d be so easy to pursue. Unlike Steve. In Steve’s head, this is two straight dudes too horny beyond means, hanging out. Casual.

“Are you about to cum?” he asks and well, his strained voice is what got me there but I wasn’t close before that.

“Yeah,” I gasp and then he busts before I do. Lets it shoot everywhere. Neither of us comment when some of Steve’s spunk lands on my thigh but it’s where my vision focuses as I cum, trying to catch it all in my palm as I do so. Steve pulls his pants up and disappears for a moment. Into the kitchen, I think.

Do it, that gay little voice in my head urges and I swipe up the glob of Steve’s cum that landed on my thigh with my clean fingers. Bring it to my lips and lick it off. It’s cooled by now and it’s salty but not all that bitter. My cock twitches sadly against my thigh and my chest and stomach swell with fucking butterflies. I can’t believe I just fucking did that. I try to look natural as Steve returns and hands me a paper towel and then works to clean up the mess he’s made. He’s neat about collecting the magazines and lugs them up to his room. I get up to throw away the soiled paper towel he gave me and then the two of us sit on the couch and watch TV like that didn’t just happen.

—

Steve shows up at the pool one day. It’s weird. But he’s with that lesbian who takes the title of best friend. Even though Steve spends more time with me. I’m not jealous or anything. She’s gay. Not out but I don’t know, I can just smell it on her, I guess. I can confirm it when she’s dreamily staring at a redheaded girl from across the deck. Must be why they’re here because Steve has a fucking pool. I watch as he schmoozes with a handful of people we knew from school. People who talked shit about Steve to me but smile at him like he’s the fucking bee’s knees. And maybe he is.

His eyes meet mine and I smirk, raising my hand to flip him off. Smack my gum to accentuate the tease. Knowing Steve won’t see it like I mean it. Friendly to him, flirtatious at heart. He returns it, both hands lifted up to gesture at me. Then he follows his lesbian friend to a pair of loungers and I patiently wait for him to strip out of his dumb polo.

I’ve got the closing shift and I wonder if Steve’ll hang around until the end of it. Maybe I fantasize a little bit about fooling around in the showers. Maybe I fantasize a lot about Steve. I can do that as long as I don’t act.

Heather’s at my feet, looks up at me incredulously and laughs, “Harrington’s here.”

“Uh huh,” I poke her side with my toe, “Time to make your move.”

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes dramatically. “Been there, done that.”

“Yeah? That’s new information,” I scoff, but maintain my smirk to keep it playful.

Heather’s face contorts as she gazes up at me, “Steve’s fucked the entire female population of our graduating class, it’s hardly news that I fell victim to it.”

“Christ, even I have higher standards,” I joke, though it stings. Which is fucking pathetic. He grew up here. Plenty of time to explore his options.

Heather pinches my calf, “Gee, thanks, asswipe.”

“I didn’t mean you,” I kick her softly in retaliation.

Heather is a good friend but she really wants to hook up and doesn’t hide the fact. She’s my type, too. Brown hair with big brown eyes. For some reason, I don’t want to sleep with her. Couldn’t be the boy across the deck. Nah, maybe I just don’t get that vibe from Heather. And I’m gonna ignore the fact that I don’t exactly get that vibe from any of the bitches in this shit hole.

Steve does stay until close but so does Robin. Steve’s her ride. But Steve’s standing at the foot of my lifeguard stand while Robin impatiently waits by the loungers.

“Why don’t you go drop your friend off and we can go do something fun?” I suggest and Steve smirks.

“Yeah? Like what?”

I wanna kick his face because it’s so handsome. I manage not to do so but the urge is still there. I have a couple of suggestions of what fun things we can do but I don’t wanna scare him off so I shrug. “Get drunk. I have tomorrow off.”

“Yeah. Me too,” he says and gazes up at me. “The quarry?”

“I’ll meet you there in an hour,” I tell him.

“Kay,” he smiles before pushing himself off the stand and walking towards Robin. I watch his ass as he walks away. Don’t think Steve’s aware of how big it even is. Kind of unproportionate to his body but it’s… attractive. Like most of him is.

I close up quicker than I should. Skipping stuff I’ll be scolded for later but I’m eager to see Steve again. Always eager to see him and it’s pathetic. I think I need to go on a date to beat down my sexual frustration but I’m worried it’ll be Heather and the whole time I’ll be thinking about how Steve’s been inside her. I think Steve and I are already tunnel buddies as it is.

He’s at the quarry when I get there. He’s on the trunk of the bimmer. Long legs bent at the knee. Changed into jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. He smiles all big when I pull up. Leans back and holds up a fifth of whiskey, shakes it in his hand. We drink too much. We have fun. I like Steve. He’s fun. I don’t get why Tommy hates him so much.

“Hey, pretty boy,” I say as I walk up, sixer in my hand.

We talk about our days, though it was inadvertently spent together. Steve tells me about Robin’s crush. How she’s too scared to talk to the girl I don’t know. But Steve thinks she should just go for it and I get why Robin doesn’t. Because if I took that advice I’d kiss Steve and he’d punch me square in the jaw.

“Truth or dare,” Harrington says before pulling from the bottle of cheap whiskey, grimaces after the shot.

“Truth,” I say ‘cause I don’t trust Steve and I don’t feel like getting up.

Steve hums, leans back against the back windshield of his car and folds his hands over his stomach. He’s deep in thought, I’m pretty sure he had a dare in mind and I’ve muddled it up with going with truth.

“How did you lose your virginity?” he settles on, looking at me with raised brows and smug smirk on his face.

“Huh,” I laugh, shaking my head, “I was thirteen.”

“Jesus Christ!” Steve furrows his brows, looking concerned and maybe he should be.

“She was my babysitter, she was like I don’t know, nineteen maybe?” I continue, “my dad worked a lot. Or drank. I don’t know. He didn’t come home until midnight most nights.”

“Nineteen and thirteen is uh… bad,” Steve mumbles and I ignore the judgment as I continue.

“Anyways, she taught me everything. Started with kissing. Then second base and then third base and uh, one night, we made a home run,” I tell him before sipping my beer.

Steve stares at me slack jawed for a while and it makes my skin crawl so I justify it, “She was a fucking knockout. Huge tits. Fell in love. Then ya know, she started bringing friends around. Before I knew it, I was a fucking Casanova.”

“Wow,” he looks like he’s chewing on it, like he’s not sure what else to say. Things feel weird so I ask him.

“Truth or dare, Harrington?”

“Uh, truth, I guess,” he replies, face pensive but still handsome.

“How’d you lose yours? Wasn’t Nancy, was it?”

Steve laughs, “No, not Nancy. I uh, I was sixteen. It was Heather, actually.”

“No shit!” my eyes widen, shock prevalent on my face, “She literally brought you up today. Didn’t tell me she took your V card, though.”

“I took hers, too,” Steve rolls his eyes, “Summer camp. Awkward. Super awkward.”

“Ya know, Heather said you’ve fucked everyone in our graduating class,” I inform him, knocking my knee into his.

Steve snorts before taking another swig, “That’s an overstatement.”

“I figured as much,” I mumble, turning to look at him. Flushed cheeks. Glassy eyes. I could kiss him but I won’t.

“Like ninety percent of ‘em, before Nancy. I literally haven’t had sex since her. And she and I only had sex twice,” he mumbles, running his palms over his thighs. He looks antsy from this conversation so I pass him a cigarette. Steve takes it hastily, bringing it to his lips and I’m quick to light it with my lighter.

“I fucked Tina at the graduation party but that’s the last time I’ve had sex,” I say and then purse my lips, “Guess we’re tunnel buddies.”

“How did you know I slept with Tina?” Steve snaps his head toward me all indignantly and I cackle.

“You just said ninety percent. Tina’s hot so I figure she’s included,” I explain, lighting up a cigarette for myself.

Steve exhales smoke in my face, then moves to wave the smoke away and I grab his wrist ‘cause he almost smacks me in the face.

“Why are you so obsessed with Nancy if you only hit it twice?”

“I’m not obsessed with Nancy,” he argues.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s more than sex,” Steve mumbles, “I was in love with Nancy. She’s beautiful, first of all and she’s so smart. And like, really strong willed—“

“I’ve heard it all before, dude. I don’t get it but whatever, yeah, you loved her,” I interrupt.

“Haven’t you been in love?”

“I thought we were playing a game,” I divert but Steve’s slick.

“Ok, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to tell me if you’ve ever been in love?” Steve looks smug as he says it. I roll my eyes but I’m impressed, though I should’ve expected it.

“Diane Smith,” I say, “She was my girlfriend back home.”

“Why’d you break up?” Steve asks, flicks the butt of his cigarette with his thumb.

“Couldn’t wait to see what Hawkins had to offer my cock,” I say in an exaggerated low voice. It makes Steve roll his eyes but he laughs. “I’m a man,” I finish and grab my crotch crudely.

He shoots me a bratty look that almost has me confessing I might be in love with him right now. But instead I continue telling him about Diane, “She’s a babe, Steve. California bred. Gorgeous blonde hair. Bleached from the sun. Big ‘ol lips and bright blue eyes.” I whistle lowly and remember I still have a photo of her in my wallet so I lift my asscheek up and pull out the leather, filing through until I find the photo of Diane. She’s in a bikini, sitting on a towel on the beach and she’s smiling bright and pretty at me.

“That’s her,” I say as I pass it over. I know he can’t see it well under the moonlight but it’s fine. “Can’t do long distance. As much as I wanted.”

“She’s pretty,” Steve says, looking at the photo. My chest feels tight talking about her… thinking about her. So I have to be a dick.

I snatch the photo away and smirk, “Much hotter than Nancy Wheeler, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, shut up. Nancy’s pretty.”

“Indiana girls are livestock compared to California girls,” I quip.

Steve shocks me then. Asks me a weird question.

“You think that’s why Lucas and Dustin fought over Max?”

I grip his stupid sweatshirt and clench it in my fist, bringing his face closer, “The fuck are you saying, Harrington?”

“Woah, cool it! It was just a question,” his eyes are all wide and worried.

“Nah, come to think of it,” I shake him, “You never told me what the fuck was going on that night I rearranged your face. You got a thing for my kid sister, Harrington? ‘Cause I swear to god, I’ll fucking kill you right now.”

“No! No! I— Billy, nothing like that, I swear!” Harrington worriedly babbles, eyes looking so scared.

I let go of his sweater but I’m still wired, looking at him all crazy by the way he scoots away and exhales sharply, “I… I was just babysitting.”

“Swear to me right now, you ain’t some fucking pervert, Harrington.”

“I’m not. Billy, I’m not.”

[dutifullynuttywitch]

Things left unsaid

Blades of Light and Shadow

Summary: A continuation/slight rewrite of Blades 2 Chapter 3. Autumn reunites with Mal after her escape from the Shadow Realm. She stays the night to explore their relationship after a year apart.

Warning: Ⓜ️🔥 Angst, Explicit/NSFW 18+

Pairing: Mal Volari x f!mc (Autumn Nightbloom)

Word count: 1,900

At the orphanage, after having tucked away the children for the night, Autumn, Mal, Nia and Tyril discuss what she’s learned from her time trapped in the Shadow Realm and the latest existential threat. The conversation turns to finding the last member of their party, Imtura.

Mal sits back in his chair and exhales sharply.

“I may have been keeping track of her. She’s been hanging around a tavern in a village about a day’s travel from Whitetower.”

“So what are we waiting for, then? Let’s go find her.” Autumn makes to get up, mind set on the mission ahead.

“I think it would be best if we waited until the morning, Autumn. That way I can make arrangements for acolytes to look after the children while we’re away. And some of us could use a good night’s sleep…” Nia looks pointedly at Mal.

“I’m fine, Nia,” Mal waves off his friend’s concern, “let’s go find the princess and get this Ash Empire-busting show on the road.”

But his quip doesn’t quite land, Autumn notices. And his trademark smirk doesn’t reach his tired eyes.

“Nia is right.” Tyril declares, “Let us all get what rest we can tonight. From the little you have shared, Autumn, our quest will be far from easy. We can meet up at the palace at first light to gather supplies for the road.”

Everyone nods their agreement.

Tyril pushes off from his chair, followed by Nia.

Autumn hesitates, glancing Mal’s way, suddenly unsure.

She catches him looking at her intently, in his eyes a mix of uncertainty, sorrow and longing.

She feels an ache in her heart.

In her messed-up, altered memory, it had been mere days since they’d laid in a loving embrace in her palace chambers, sharing dreams and promises of a life together.

But he’d gone through a whole year’s worth of growth and experiences without her. Her very surroundings, this orphanage, a testament of it. How much had he changed? Had he found a different kind of happiness in her absence? Was he still her Mal?

“I’d like to stay here tonight, if that’s okay with you?” She asks softly, tentatively.

Mal exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Of course, kit, I’d like that.”

“We’ll see you both tomorrow, then. Try to get some rest.” Nia stops behind Mal, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. He nods, giving her a soft smile in return.

“And I know I’ve said it a dozen times already but it’s so good to have you back, Autumn.” She beams, wrapping her dear friend in a tight hug before stepping out into the night.

The moment the door clicks shut, a palpable tension settles in.

“It really is.” Tyril nods his farewell, a smile tugging at his lips.

Mal and Autumn observe each other from opposite ends of the table, faces in turmoil.

Afraid to release the weight of unspoken truths.

Elation at being reunited, but also uncertainty… and a latent anger at all the stolen time.

Her growing anxiety at feeling left behind, her friends having shared a whole year’s worth of living while she’d been locked away, frozen in time. The cold terror that grips her whenever she thinks of her recent imprisonment, knowing that Valax could open another portal at any time, anywhere, to drag her away again. Incapacitate her. Cut her open and steal more of her blood and life away from her. How Autumn feels utterly powerless to stop her.

His guilt at having failed to stop Valax from taking her, failed again and again in his attempts to free her from the Shadow Realm. A deep-seated trepidation, knowing he can’t possibly protect her against such a powerful enemy, though he’d readily give up his life for her. Shame he’d lost hope in ever seeing his kit alive again… He doesn’t deserve her.

But he sure as hells can’t live without her.

Suddenly, Mal strides across the room and lifts Autumn into his arms, pulling her into a searing kiss. He tries to convey all of the love and fear and hurt and regret.

All the emotions he can’t make himself say out loud.

She holds on to him for dear life, returning his kiss with just as much fervor, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Autumn, gods how I’ve missed you. You have no idea, this past year without you, I can’t even…” He trails off, burying his face into the crook of her neck, sucking in a ragged breath.

“Mal, I’m right here.”

Neither can promise it will be all right.

Not until all the rifts have been sealed and the threat gone. And even then, some scars may never quite fully heal… but at least they have here. now.

Mal cups her cheek tenderly. He captures her lips once more, softly, coaxing, seeking entry. She moans as he parts her lips, tasting her.

She loses herself in his kisses, threading her fingers into his much shorter hair as his hands explore her, rediscovering, caressing, sending delicious shivers up her spine.

He pulls her flush against him, and she can feel his need.  

“Hmm Autumn, I’ve missed this, gods I’ve missed you.”

“How about you show me just how much, my handsome rogue?” She whispers in his ear.

His fingers tighten on her hips, eyes darkening at her invitation.

“Your desires are my command, kit.”

She makes to unbuckle his armor straps but he stops her, warm hand over hers. “Wait, let’s take this somewhere more… private.”

He lifts her up, carrying her up a few flights of stairs as she distracts him, lithe fingers caressing his face, soft kisses peppering his jaw and neck.

He takes her into a vast attic room and lowers her reverently onto a soft bed.

The moon shines through a large slanted window, bathing the room in an ethereal glow.

As he unstraps his weapons and armour, she takes in her surroundings, curious.

The room is sparsely furnished, with an imposing dresser off to one side. She spots a table cluttered with papers, maps, parchments and a few leather-bound books. On a far wall stands a cabinet filled with artifacts, jewelry, golden goblets and knives. A few richly colored Parnassian rugs strewn across the floor.

He catches her appraising gaze and sweeps an arm across the room with a flourish.

“Welcome to my humble abode, kit.”

“I like it. It’s very… you.”

“Is it now?”

He smirks as he peals off the last of his clothes slowly, teasingly, then settles down next to her.

“But right now, I’m more interested in the man than the place…”

She marvels at his naked body, drinking him in.

Mal trails hungry kisses down her jaw, her neck, undoing the straps of her dress with practiced movements.

She sighs, then gasps, as he pulls off her dress in a smooth motion, blazing a hot trail along her chest with his mouth and tongue, calloused fingers caressing her stomach.

“I have to say, your presence vastly improves the place, kit.” He whispers onto her skin, his beard titillating her senses.

"Oh Mal, ever the charmer." Autumn giggles breathlessly.

Mal trails bites followed by hot kisses from her breasts to her collarbone, then neck, before recapturing her mouth in a hungry kiss.

“Gods Autumn, you’re stunning. A work of art.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, your magnificence.” She purrs as she trails her fingers along his chest down his chiseled abs, wrapping her hand around him, stroking, relishing in his deep groan.

He caresses every inch of her skin with deft fingers and his wicked mouth, rediscovering her and delighting in all the wonderful gasps and moans he elicits. Mal fully intends to show Autumn just how much she means to him, how much he missed her, by ravishing her and worshiping her for as long as she’ll let him.

The delicate, teasing caresses soon overwhelm her senses.

“Ah yes, gods Mal… just like that.”

She gasps as he finally kisses between her thighs, every brush of his talented mouth and fingers provoking wave after wave of intense pleasure.

“Hmm… Autumn, you taste as good as I remembered.”

She’s on the verge of unravelling under his praises and caresses.

“Mal! Please, I need you, all of you.” Autumn tugs at his shoulders, desperate to kiss him, feel his body against hers, feel him inside.

He chuckles at her commanding tone and happily obliges, wrapping her into his strong arms as he sinks into her, both groaning at the delicious sensation.

He sets a slow, languid pace, intent on teasing every ounce of pleasure out of his wonderful kit.

The feel of his powerful body moving against her, his familiar scent soon overwhelm Autumn. She urges him on, increasingly impatient, pleading. Their rhythm grows frantic, until they both cry out, reaching their peak together.

“Well, that was... exquisite.” Autumn sighs contentedly, sinking back into her lover’s arms.

She gazes up to find Mal smirking, self-satisfied.

“Now don’t let it get to your head, your magnificence.”

“Can’t help it if I’m good at everything I do…” He drawls smugly, avoiding a pillow aimed at his face.

He wraps her in his arms, basking in the afterglow.

His fierce, beautiful kit. Back in his arms after so many desolate months.

Mal caresses her tenderly as they both fall into a contemplative silence.

After a while, he looks at her, eyes tinged with sorrow. “You know, I dreamed of holding you like this every night you were gone, Autumn. I tried so hard to find a way to get to you. I… I’m sorry I let you down….”

“Mal, you kept looking, you didn’t give up on me. It means a lot.” She smiles sadly.

Mal winces, the familiar pangs of guilt back again.

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t have appreciated a rescue party say, a year ago,” she smiles wryly, “but we all know crossing the realms is near impossible. I know you all did everything you could to reach me. I keep wondering… if I’d somehow been able to wake up sooner. Escape sooner…”

“What do you remember from your... captivity?” He asks cautiously.

Her body grows tense in his arms.

The nightmares.

Her friends, Mal, taunting her, attacking her.

Flashes of the lab. Feeling trapped, strapped onto a gurney.

Unable to move or scream.

Sharp pain.

The smell of blood… her blood…

Over and over again.

She is unable to speak, frozen. The emotions too raw. Unable to process. Not yet.

Mal holds her tighter, protectively. Wishing he knew how to take away her pain.

“Autumn, I’m here for you, no matter what. Whatever you need, I… I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

His assurances slowly pull her away from those dark memories and back into the present.

Back to this moonlit room. To the relative safety of her lover’s arms.

“I know.”

She manages a weak smile before burying her face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent, trying to center herself.

They still have so much to figure out, to talk through. They’re still in mortal danger. About to embark on yet another impossible mission.

But for tonight, at least, they can find some solace in each other’s arms.

[the-everqueen]

look. this fic started as crack taken seriously except now it's getting longer than a one-shot and we haven't even reached the crack yet. so i'm posting a snippet to like. encourage myself to finish it.

.....................

One thing has proven consistent in Matthew’s life, both as a human and as a raven to Dream of the Endless: changes in management are never smooth. It doesn’t matter how much you plan in advance, it doesn’t matter whether the new boss is qualified—things are gonna go sideways, at least until everyone adjusts.

Don’t get him wrong, Matthew doesn’t doubt that Morpheus did everything he could to ensure the Dreaming’s wellbeing before the Kindly Ones came for him. But jeez. Daniel Hall was a toddler just a few months ago and now he’s the next Dream King. Which Lucienne keeps telling Matthew isn’t quite right: the boss isn’t gone, the Endless are their functions, in some cosmic-fate sense Daniel was always already going to be Dream, yada yada.

Matthew doesn’t buy it. He went to the wake. He gave his tribute.

The kid is all right. But Matthew can’t shake the memory of him clutching the emerald at his throat, the echo of that familiar deep voice cracked down the middle. I am afraid. Hard to hold anything against him—he couldn’t have known what he was signing up for, and this ain’t exactly the kind of job that attracts volunteers. Still…the newness is unsettling. The realm feels like it’s on edge, waiting with bated breath to see what happens.

Which is how Matthew finds himself in search of a delinquent Nightmare.

The Corinthian, Dream tells him, has not shown up to work for the past several days. Dream doesn’t use those words, says failed to perform his function with a kind of detached precision like he’s reading from a script. It makes Matthew feel a little sick, though he’s ashamed to admit it: Morpheus’ words in an unfamiliar mouth.

He ignores that for the more pressing question: “He’s back in the Waking World?”

“No, he has not departed the Dreaming.” Dream’s brow furrows in transparent concern. Weird weird weird to see an identifiable emotion on that face—at least, one that isn’t annoyance or resignation. “I would know what he is doing, if not attending to dreamers.”

“Can’t you—I dunno—check in? You’re the boss.”

What Matthew doesn’t say is, that bastard promised me a reprisal. What he doesn’t say is, I heard Lucienne say he was supposed to be your masterpiece, but he gives me the creeps.

Morpheus would have heard these unspoken protests and said, You don’t need to like him to fulfill your duty to me. This Dream frowns and says quietly, “I don’t know that he would welcome my intervention.”

And that’s new, Dream taking into account someone else’s feelings, particularly one of his creations whose past incarnation—pardon the French—royally fucked him over. Then again, Daniel would have known the Corinthian as a protector of sorts. Maybe he’s feeling a residual fondness, that kernel of humanity come back to haunt the rest of them.

The thought makes Matthew sad. He ruffles his wings. “Yeah. Yeah, all right. I’ll fly around, see whether I can find him.”

Dream doesn’t give him any hints about direction, but Matthew figures it can’t hurt to swing by the Corinthian’s house. Well, “house” is a generous term for the architectural Kleenex box where the nightmare chooses to reside, as close to the shoreline as Dream would tolerate. Matthew wasn’t around to know whether it’s a relic of the first Corinthian, but he thinks it’s an eyesore regardless.

He swoops in through an open skylight. The place is too fucking massive for just one person, in his opinion, so it might take him awhile to search—

“Hey, birdie.”

Matthew lets out a croak of surprise and banks to land on something that might be a side table, might be a piece of driftwood enlisted for Aesthetic Purposes™. The Corinthian is sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by skeins of colorful thread. Instead of a knife, he’s got a needle pinched between his fingers, which he’s stabbing into…surprisingly not a body, but a piece of fabric stretched across some kind of wooden hoop.

“Man, what the fuck,” says Matthew.

“You’re the one who came here uninvited,” the Corinthian says with a shrug. He resumes the stabbing. Matthew can make out the vague outline of something that might be a duck, embroidered in grey and orange thread. It’s got a knife in its beak. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Delivering an HR report.”

“That’s a lie, Lucienne wouldn’t talk to me even through a middleman.”

“It’s from our mutual boss.”

“The Dream King?” The Corinthian frowns. “What’s he want?”

“For you to do your job, apparently.”

“I’ve been doing my job.”

“Uh, no, you haven’t. Not in the past week or two.”

If the Corinthian were a normal human being, Matthew would say the expression that passes over his face is guilt. The fine lines around his mouth(s) tighten, his eye teeth grind together in a gesture that might be glancing from side to side. But then the Corinthian refocuses on his embroidery project. “Well, tell him not to get his panties in a twist. I’ll be on the clock tonight.”

“If you want PTO—“

“—we don’t actually get paid—“

“—you gotta talk to Lucienne—“

“—I know, I know, submit the requisite forms, blah blah blah—“

“—and not just fuck off on your own, I mean, you of all people should know that.”

The Corinthian tilts his head. Something about the motion makes Matthew’s feathers stand on end. “Me of all people?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“No, no, birdie, why don’t you say what you mean.” The Corinthian flips the needle over his fingers and it transforms into knife. “Tell me how I’m special.”

Matthew lets out a nervous kraw, spreading his wings. “Man, you’re on thin fucking ice, you think Dream is gonna be chill about you killing another one of his ravens?”

“Alex Burgess shot Jessamy.”

“Because you made sure she was cut off from the Dreaming.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Close enough.”

“Really? You think the current Dream King is close enough to Morpheus?”

Matthew shuffles from one foot to the other. He ought to take flight, tell Dream that he found the Corinthian and his lord’s former masterpiece has taken up arts and crafts. Let Dream decide what the punishment for that offense is. But he feels the need to protest, to prove his loyalty. Maybe because he’s the New Guy (if not as new as the latest incarnation of the boss). Maybe because the Corinthian doesn’t get to question his commitment to the job.

He says, slowly, “He’s Dream of the Endless. That’s all there is.”

The Corinthian barks out a surprised laugh. “Guess you’ll stick around,” he murmurs cryptically, and the knife is a needle again. He lowers that awful not-gaze back to his embroidery hoop. “You can tell our Lord Shaper that his renegade hammer will be back to pounding nails tonight.”

“Was that an innuendo? It felt like it wanted to be an innuendo.”

“What doesn’t?” The Corinthian’s smile is all teeth.

Matthew ignores that. “So is this what you’ve been doing while AWOL? Making home decor?”

“What’s it to you, birdie?”

“I dunno, seems out of character. Shouldn’t you be plotting murder?”

“Maybe I’ve been slipping into the Waking World.”

“Nah, you aren’t stupid. You wouldn’t be that obvious about it.” Matthew pauses. “Besides, Dream said you hadn’t left the Dreaming.”

“So he is keeping tabs on me.”

“You’re dreamkin.”

“Yeah, veritable tracking chip built right in.” The duck is gaining feet, bright flashes of color making a pantomime of long strides. “Like knowing where your right hand is.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Would it bother you?”

“Not really. I mean, it doesn’t. When the boss rides along. Uses my eyes or whatever. Feels weird, but that’s what I’m here for.”

Matthew looks around the room. It’s organized like a human apartment, albeit one of those fancy places in Architectural Digest: sleek white sofa and matching chairs, glass coffee table that doubles as modern art, hardwood floors so gleaming Matthew can see his reflection in them. He’d assume it was for show except for details like the discarded books and the blood-spattered “Home Sweet Home” cross-stitch framed on the opposite wall.

“Are you…bored?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Taking up new hobbies, skipping out on work.” Matthew gestures at him with a wing. “I dunno, feels like burnout.”

“And what do you care?”

“Well, the last time you got dissatisfied with your job, a lot of people died—caw, fucking shit!”

He takes flight just in time to dodge the wicked blade that comes at him with eerie accuracy. It sticks in the table with a thunk, before it dissolves into sand.

The Corinthian snarls in triplicate, “That. Wasn’t. Me.”

“Okay! Okay, sorry, fuck.” Matthew circles in the air a few times before landing on the back of a chair. “You could just say so, don’t gotta get all murderous about it.”

“S’my nature,” the Corinthian says, mulish. His fingers sort restlessly through the rainbow of thread. It’s a minute before he chooses a sprig of green and starts threading it into his needle. Sunglasses materialize on his face, hiding his terrible eyes. “What are you hangin’ around for? Don’t you have a report to deliver?”

You don’t have friends, huh. Matthew is smart enough not to speak his observation out loud this time. Makes sense, though. The Corinthian is a Nightmare, and in the narratives he inhabits, all his overtures end in murder. Probably other dreams don’t want to get too close, even if this incarnation is supposedly collared and muzzled. Hell, Matthew didn’t want to come here just to see what the fucker was up to. In hindsight, he assumed something nasty. Not…whatever the fuck this is.

He thinks about what it might have been like, being Morpheus’ favorite. He thinks about Dream saying, I don’t know that he would welcome me.

He thinks maybe the Corinthian is lonely.

“I’m not a messenger pigeon,” Matthew says, ruffling his feathers in mock outrage. “Besides, Dream asked me to check out what you’re doing. You really want me to tell him you got distracted making home decor? Won’t that tarnish your image or something?”

The Corinthian frowns at his wobbly duck.

“He already caught me slacking on the job,” he says.

“Look, I’m just saying—if you want me to tell him you got distracted by some cute nightmare, I’ve got your back.”

The Corinthian curls his lip like a dog. “Why? You think I’m gonna forget about you ditching me back in Svartalfheim? I know you don’t fucking like me.”

“What, I can’t do a favor for a coworker?” The Corinthian’s fingers twitch, and Matthew croaks. “Fine, fine, sure, if it makes you feel better. I cover for your ass and you stop threatening to kebab me, how does that sound?”

The Corinthian stitches a whole patch of grass before he says, “All right. You got a deal.”

“Cool.” Matthew tries not to dwell on how it feels worse than if he’d made a pact with the literal Devil. Okay, no, that’s an exaggeration, Matthew went to Hell the once and he’s not keen on having another interaction with Their Unholiness anytime soon. But keeping a secret for the Corinthian feels a lot like betraying Dream, even if it’s harmless.

At least, he thinks it’s harmless.

Man, he’s going to feel so stupid if it turns out the embroidery is part of some scheme.

He mantles his wings, preparing to take off.

Hesitates.

“You got anything you want me to tell the boss?” he asks.

“Thought you said you weren’t a messenger pigeon.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t pass a word along. As a favor.”

The Corinthian doesn’t respond for a long minute. Matthew starts to think that’s his answer, but then he says, all lazy cheer, “Nah. I got nothing to say to him.”

And Matthew thinks that’s the biggest lie he’s ever heard but it’s not his job to argue, so he heads back to the palace.

[apex-academy]

Chapter 6: The Decay of Our Lives (#13)

When I leave my room in the morning, chunks of pulled chicken and a few stray broccolis lie forlornly on the movie night table. Next to the open ranch dip.

”Did none of us put this away last night.”

Natural consequence of all the responsible people passing out, I guess. Still, yikes.

“Maybe I can take care of this before Aidan gets out here.” Don’t need a spiel on how many germs can grow in a room-temperature cup of ranch dressing.

I dispose of the offending leftovers without issue. Maybe I could save some of the less dangerous dishes? Hard to be overly concerned about waste here.

“The young master’s clearly got plenty of money to waste.”

Which can probably be assumed of someone called “young master.”

By a robot maid.

But it’s not like the student files had writeups on everyone’s exact socioeconomic statuses. I won’t be taking Ichiriki off the suspect list, but I can’t cross anyone off on those grounds, either. 

And I can’t go back and double-check the files.

What am I supposed to do? Just keep cooking and cooperating and hoping we aren’t forced to kill again? No telling when the next motive’s going to hit. I don’t want to just stand around waiting for it.

But what else can I do?

What do I have the strength to do, at this point?

Before I can spiral or un-spiral or anything else, a door clicks open. It takes me a second to catch back up with reality.

“......”

I’m not the only one, apparently.

“Oh, Kakumi! Good morning!”

Yeah, I’m complaining about my strength when he’s like this?

“Morning.”

“Looks like you could afford to sleep in a little more.”

“I have no intention of doing so, thank you.”

“I’m not sure that I could go back to sleep regardless.”

“Just hard to nod off?” Or...

“Nightmares?”

“I’m not sure if I could call it that!” 

“I did have a strange dream, though, yes. Still trying to shake it off.”

“One of those kinds where you woke up within the dream, so now you have to spend the rest of your morning trying to figure out if it’s just going to happen all over again.”

“Well, maybe more like the rest of the hour.”

“Beats the rest of the week.” 

“Where’d you wake up? Airport?”

“An excellent guess!”

“But no, I’m afraid not. It was somewhere more like the lab room.”

“ ‘Like’ it?”

“It seemed backwards, somehow. Though you’d think I’d have a harder time telling when the room was gutted of desks and valves and all those sorts of things.”

“Hm.” Guess you have a “sense” for those things during the dream.

“It was only me on some sort of cot, with some equipment around that I couldn’t make any sense of.”

“You couldn’t make sense of some equipment? Perish the thought.”

“Right?”

“Though I suppose I wasn’t feeling terribly well, and it’s a bit more difficult to observe in the dark.”

“And without glasses, but that wasn’t an issue anymore in the dream, either.”

Enthralling. I’m sure he’ll keep on with the story, anyway. Might as well stick around the dorm hall and wait for someone else to interrupt, unless I really want to spend my entire breakfast listening to this.

“And then what happened?”

“It gets hazier there.”

“Maybe I’ll run into something later that will trigger the memory. I’ll be sure to let you know!”

“Thanks.”

Just as he’s swearing he has more interesting dreams most of the time, a door swings open—silent, but far enough away for us to have fair warning. Not that there’s much we can do about it.

“Ah, the sinners have already arisen, I see.”

“Only a few of us so far!”

Not even correcting her, huh. Better to just move on, anyway.

“Any big breakfast plans?”

“Seeing as some lesser creatures have seen fit to leave this realm...”

“...not particularly.”

“...”

Yeah, no more lining up for Yuki’s omelettes, that’s for sure. Or dorayaki. If you’d eat that for breakfast for some reason.

Or if you’re someone who doesn’t need a reason to do things. I could name a few of those people here.

Tsunyasha tosses her boa-thing over her shoulder.

“Well! I see no need to tarry here with you lot.”

“Not even to tell us how superior you are?”

This time, Aidan actually elbows me.

“Ow.” 

"Surely you don’t need a reminder of that. Are you fools truly so quick to forget?”

She clicks her tongue, as if telling us not to bother answering.

“I’ve no need to humor sinners. Share your pathetic regrets among yourselves, worms.”

She strides past with an extra little oomph, to put us in our place or something. Doesn’t quite give the full effect when she has to wrangle with the bedsheet-movie screen to actually leave the dorm. She curses something about silver and lime and finally pushes her way out.

“...”

I sigh and turn back to Aidan.

“You in a big rush to go after her?”

“.......”

“...”

“...........”

“Aidan?”

I wave a hand in front of his face, but his eyes don’t track it.

Do I... need to take him to the Nurse’s Office?

For all the good that is without a nurse. Were there first aid guides in there? Or would I need to stop by the library? Itsurou’s study hall, even? That would be a good bet if it’s something... potentially lethal.

Or something else! There are plenty of not-dying things you have to research for stories, right? 

But before I can get too caught up wishing we at least had a librarian, if not a nurse, Aidan stirs again.

“...Kakumi?”

“That’s me. You okay?”

He slowly adjusts his glasses frames, lets out a breath, and nods.

“Still waking up, it seems.”

“You didn’t get drugged again, did you?”

“Golly, I hope not.”

“It doesn’t feel the same, I’d say. I’m just...”

“...”

“Tired?”

“...A little bit.”

Yet you’ve been out here arranging whole movie nights instead of resting. Uh-huh.

Sidestepping the pile of half-hung sheet, I move to the doors.

“You in the mood for eggs? I’ve been thinking of trying something different, and I could use a second opinion.”

“...”

It’s less like he’s zoning into the stratosphere this time and more like he just sees straight through me.

“Sure, I’ll give it a shot. Though I will warn you, I usually don’t do anything more adventurous than ketchup or hot sauce myself, so I may not have the most advanced palate for the judgment of egg dishes.”

“Fine by me. I’m not the most advanced chef of egg dishes, either.”

Okay, successfully strong-armed him into not making his own breakfast, at least. It’s not much, but that’s probably half the reason he agreed. Small gestures are still better than nothing.

Now let’s hope I don’t drop enough eggshells in his dish to make him change his mind.

[BACK] [NEXT]

[kittttycakes]

Yesss! Ever so slightly inhuman Morpheus!! 🤌🤌

And omg. I think I really need some kind of Hob as the champion of the Dreaming or something, fighting for Morpheus.

Just had a mental picture of an ancient Roman gladiatoresque scene with Hob fighting in the arena, all sweaty and dusty (and victorious) and Morpheus lounging on a throne overlooking it all while Grace is reclining at his side draped in silks and not much else.

Also, Hob bare knuckle boxing? Heck yes!!!

Does the Dreaming or anywhere else ever host tournaments? Would Morpheus and Grace give Hob their blessing to enter?

Thank you so much for the description of their rings! I love those for them so much!!! Where did the rings come from? Are the ones Hob gave Grace keepsakes from his past? Did they go shopping together? Did Hob just surprise Grace with them? I’m assuming Morpheus made the ones he gave Grace and Hob? Or did he commission the finest jeweller in the universe to craft them?

If answering these questions would be too spoilery then I am content to wait!

Hob would love to fight for Morpheus, let’s be honest here! It’s a tangible representation of his love and is something that only he can give him, because who else can match that level of (maybe just a little unhinged) devotion and loyalty? He wants to be his champion, he wants the armor and a sword and his lord’s favor, and off to battle he’d go!

I am, however, obsessed with this Ancient Rome flavored gladiatorial fantasy. Hob would look so good. The chest hair on full display? Now that’s what I’m talking about. Morpheus is also very, very good at pulling a very regal and imperious face when he needs to, and that would come in so handy here. He’d try so hard to be detached and aloof, but when Hob is besting challenger after challenger? He’s not immune to that. And you throw Grace in there, in some dubiously historically accurate, gauzy slip of nothing, lounging on some velvet cushions with her hair undone and as much gold on her as she can comfortably carry when she moves? Morpheus has wonderful self control but it can only hold out so far.

I have such A Thing for boxing (it’s the hands. It always goes back to the hands) and really any kind of close quarters, hand to hand combat, but I would also love to see Hob in a more traditional, tourney style setting. In so many ways, the Dreaming is a realm of fantasy, and it wouldn’t take much persuading to convince Morpheus to hold some kind of tournament. Or maybe it’s arranged as entertainment by visitors from another realm, and Hob enters himself in? Grace is immediately down. She knows Hob, she trusts him, if he says he can win, then he’ll win, and she gets to see him up close and personal with a variety of weapons? She’s already giving her approval, signed, sealed, and delivered. Morpheus is slightly more pessimistic: not about Hob’s skills, but about the vulnerability that comes with having someone he loves in a position like that. Hob can’t die, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel pain, and the idea of that is very upsetting to Morpheus. He would ultimately give in, if only because Hob wants it so badly. Hob, of course, does win, and also probably makes at least three friends.

The fede ring is one Hob picked up along his lifetime post-1689 and held onto for the right person (he found her, it just took a little while)! I think their matching bands Hob and Grace did go shopping together for, because they wanted to match the gold tone of her engagement ring, and they both insist on getting a third in a very roughly estimated size for Morpheus, because even if he never wears it, they’re all part of the deal together (he doesn’t take it off once he has it and he sizes his own hands to fit it perfectly, but they weren’t far off on their sizing guess). The ruby rings he definitely made himself, so they are technically dreamstuff! They might not contain any of his powers, but they do have a little bit of his (strictly metaphorical) heart in them.

[yuriisclumsy]

Mother and the Falling Starlight

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𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗅𝗒. 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1,284

Authors note: Hello, lovelies! Been a while since I last uploaded something for the Divine City. I have finished plotting the next few chapters after this one, I just need to write them and and edit them. Hope you enjoy the latest chapter! You might need this ;D Teyvatian Language Translator.

Space.

It is as lovely from earth as it is from the place itself.  

The stars twinkled in happiness. They danced and moved; they were welcoming a new sibling.

Who could they be? 

It was you, of course. 

You don’t seem to be awake at the moment, but that bothered not the stars; in fact, they jump in excitement for the time you wake up. Perhaps you needed a little help?

A brave star approached your sleeping form, ready to pounce at you. Before it got the chance, a voice rose, scaring the star. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” the voice said. 

The star, in panic, ran away and hid behind the bigger stars to not get in trouble.

The voice giggled at the antics of the stars. The voice loved them dearly, but sometimes they had no sense of control. The voice turned to you and spoke in a sweet voice. 

“Child…”

“It’s time to wake up…” 

The voice’s soothing sound threatened to lull you deeper into slumber.

Your eyes twitched. It had been a while since you opened them.

Who…? You let out, yet, no sound was heard. There was only a deafening silence. Your eyes fully open from the realization.

You try to squish out any noise–it did not matter what sound it was, as long as it was something. You opened and closed your mouth–you looked like a fish out of the water. Unable to even hear your own breathing, the only logical thing to do now: was panic.

Have you lost your voice? You looked around, finding yourself in space. Now that you were hyper-aware of your surroundings you could feel gazes directed at you. 

“Be not afraid, Child.” The voice spoke again.

Who are you? You asked, even if nothing did come out. You had a feeling the voice was able to understand. 

The voice chuckled, confirming your suspicions: she could hear you.  

“Hmmm…” The voice hummed in thought, thinking of an answer to give you. 

“Technically speaking, I am your ‘Mother’.” The voice responded. 

Mother...? No, no. I have a mother, and you are not her! You cringed back physically. There’s no way a voice was going to tell me it was my ‘Mother,’ or whatever it wants to be! 

“But I am.” the voice said with a smile.  

Wait…smile? Ah… You could tell if the voice was smiling now. Your head was spinning from all this nonsense. It was like one of those fever dreams where you are in a park, and a dinosaur with blond hair and pink dress is playing in one of the swings.  

That kind or weird dream.. 

Okay…let's suppose you are—where am I? I asked… Her? The voice? You couldn't bother making sense of this right now. You did not want to end up like Amalia.  

Amalia…

Were you not with her just now? Your memories are fuggy if you pay close attention. No use trying now, they will appear eventually. 

The stars laughed at your ignorance. You glared at them to shut up. This just prompted them to laugh harder. 

“Now, now, children. This is your younger sister. Treat her better,” the voice scolded the stars before turning to answer your question, “right now, you are in a realm of consciousness.” 

Realm? What do you mean by that? And sister...to the stars? That doesn’t make any sense. And how could I possibly be a sister to stars? Just who are you? You aren’t a demon, right?  

“Dear me, you are a curious one.” The voice said in amusement. “But I’m afraid I can’t answer your questions right now…”

Huh? What do you mean—? WOAH!

Just as you were about to question the meaning of the voice’s words, the world around started to crack. You could see windows of what was behind the wall of the space you were in.

It was beautiful. The openings revealed to have a spiral galaxy behind the curtains, you could also see nebulas and constellations all around, the stars ran freely in those holes and came to greet the other stars on the other side; it was a universe. It was full of life. 

Extending your arm and hand, your body reacting on its own to follow them. The voice, however, had other intentions for you. 

“Ah, ah, ah, little one. Your place is not with them.” 

A large pair of hands appeared from the direction the voice came from. From within, glowed with every color of the rainbow in total harmony, as waterfalls of pure light fell from the grooves in between the fingers. 

Your eyes, as much as they wanted to see the landscape, they refrained from leaving the hands. They strained themselves on their hands, unable to move. 

One hand disconnected from the other and approached you. Pointing at you the index finger illuminated. The word had become slow as the finger was about to touch your forehead. 

Work done by yours truly!

(This is my [Name] don’t mind it. You are free to add your own into this work. This is just for reference)

“Welcome home… My starlight.”

Wait…what did you say? You tried to fight your eyelids from closing.

Those were the final words you heard from the voice as the world was covered with white. 

This is your second time seeing the color. 

A star is on its way to their new home.

Shooting stars don't frequent Teyvat. They come every few decades, if not every few centuries. That is why–when a falling star appears–they are remembered by the people.

This star wanted to surprise the inhabitants below. And so, the star came at a time of slumber to the world which will house them. But this does not mean that they weren’t seen by none; there were spectators waiting for their arrival.

But not all who watched the star had innocent intentions.

The star’s travel began from a place colder than the depths of the abyss. Then, it passed the scorching heat of a volcano's lava. It flew over a place filled with water, even the people were made of water. Leaving the water, they enter a forest filled with books and texts. After the papers followed an archipelago of storms and purple thunder. Scared of the bolts, the star made its way to a land with mountains that could scratch the sky. The journey was long, and the stars were tired. Choosing its destination to be a place with soft breeze and gentle strums of lullabies. It was a nation filled with freedom for growth.  

One place, which the star had not gone to, was the place that had the answers the star had asked. The city that was prepared to welcome it. 

A city fit for a divine being.

… 

A shooting star cut through the sky full of shining fruits, descending to the land below. The moon was at its highest when it landed on the home of freedom. As fast as the star was going, it left no impact on the earth. 

A blond traveler’s eyes happened to be wide open that night, and they saw the star.

Arriving at the landing site, he saw a figure. Wishing on the star to be that which he hoped for it to be—a person he so longed for. But as big as his wish was, there was no one to answer him; he was completely alone. 

A girl the traveler found–in slumber she was–was not the person the blond was looking for. She was surrounded by fireflies and a bed of Cecilias; the signature of the nation’s welcome to this world. 

To not disturb the sleeping girl, the blonde traveler took comfort in a nearby tree waiting for the moon to rest and the sun to awake.

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @udretlnea, @taurus-caeli, @humongousoperatorhairdoopera. Re-blog or Comment if you want to get added into the Tag section for The Divine City: Story. Back to The Divine City: Story Master-List.

Go to Arcs, a related series.

Authors note: Found any mistakes? Leave it down on the comments and I'll change it!

ᘻɑ𝘚Ե୧Ⲅ⧿ℓἱ𝘚Ե

[mi-i-zori]

Among the Ice of Her Thoughts

CoD Viking!AU (Not Mine) - Viking!Soap x Healer!Reader

DISCLAIMER : Just a little something I wrote a while ago for @ghouljams ‘ Viking!AU. I just recently tweaked it a little. Healer!Reader is Ghoul’s character, not mine. I will write something for my own Viking!AU, but it will of course be very different from theirs. Please go check their work, it’s absolutely amazing !

WARNINGS : None.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

CoD AUs - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

When she finally comes back from the realm of dreams, Dag’s chariot is already high in the sky, and the sun is peaking through the fabrics of her tent.

She finds tearing her limbs from their lethargic state to be no easy task. Her muscles are begging for a few more minutes of rest ; hours, even. They pull and wail along with her every move, the creaking of her joints echoing within their walls. She could indulge them - the Gods know how many times she decided to follow her needs, going back to sleep when she was supposed to start her day. But she is not tired enough to succumb to sleep anymore ; especially not when a choir of unfamiliar voices echo from the outside of the so-called « sanctuary » she was given a few hours earlier. To her, this assortment of fabrics and furs is no safe haven, especially not when she jumps so violently every time they start dancing with the wind. Still, she is in no position to complain : not only was she given permission to use this tent as hers even though it originally belongs to the one who brought her here, but the warriors roaming the campsite also respect the boundaries this shelter was made to provide, allowing her to hide from their curious eyes.

A part of her wishes she could stay under the covers and ignore her surroundings, act as if this is was nothing more than a dream. Yet she forces herself out of their warmth, the morning breeze leaving a trail of shivering kisses along her skin.

She barely has the time to put her heavy coat on that the sun suddenly sculpts a broad silhouette on the outside of the furs. It moves silently, with the confidence of a warrior, and her whole body tenses as the man stops before the entrance of her tent. He hovers for a second as she stands frozen in place, her breathing so low even she can barely feel it in her chest.

- Vænn ? You awake ?

It’s MacTavish, she realises, his deep timbre sending a wave of warmth down her spine ; a stark contrast to the violent shivers the sound of the nickname he gave her send crawling down her spine. Despite knowing that he is unable to see her, she can’t bring herself to move. Swallowing the knot tightening in her throat, she graces him with a hum, although it comes out much weaker than she originally intended.

- ‘Am about to go gather some wood. Wanna come with me ?

His tone is low, careful ; not unlike the kind one would use to coax a terrified little creature out of its shell. She can’t really decide if she likes the idea or not. In her eyes, this behaviour of his is way too human for a man like him, cursing the flame that sways in her chest at the prospect of accepting his offer. Her satchel lies against the wooden post standing in the middle of the tent, it’s empty stomach catching her gaze. It could be a good opportunity to gather some herbs for her decoctions, she thinks, and the rational part of her soul lights up at the idea of potentially being useful to her captors. MacTavish’s words from the day before echo in her mind.

Say yes next time someone asks if you’re a healer. You’ll live longer.

- Give me a minute, she finally says, the words grating against her tongue. Please.

- Gotcha. I’ll be waiting for you near the campfire.

It’s only when his shadow disappears that the tension finally lets go of her chest. One of her hands glides along her face, a sigh escaping through her fingers. The bed is neatly made before she covers herself in warm furs and sturdy leathers. She then takes a deep breath as she opens the entrance of the tent, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness in her muscles. The tremors seizing her body are not from the midgardian frost waiting for her outside ; but she decides to play pretend, holding her head high as she steps in the fresh morning snow. Sól greets her with a wintery kiss on her cheek, highlighting MacTavish’s figure in the distance. She marches towards him, forcing herself to ignore the curious stares of his companions.

Vænn. A catch. A prey. That is what she is in the eyes of those who see themselves as a pack of wolves, their fur covered in blood as they take whatever they want, destroying those who refuse to yield : nothing but a frail creature meant to follow their every word in order to stay alive. Soap has made his intentions of courting her clear, promising that no harm shall befall her while she lives among his peers ; but as he greets her with a smile, guiding her towards the forest with a hand on her back, she knows she cannot allow herself to be afraid. One wrong move, and she shall become nothing more than a meal to be shared in their den.

A frozen blade pierces her core as these thoughts dance in the back of her mind. The forest is peaceful, and they slowly carve their own path through its shimmering white coat. Her gaze roams her surroundings as MacTavish starts gathering a thick bundle of branches under his arm, looking for a patch of herbs to collect. Their eyes meet, causing him to send a smile in her direction before resuming his own search. The snow crunches heavily under his boots. Her attention flickers to the blade hanging from his hips, the iron of its handle glinting in the sun. She frowns as her mother’s voice echoes through her memories.

You are not safe, she says, and she can almost see her spectre glare at the warrior’s silhouette walking ahead of her.

You are not safe.

[lilpunkrock]

where you go (i will go) — part v

Summary: The Dream Lord leads you to a pocket in time where your partnership begins. A visit from a most unwelcome guest presents you with an ultimatum. 

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 6.0k+

AN: I swear, every time I think to myself, “This is going to be a shorter chapter,” the words just keep on flowing. Thank you all so much for the love you have shown parts i-iv. Your kind words and theories fuel my fire!! I truly appreciate you all so much, and I hope you enjoy! 

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . . 

“Falling somewhere in between what I loved and wanted, 

Losing everything I need, falling to the start and, 

Then you came out of the dark while the world is spinning, 

Round, round, round.”

Spinning, With Confidence

. . . 

part v

Darkness.

You’re floating in darkness, a sea of inky black. All-consuming, all-encompassing, absolute.

Rather than intimidating, you find it comforting. Floating in this space, relishing in your weightlessness, your heart twinges slightly with the far-off feeling that something is wrong. Wasn’t something wrong just a moment ago? No, that doesn’t make sense. How could anything be wrong when you feel this free? 

A presence draws near you. It feels warm, welcoming, kind. “Oh, bother. Not another one. Sibling, you’ve begun to go too far.”

You know that voice. Haven’t you heard it before? Yes, you swear you have, a long, long time ago . . . 

There’s a gentle pull at something in your chest. Coaxing, calling. “Come on, now, love. It’s time to go.”

You would be safe with her, happy. You can sense it in the sweet timber of her voice, in her motherly, caring aura. The very marrow of your bones, some secret script written into your soul, tells you to sink deeper into the darkness and fly away with her. But something undeniably human holds you back. No, you cry out, voiceless. Not yet. I’m not ready. I can’t leave him.

Her sigh washes over you like a morning breeze. “Oh, love. Don’t you see what’s happened? …No, I suppose not. Love can blind you.” A pause. You feel her pity swaddle you like a blanket. It makes you want to cry tears of relief and self-loathing simultaneously. “Come on, now. You’ll be safe with me.”

That coaxing feeling in your chest rises again. In the darkness, with barely a sense of self, there’s seemingly nothing you can do to quell it. Unsure of how to ground yourself here, you submit to whatever awaits you. 

But then, the feeling stops.

“Kindly Ones,” the woman breathes.

. . . 

When you emerge from Morpheus’s cloak to find yourself standing on a new section of Dream Country’s dark shoreline, the admission comes to you unbidden. “I must say, I could get used to traveling via ‘cosmos cloak.’”

The Endless at your side sweeps said cloak closed gracefully, a sky full of stars retreating within it. Unlike the shoreline you watched him craft dreams and nightmares on for most of the day, your current section of beach is far from the palace and its bright lights. You can barely spot the soft glow that they cast on the sky from their place miles beyond the mountain ranges lining the beach. Here, the midnight sky seems to soak down toward you, saturating the scene in darkness, blanketing the beach in shadows. If it weren’t for his pale complexion, Morpheus would blend right into the sands. “Is that so?” he asks with the slightest quirk of his brow. 

“It is. I’ve always been a little partial to the night. The stars, constellations, galaxies . . . there’s innumerable stories up there just waiting to be created, told, and heard. Watching them, thinking about them—it’s magical and humbling. It’s calming to me.” Your mind wanders over all your nights spent gazing out your bedroom window, retelling the histories of constellations in your head, crafting fables for those whose stories had not yet been written. Pushing off your resting hours just a little longer.

“An unexpected pastime for a goddess whose realm is, in essence, an interminable rainbow.” 

It’s the closest he’s come to making a semblance of a joke since you met—maybe the closest he’s ever come to making a semblance of a joke, you think—and a laugh bubbles up from within you. There is much about me you might not expect, you think dryly, but keep to yourself. Instead, you ask, “So, is this it? The most powerful place in the Dreaming?” 

“Not quite,” the Dream Lord replies. “We shall walk from here.” He beckons you down toward the waterline, and you follow. As you draw near the waves, a new shape comes into view: A narrow wooden walkway. The dock stretches on and on, disappearing into a luminescent nebula of teal and lavender mist that you now spot in the distance. The fog seems to glow from within, casting the sky above it in cool shades of blue, green, and purple.

Morpheus strides onto the dock without hesitation, black boots padding against the wooden slats quietly. A part of you wonders how old this walkway is. If it’s the most powerful location in the Dreaming, you imagine it's liable to have been here since the land’s conception. In spite of its undoubtedly ancient age, the wood gives only the softest of creaks when your canvas sneakers tentatively settle on the first board. Relieved that they don’t bow, you quicken your pace to catch up with Morpheus. 

The two of you walk in silence for several minutes. As the shoreline fades behind you and the luminescent fog draws nearer, you note that the quiet sounds of Dream Country have faded to nothing. The world around you is utterly silent save for the soft padding of your feet on the dock and the whisper of the waves swaying around you. The back of your neck prickles with the distinct sensation that secrets lurk beyond the water’s surface. 

“What is this place?” you say when your curiosity grows too great. As you do, movement catches the corner of your eye—a bright flash of color beneath the surface of the water. You turn your head quickly, only to find nothing but your startled reflection staring back at you. You blink several times, unsure of yourself, but nothing changes. 

“The most powerful location in the Dreaming. The place where the veil between the Dreaming and the Waking World is at its thinnest.” The fluorescent mist before you seems to reach toward Morpheus’s form, cutting his lithe, dark figure in sharp relief. As he walks, one hand trails off to his side. You swear the rippling of the waves mimics the slow sway of his fingers, following his lead. But maybe your eyes are playing more tricks on you. “These waters are a tangible extension of my own self. They facilitate my passage to the Waking World when I desire it. More importantly, they contain the collective unconscious of the universe. This is where humans’ dreams reside and occur in real time.” 

Your lips part in awe at his admission, your mind at a loss for a reply. And there it is again—that flash of color in the water beside you. You stop abruptly, crouching to peer into the dark waves below the dock. Squinting, you finally spot it—a smear of gold swimming beneath the waves, its form blurred at the edges by the dark water. It’s far enough below the surface that you can’t distinguish what it is at first. Then, a single shape begins to approach the surface, its form sharpening at the edges. A hand. Mesmerized, your own hand reaches out instinctively, your fingers stretching toward one another—

“I would suggest you refrain from interacting with these waters alone. The dreams and nightmares within them respond only to their master.” Morpheus’s cool baritone cuts through your trance like a blade, and you pull your hand back abruptly. When you blink, the hand and golden form you’re certain you saw is gone. Only an almost imperceptible ripple on the water’s surface remains. 

You shake your head to dispel the last remnants of your daze and rise to your feet hastily, quickening your pace to catch up to Morpheus. In the time swallowed up by your trance, he’s almost reached the mist. “If they only respond to you, how am I going to influence them?” you ask, craning your neck to peer at his placid expression. You silently curse the dock for not being wide enough for two. 

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, but doesn’t turn. “These waters and the dreams within them are my creation. If I permit your influence, they shall respond in kind.” 

A weighty feeling settles over your shoulders at his words. Responsibility. Not just to execute your own function, but to do justice through his. Caught in the crosshairs between feeling flattered and petrified, your mouth goes dry, your tongue like sandpaper. For so long, you had chosen to avoid inserting yourself into the affairs of other deities, let alone the Endless. Sure, you had spoken with Death from time to time throughout the ages, but that was different. This was a partnership. Walking into this new situation, you feel entirely unprepared. 

In spite of this, when Morpheus disappears into the thick mist hovering over the dock, you follow without hesitation.

Stepping into the mist is like stepping into another world entirely. Dream Country feels far behind as you drink in your new surroundings. Chilled shades of teal and lavender swirl in lazy patterns around you, cradling this pocket of ocean you’ve stepped into like hands cradling a globe. Looking at this new scene up close, you realize that the colors swirling around you are not merely a mist. No, they’re something otherworldly, something nebulous—ethereal gossamers of stardust. Beyond the luminous shades of blue, purple, and green lies a pitch black sky. Stars scatter through it like spilled glitter. Thin wisps of fog ghost over the waters surrounding you. And just ahead, in the center of this suspended globe, is the end of the dock. 

When he reaches it, Morpheus stops. You slow to stand just behind him. 

Standing in the most powerful location in the Dreaming, you take note of just how amplified Morpheus’s power is here. The air itself feels like a living creature—rippling, churning, electrified. You breathe in deeply, savoring the hum of the air as it spills into your lungs, seeking to calm your hammering heart. When you had first concocted your plan to work with the Dream Lord to combat Desire, only a small part of you had believed it might actually be possible. From speaking to Death, to entering Morpheus’s throne room, to introducing him to your function, doubt had shadowed your mind every step of the way. Would he really say yes? And even if he did, would a feat like this even be possible? Though your functions often overlapped with other deities, you’d never truly collaborated with one before. Combining your abilities to create something new. To stand at the edge of this dock was to stand on the precipice of something vast and unknown.

“Are you sure this is really possible?” you ask. Your voice is tight with emotion, barely above a whisper. 

Morpheus stills for a moment, then slowly turns. Wisps of teal and purple stardust swirl in his eyes as they rest on you. “You are a guest of the Dreaming, in the presence of Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless.” His voice is low and soft, assured. When he speaks, the world around you seems to hold its breath. “In my Realm, all things are possible.” 

You exhale slowly, and the air sighs with you. Your stammering heart slows. “Okay,” you say quietly. Seeking to shed your insecurity under his confident gaze, you set your shoulders back and raise your chin. Grounding yourself. Louder, you say it again, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Morpheus dips his head in acknowledgement. “Who will be the first?” 

You fish in your pocket for your list of daily assignments. As you unfold the Fates’ papers, your eyes search for names glowing with red and white halos. Eros and philia attachments. The bonds receiving the most unwanted attention from Desire. Your gaze settles on the first pairing you see, a set of names you remember very well from your visit to them earlier today. “Cole Hart and Rose Martinez. Both of Emerald Isle.” 

Morpheus’s unruly hair skims his eyelashes as he turns toward the water and bows his head. You watch as his eyes flit back and forth behind his closed eyelids, searching for something. After a moment, they still. 

When the Dream Lord turns his palms upward and slowly raises his arms, the sea responds in kind. A soft gasp escapes you as the waves just beyond the dock begin to shift their course. They swirl slowly, drawing themselves upward at Morpheus’s behest until two spheres of water hover within arm’s reach of you. Stray droplets slide off the orbs, plipping softly against the dock and the toes of your sneakers. Mesmerized, you lean forward, peering curiously at the movement you spy within the spheres. Flashes of color, blurs, shapes, scenes—dreams, you realize. Playing out in real time before you.

Your hand reaches out unbidden, palm resting against the curved surface of the sphere on your right. The feeling is no different than placing your palm on an ocean’s surface, the cool water lapping gently against your hand. And yet, you know this is so much more significant. This is a living mortal unconscious in the palm of your hand. You’re cradling their safe haven from the Waking World, the place where they delight in fantasy and delve into their deepest fears. A warm, soft feeling grips your heart at the thought. Humbling captures its essence best, though even that description seems to come up short. You wonder if Dream Lord ever drew up your own unconscious from the depths when you were . . .

“They are ready for you.” You lick your lips nervously, giving Morpheus a quick nod in response. Your left hand rises to rest on the sphere of water to your left. You swallow thickly as a mix of terror and exhileration surges through you. This is the moment. It is time to create a new way, a new function. 

You close your eyes, dipping your head in concentration. As you inhale deeply, a warm feeling alights on your chest. With it comes a sense of familiarity, comfort, and relief. You’d know that feeling anywhere. You’d only ever felt it - your capabilities, your function, your power - in the Realm of Attachment. And yet, here you were, channeling that power in the Dreaming. You exhale slowly, zeroing in on the feeling, nurturing it. The sensation responds in kind, growing larger, burning brighter, and you channel it outward, through you, into the air around you. The perpetual hum of power radiating from Morpheus intensifies as your own mingles with it.

Your attention shifts from the warmth coursing through you to the dreamers in the palms of your hands. Hello, you greet them. A tingling sensation ripples through you as their hearts call out to you in return. Ah, that’s it—Cole is in your left hand, and Rose is in your right. 

You first focus your attention on Rose’s unconscious. In your mind's eye, you imagine Cole’s features from this morning when you had traveled to Emerald Isle to foster their eros attachment. Curly brown hair, grass green eyes, fingertips calloused from rigging fishing lures. You imagine yourself plucking his toothy grin from the center of your mind and placing it gently in Rose’s. Warmth crashes through you like a tidal wave. 

Next, you turn your mind to Cole’s. Rose’s features flit through your thoughts in a montage: Hair as dark as Morpheus’s, sun-kissed skin, fingertips skimming effortlessly across piano keys in her band class. A smile graces your lips as you feel a tingle pass from your chest through to your fingertips.

When you’re finished, you find yourself holding your eyes closed a moment longer, hesitant to see what lies on the other side. Did it work? you wonder. There’s only one way to find out. 

After several quiet moments, you succumb to your curiosity. A breathless laugh escapes you as your eyes settle on Rose’s sun-kissed face smiling from within Cole’s unconscious, then Cole’s toothy grin beaming from within Rose’s.

A tingling, out-of-body feeling ripples through you as your breathless laughter grows louder, bubbling up from somewhere deep within you. Maker, you hadn’t felt something emerge from that space in a long time. For the first time since your rebirth, you had created something that was your own. Something outside the explicit laws of your function. Something new. 

You felt like you could faint. You felt like you could fly. 

Beaming with radiant, unbridled delight, you turn to the Dream Lord, who has said nothing yet. You find him staring intently at the visages you have placed in the minds of Cole and Rose, his eyes flickering back and forth between the spheres, his rosebud lips almost imperceptibly parted. You lean forward slightly, hoping to draw his attention, but he remains fixated. Is it possible that, in spite of his earlier comment, even he is taken aback that this has occurred? Or perhaps he is simply as enamored by this opportunity to create something new as you are?

When the Dream Lord draws in a breath, you wonder if he’s going to tell you. Wonder if, perhaps, you’ve finally begun to make a chip in his armor. But then his captivated gaze eases, and the suspense in the air dissipates. “And the next?” he rasps. 

Still, you smile.

…

By the time you’ve placed the last image of lovers and soulmates in the minds of dreamers this evening, your mind is reeling and your brow is damp with sweat. You heave a hefty sigh and run your fingers through your hair as Morpheus lowers the final two spheres of unconsciousness back into the Dreaming’s sea. Though your body aches for rest, your own temporary retreat from the demands of consciousness, you can’t deny how unbelievably alive you feel. Your body feels like a tuning fork, your very bones singing with glee at the opportunity to do and create. Your mind careens with a heady mixture of exhaustion, euphoria, and relief. The runner’s high at the end of a marathon. You feel you could subsist on this feeling alone until the end of your days. Until the end of the Endless. 

You did it, Love. You did it. 

“Well, that made for a good night’s work. We got through my entire list of eros and philia attachments for today.” You sigh contentedly as you fold said list and slip it into your pocket. You peer at Morpheus curiously as you do. His stare remains directed toward the waters of the Dreaming, disheveled hair obscuring his eyes from your view. As the silence stretches on, you venture a step closer to him. “What do you think? Of how things went?” you ask. 

Morpheus studies the waters for a moment longer before turning to you. When your eyes meet, you find yourself studying the lazy swirling pattern of teal and lavender stardust reflected in them. You’ve noticed that the nebulous haze and the midnight sky beyond do not seem to change in this place. Though you know you must have been out here for hours, the sky hasn’t darkened or brightened, nor have the stars shifted. This pocket of the universe is truly a space trapped in time. 

Morpheus’s reply is low and measured. “It appears our collaboration has been successful. It will be necessary, of course, to observe the humans in the Waking World to know with certainty.” 

You nod, trailing closely after Morpheus as he begins to make his way back down the dock, toward the shore. “Of course. When I made my rounds this morning, I orchestrated their relationships to all begin within the next few days. I’ll keep a close eye on each of them to see if the attachment goes as planned and to see if Desire stays away from them.”

Morpheus nods in response as you approach the edge of the mist. As you pass through it, you reach out your hand, twirling stardust between your fingers like threads of silk. When you emerge on the other side, you spot the shoreline in the far distance, the dark sands illuminated beneath the Dreaming’s full moon. Admittedly, after a long night of work, it makes for a sight for sore eyes. 

“Thank you,” you say suddenly, quietly. 

Morpheus does not pause in his walking. “What might you be thanking me for?” he asks. 

“For everything. For saying yes to helping me. For encouraging me tonight. For allowing me permission to step into your world. For not belittling me for being a goddess in need when you are an Endless.” One corner of your mouth turns upward in a wistful grin. “If I’m being honest, before I met you, I assumed you would. Tell me no, or belittle me, I mean. I know that seems unkind, but save for your sister, I don’t have the best experience with Endless. I’m very grateful that things didn’t go as I expected.” 

Morpheus continues walking in silence. Rather than awkward or loaded, you find the quiet . . . comfortable. You’re growing accustomed to his lengthy pauses and lack of responses. Though seemingly rude upon first examination, you’re starting to feel that they are more contemplative than ill-mannered. In a world where everyone’s first instinct is to fill the silence, the Dream Lord seems to welcome it. Perhaps he really was taking Lucienne’s words to heart and working on becoming a more adept listener. 

Of course, you’d been wrong in your judgment of character before. It wasn’t something you intended on doing again. Unraveling the mystery of Dream of the Endless would be an exercise in patience. If you were to be working together, it was an endeavor you were committed to undertaking.

The silence stretches on long enough that you assume he doesn’t intend to respond. Just as your mind starts to wander, however, Morpheus’s baritone cuts through your thoughts. “You need not thank me for my encouragement,” he says, each word articulated, deliberate. “Do not doubt your divinity. You were capable of completing what occurred tonight even prior to my comments. My words did not dictate that.” 

You roll your eyes half-heartedly, a small smile playing on your lips. Leave it to tall, dark, and broody to not simply accept a compliment. 

The two of you walk in silence the rest of the way to the shoreline. When your sneakers sink into the sand, you breathe a sigh of relief. Maker, now that your adrenaline is winding down, it hits you just how in need of a recharge you really are. Though you don’t look forward to what awaits you in your unconscious, you’re hopeful that you might feel some semblance of rest when you exit it in the morning. “So, I was thinking that we might want to do this nightly. After all, I do get a new list of assignments each day, and Desire works quickly.” You stretch your arms over your head, eager for the comforting feeling of crawling into bed after a long day’s work. “Would that work for you?” 

“That will be acceptable,” Morpheus replies. 

“Wonderful. I suppose I’m ready to go home, then.” Your eyes skim over the beach before they come to rest on him. “Will Matthew be coming to take me back? Or will you be sending me home?”

The Dream Lord’s posture is stiff and authoritative as he says, “You will not be departing quite yet.” 

Your eyebrows jump in surprise. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Yes.” The word slips past his pouted lips with emphasis, an insistence characteristic of someone accustomed to getting what they want. The Dream Lord takes a step closer to you, his dark figure framed by the star-speckled sky behind him. “When I visited your Realm, I informed you of a set of questions I had. Now that you are in my Realm, I intend to ask them.” 

A tired chuckle escapes you as your shoulders slump. “Come on, Dream Lord. It’s late. Perhaps another time?” 

His expression makes no change at your plea, his eyes boring into you intently. Maker, he was stubborn. With a sigh, you concede, saying, “Fine. But only one question—“ 

“No—“ 

“—and I’ll answer the rest another time.” When his expression still refuses to budge, you lift your chin, channeling an authority of your own. “I promise,” you say. 

The Dream Lord’s eyebrows furrow in frustration. His lips purse as his jaw works itself, chewing on your proposition. You hold his gaze firmly. As Dream of the Endless, you imagine he was used to having his way. If the partnership between you was to be effective, he would need to learn the art of compromise. 

After a drawn-out moment, Morpheus speaks. “I have existed since the dawn of the first thought. Throughout the ages, many gods and goddesses have abandoned their functions and realms when humanity presented them with challenges. Be it a decline in faith, displeasure with their subjects’ worship, or humans’ blatant disregard for the desires of their gods, countless have allowed themselves to succumb to myth in response to humanity’s opposition.” He pauses, his words hanging in the air between you. “Why do you continue?”

What inspires the one who spends all his time inspiring others? Your own words replay in your mind as his question seeps into you. You draw in a shuddering breath, unsure of what to say. Or, more accurately, how much to say. Of course you know why you continue. Your conviction is a brand upon your heart, something you are reminded of every night. A card you have always held close to your chest. 

Morpheus looks at you expectantly. Trust. The word reverberates in your mind. After centuries of seclusion, it is something you are no longer well-versed in. But you know full well that it takes giving trust to earn it. 

You lick your lips nervously as you exhale. Before you can lose your courage, you explain, “I was hurt once. A long time ago. I thought I was in love with him. I thought he loved me. But I was wrong.” You pause, working your jaw, mulling on the weighty truth of your confession. “Even though I was deceived, those moments were pure bliss. I was happy. I want to give others what I loved, but could not keep.” What you could not have. Will never have. You swallow thickly. “Even when it’s hard and ugly. The world needs that feeling. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m not giving up.” 

Morpheus’s eyes hold yours intently. However, there’s a subtle shift there. Rather than authoritative, this intensity is . . . studious. Perhaps something you’ve said has resonated with him on some level. Surely even an Endless has experienced sacrifice, experienced loss? Your tongue itches to ask, but you bite back your questions. This moment feels fragile, but significant. You don’t wish to break it. 

Several minutes pass in silence. Finally, Morpheus dips his head. “I apologize for keeping you to such a late hour. It has been a long day.” His hand slips into his pocket, emerging a moment later with a palmful of sand. “I shall send you home. Matthew will retrieve you tomorrow evening for another night of work.”

You nod idly, only for an alternative to suddenly cross your mind. You pause, debating on whether to ask this of him. “Actually, would you mind sending Matthew to get me in the morning?” You offer him a small, tentative smile. “I wouldn’t mind having another opportunity to watch you craft for the day. I found it . . . Interesting.”

Morpheus tilts his head ever so slightly, appraising you thoughtfully. Perhaps you’ve asked too much. As he brings the sand to his lips and prepares to blow, you hear him murmur softly, “Indeed, it is.” 

You close your eyes in anticipation as the grains of sand scatter over you. 

. . . 

“Theo! I’m home.” Your voice echoes through your dark, quiet townhome as you slip through the front door. You dip your index finger into the sides of your sneakers, slipping them off on your doormat. Funny—normally Theo would be licking at your ankles right now, his unique way of saying “welcome home.” 

When several more moments pass without hearing the quiet pitter patter of his paws, a pang of unease grips your heart. Something doesn’t seem quite right. “Theo?” you call again, hand fumbling for the light switch by the door. As your fingertips find purchase on it, a velvety voice purrs from the darkness of the living room, “Love, darling. How inhospitable of you to keep a guest waiting.” 

With a flick of your wrist, the lights burst to life. Eyes like molten gold lock yours from their place on your couch. 

There is a sinking feeling within you, like an anchor being thrown overboard. Dragging you down, down, down with it. “Get out,” you whisper, throat closing like a vice. 

Desire of the Endless tuts softly, leisurely rising into a sitting position on your couch. Their eyebrows pinch together in mock offense, but you can see the unbridled glee dancing through their eyes. “What, no ‘Hello? How are you?’ Come on, darling, it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.” Desire’s eyes flit around the room, taking in your modest townhome. Their nose wrinkles with distaste. “Still clinging to old dreams, I see.” 

A surge of emotions roar through you at their indignance. Your jaw tightens. “Get out,” you say again, louder this time. 

Desire’s red lips drop into a plump pout. “Really, Love? You would be so eager to throw me out? After all we’ve been through together?” Your bottom lip wobbles at their words. The sickly sweet grin that Desire shoots you in response sours your stomach. “I just wanted to drop in for a quick little chat. That’s all.” 

Your eyes follow Desire apprehensively as they rise from the couch, stalking toward you with slow, cat-like movements. Desire’s presence has always been off-putting, almost more animal than humanoid. Their approach toward you is lithe, graceful, but you can’t mistake the coiled tension behind each step, the devilish intent lurking behind those grinning lips and bared teeth. There is no mistaking it—this is a predator. 

“I see you’ve been spending time with my dear big brother as of late. An interesting choice by a hermit like yourself.” Desire circles you slowly, skimming one finger over the back of your shoulders. You stiffen under their touch. “Do tell, what are you and Dream up to?” 

You draw in a shuddering breath, seeking to calm your hammering heart. Digging past your anxiety, past your fear at their arrival, you harness your simmering anger instead. “Surely you haven’t paid me a visit just to ask about your brother,” you say, your voice steadier than before. A spark of irritation alights in Desire’s eyes as they circle you again, and you grasp onto it, let it embolden you. “If you want to know about your brother’s affairs, you should ask him yourself. Now, why don’t you tell me—what are you doing here?” 

“You really think I don’t know?” Desire’s voice hisses in your ear abruptly. From behind, their fingers encircle your biceps like talons, fingernails digging into your sleeves like claws. You startle, but breathe in deeply, attempting to retain your composure. “You really think I haven’t seen? I know what you’ve been doing to my precious threads of desire. Seeking to bypass them with your flimsy foretellings is a mistake. One that will cost you.” 

They don’t know. They don’t know what you and Morpheus are doing. Your heart races with a mixture of relief and exhilaration at the realization. For now, Desire thinks you’ve only been bypassing their interference through your attachments. You need to keep it that way. 

“You’re blind, Desire. Don’t you see what you’re doing to them?” you reply, voice tight with thinly veiled anger. “Your influence is getting out of hand. Families are being torn apart. Soulmates and lovers’ paths being skewed, never to cross again. Mortals are even murdering in your name. The scales that we share are becoming completely unbalanced—“ 

“Darling, come now. Don’t fool yourself. You know that is my intention.” Desire’s words pour into your ear like honey, sickeningly sweet. Their lips graze the shell of your ear as they whisper, “I haven’t forgotten what you did to me.” 

Adrenaline spikes through you at their words, hot and striking. As you tear yourself from their grip and stumble away, Desire’s wicked laughter echoes through the room. A prickling surfaces behind your eyes, and you swallow hard. No. Not while they’re still here. 

As you regain your footing, you spin around to find the Endless sauntering toward your front door. Their long, ring-adorned fingers throw it open with fanfare. “Well, darling, I must say—it’s been delightful to see you. You’re getting off with a warning this time, but next time . . . well, I suppose you’ll just have to see.” Desire steps out onto the threshold and into the darkness of night. They stop just shy of pulling the door closed behind them, golden eyes making contact with yours one final time. “You’d do well to let me do as I please, Love. After all, you know just how eager I am to bite when someone gets in my way.” 

The door closes behind them with a resolute click. 

You stand in the center of the living room for a long time, too stunned to move, too rattled to think. The only sound that permeates the air is the shallow huff of your heavy breathing. And then, the quiet plip plip of tears pattering against the hardwood floor. You sink to the wooden panels slowly, crumpling in on yourself, tears spilling hot and fast down your cheeks. You try to think clearly, try to process what just happened to you, but the events rush through your mind in a blur. You cry out in frustration. Too much. It’s all too much. 

After several lonely minutes, you hear the quietclicking of nails against the hardwood floor. Raising your head, you watch as Theo emerges tentatively from the bedroom hallway. His tail is tucked, his ears laid back. When he spots you, his eyes brighten. He pads over to you eagerly.

“Hey, buddy,” you say through choked sobs. You wipe your eyes against the back of your hand and extend it to welcome Theo into your waiting arms. His soft nose nuzzles your cheek before he sets in to licking your fingers, sweeping up the remnants of your sorrow. You chuckle half-heartedly, choking down the warble in your voice. “I love you too, bud.” Your fingers delve to rub that magical spot behind his ears, and your cold heart warms slightly at his pleased expression. “It’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

You spend the remainder of the night lying on your bed, hand absentmindedly stroking Theo’s fur, your mind racing down a cluttered freeway of thought. Rest does not find you. 

. . . 

When Matthew taps his pointed beak against your window as dawn breaks over the horizon, you’re already there waiting for him. 

“Oh, hey! Good morning. Wasn’t expecting to see you standing there,” Matthew caws as he steps over the window sill and onto your waiting arm. “I heard that you and the boss had a late night. I’m surprised you wanted me to come get you this early.” He pauses, tilting his feathered head up at you curiously. You feel him observe your red-rimmed eyes, the dark circles hanging beneath them from lack of rest. “Hey . . . are you okay? Is something wrong?” 

You smile softly at his concern. “Yes,” you say quietly. “I’m okay.” Because you are. If your sleepless night of thinking has taught you anything, it’s that you are okay. There is no other choice. You have to be.

Matthew eyes you tentatively, obviously weighing whether or not to press further. After a moment of contemplation, he seems to decide not to. “Okay, then. Well, I’m ready if you are.” His eyes gleam like black pearls in the light of the dawn. “Are you ready to go?” 

You know that to move forward with this is to forfeit any chance of mercy from Desire. To proceed is to commit yourself to war, to throw away your only chance of things returning to the way they were before. Nothing will ever be the same. 

The realization makes your decision even easier. 

“Let’s go.” 

[yukidragon]

I don't know how this site works and if this question has been asked before, but I can't stop thinking about it. After a night together with Jack, which was very significant for both of them, MC goes to open the door for Shaun and spends a lot of time with him, as if forgetting about the naked lover in the bedroom. She doesn't go to him to put him in a situation, but sits with Shaun and talks about crap. I don't know how to interpret it, but it seems sooo weird to me, What can that mean?

For this, I would like to draw attention to MC’s thoughts in the demo at a few scenes. First, here is their thoughts after Ian’s phone call when Jack goes to comfort them.

I’ve felt so bad for so long…I almost feel guilty, how he seems to make it all just disappear… How I think I… Maybe I might just… … ... No. No, something isn’t right about this. I feel for him...But something about this is too good. I won’t use him as a bandage, to cover up the feelings I don’t want to feel.

Then a little later...

After all this time… Is this. Love? Does Jack really make me feel whole, all on his own? Or…Is this just a hallucination too. Is this even real? Do I want to love…A hallucination?

MC regards being with Jack as being in a dreamy haze, as they themselves remark on in the “yes” route.

I can’t help but feel odd when I’m grounded in reality. The things I can see and hear and touch for myself. At the moment. Jack is all that I can see. He’s the most real thing there is. But after that, when anything else has my attention, I can see the utter ludicrousness of the situation. Is it intoxicating? Is that what this is? What is this dreamy haze that I find myself consumed by when it comes to him? …And I still don’t quite know what he is. No. No, I really shouldn’t be giving him this kind of power over me.

Jack’s presence in MC’s life is supernatural, and seems to feel like something out of a dream. When reality snaps us out of that dream and demands our attention, we usually tend to forget about the daydream for the most part and focus on the here and now. This could be the case whenever anything else distracts MC from Jack that he feels less real to them in the same way.

However, it could be something much more mundane than that. MC remarked that they were not quite awake and coherent when talking with Shaun. They forgot he was coming and panicked at that fact. These two things, plus their reunion, could serve as enough of a distraction to make them forget that their lover is waiting for them in the other room. Sometimes people are just awkward that way, and we’ve seen MC get distracted at times when engaging with people, as Jack, Shaun, and Ian comment on in their own ways.

Shaun Jeez. Nice to know you’re still a total space case, huh?

Ian Alice?…Are you alright? I snap out of my blissful trance. Alice Oh. Uh. Yeah! Yeah, no, I’m alright! Ian You’re totally spacing on me…Is everything okay?

Jack Alice? Are you okay? Ack. I jump as I return from the realm of warm fuzzies and back to reality.

I hope you don’t mind that I saved these quotes with my version of the MC’s name in them.

Anyway, it seems to be a plot point in the game that MC is the type of person to “space out” on people. This mild disconnect from reality could be part of why they struggle to believe Jack is even real and wonder if they’re just hallucinating his existence entirely.

If MC has this sort of habit of wandering off inside their head, only to snap back to reality when someone is asking for their attention, they could be used to just pushing everything to the side to focus on what’s immediately in front of them until they’re reminded of other things they should be focused on. This could just be something normal for them, or it could’ve been affected more strongly by their fatigue, Jack’s supernatural nature, or any combination thereof.

This tendency to disconnect from reality might also be another reason why MC is running away from nostalgia so desperately. They need to focus on what’s ahead, not what’s behind, though they can’t seem to help wandering off and getting lost inside their head, as we’ve seen in their narration in the demo.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur  

[scuttling]

Those Who Wait

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader Word Count: 4,985 Tags: 18+, Loss of virginity, Insecure reader, Fingering, Protected sex Summary: When you let it slip to the team that you've never had sex, they make it their mission to help you find someone who will make your dreams a reality. *Requested by anons!

Link to A03 or read below! “I don’t know how many times I have to reiterate this, but I am not a virgin,” Spencer says, palms up, and it’s clear this is something he’s reminded the team of on more than one occasion. You’re on the jet on the way home from a case, all of you gathered around chattering mindlessly to decompress, with the exception of Hotch, who is in his usual seat, working on his computer.

“And I never said I was talking about you,” you reply, with a tone just shy of smartass. You regret bringing it up already, because this will open the door to a topic you did not want to discuss with the team, ever, but you can’t put the cat back in the bag.

“Hold on. Are you…?” Emily grins a little, but her face drops into a frown when she notices the change in your demeanor, the tension in your shoulders. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, at all.”

“You’re a virgin? Really? You’re almost thirty,” Morgan says, leaning forward to look at you, and you nod, shrug. “Is it a religious thing? Saving yourself for marriage?” You scoot back in your seat, blow out a breath, use the casual posture to try to mask your discomfort.

“Nope, it’s not a religious thing. I’m just waiting for someone who’s worth it.”

“If you’re waiting for the perfect person,” JJ says, folding forward, hands clasped in front of her, “you’re going to be waiting forever.”

You sigh, because this is exactly the reason you didn’t want to bring this up.

“I’m not waiting for the perfect person. For a long time, I didn’t have time to date, and I was—you know, satisfied, without it, so it wasn’t an issue.” Your cheeks heat a little when you say it, and you rub a hand over the back of your neck. “But lately I’ve kind of shifted toward wanting to have sex, to find someone to make the connection with. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but I do have standards.”

“Don’t put pressure on yourself to do it. You’ve waited this long, why rush into things?” Emily says with a soft smile, and you reciprocate, grateful.

“I actually think it might be better if she just goes for it,” Morgan disagrees. Why aren’t you surprised? “Get it in, get it on, and get it over with. Then you won’t feel like it’s hanging over your head.”

“I’m trying. It’s not that I’m not trying. I’m going on dates; they’re all just really, really bad dates—like, the worst I’ve ever been on.”

“How many dates?” JJ asks with an arched brow, and you grimace.

“In the last month? Twelve.” Morgan laughs out loud, and you kind of want to punch him.

“Twelve first dates in the last month and you can’t get laid? Where are you finding these guys?”

“This stupid dating app Garcia convinced me to sign up for. They all seem fine on their profiles—”

“Oh, no, you can’t go by their profiles. Complete bullshit,” Emily says, and you throw your hands up in frustration.

“How else am I supposed to know what they’re like? They’re strangers.”

“Your first time shouldn’t be with a stranger.” You’re a little surprised when it’s Spencer who chimes in; everyone turns to look at him. “You’re a lot like me, and I know that I was nervous and insecure, and waiting for the right person made it a really great experience for me. I think you should wait for someone you know will make it meaningful.”

“She’s going to be waiting ‘til she’s eighty,” Morgan says with a grin, but he pats you on the back. “And if you do, I guess that’s okay. Not every guy can be a catch like yours truly.”

“Oh, spare us,” JJ says with a laugh, and you move on to other topics for the rest of the flight.

When you go to grab your luggage before heading back to the office, it’s just you and Hotch left on the jet; he’s been quiet for most of the trip, but when he steps up next to you, he says your name, low, to get your attention.

“I just wanted you to know, you deserve to be treated well… your first time. You should wait for someone you know will make it meaningful, like Reid said.” You just look at him for a moment, not sure what to say.

Part of you knows what you want to say. You want to say, is it worth it? You want to say, how will I know? You want to say, would you make it meaningful?

What you say is, “Thanks, Hotch.” He nods, hands you your bag, then takes his, closes the luggage compartment; he gestures for you to go ahead of him, and the two of you exit the plane.

You all go back to the office. Everyone hangs around for a few minutes, but Hotch goes up to his office, turns on the lights, sits down at his desk, and takes off his jacket. He’s in for a long night, then. You’re just getting ready to leave when Garcia strolls over, bag in hand.

“Hey, girl. How was that date the other night? Haven’t gotten to talk to you about anything other than murder the last few days.” She notices that your eyes are on Hotch’s office, looks up at him and back down at you. “Is everything okay, hon?” The concern in her voice snaps you out of it, and you look to her, smile.

“Yeah, everything’s okay. The date was not, though. I’ll walk out with you.” You grab your things, throw your jacket over your arm, and take one last look up at Hotch’s office before making your way to the parking garage. You go on seven more dates over the course of three weeks that are a complete waste of time and effort. Who knew having what you consider relatively basic standards would make losing your virginity so goddamn difficult? You know you’re not a knockout like JJ or Emily, and sometimes your nerves get the best of you, but you’ve been pretty charming, funny, all dolled up and putting out clear, but not desperate, DTF vibes.

The longer your quest drags on, the more embarrassing it gets. It actually becomes a part of the morning meeting: as soon as you enter the briefing room each day, Morgan raises his eyebrows, and you shake your head. He’s keeping a tally. You want to die a little bit.

Finally, you’re sitting at home one evening when you get the call from JJ that you’ll be heading to Miami for a case first thing the next morning. You thank her for letting you know, but before she hangs up, she says, “Bring a dress, something sexy. If we have an extra night, we’re going to a club and getting you laid.”

You stammer, a little embarrassed at the directness, but you pack a short, light, red dress, something appropriate for a humid Miami night, on the off chance you’ll actually get to go out.

The case is solved in a day and a half, and you are going to stay the night again, so JJ and Emily make it their mission to get you ready for a night out, and Morgan and Spencer make it their mission to scope out your potential partners and check for red flags before you even get close to them.

It’s sweet, kind of wholesome, when you ignore the fact they’re trying to get you fucked.

You have a drink at the outdoor bar, try to loosen up a little; the place is swarming with gorgeous, supermodel looking women with very little clothing on, breasts and ass everywhere you turn, and you feel inadequate, self-conscious in your little red dress. You freaking hate Miami.

You get glances from Morgan and Spencer, nudges of encouragement from Emily and JJ—even Hotch is around somewhere, part of the red flag detail, which you hadn’t expected—and you’re so close to giving up when a song comes on that you know and absolutely love.

Sex is outside your realm of knowledge, but dancing you can do, and you wrap your hand around Emily’s wrist and tell her you want to. JJ takes your drinks, sets them on the table, and the three of you head out to the dance floor.

It’s clear they didn’t expect much of your dancing, because they looked surprised as hell that you know how to work your body to the music, putting your arms on JJ’s shoulders and moving against her. She looks up, grins at Emily over your head, and cocks her eyebrow, impressed.

“Not that innocent after all,” she says, and you toss your head lightly, laugh.

“Said I was a virgin, not that I was innocent.” The three of you dance together, and you’re approached by several guys who try to get behind you, in between you, closer anyway they can. JJ and Emily are selective with who they entertain and who they give the brush off, and you’re grateful, because despite the outcome, you’re having a good time, and you never would have done this alone.

Eventually, a man comes over, wants to dance with you specifically; the girls exchange looks, give you a nudge, and you put your arms around his neck, let him rest his hands on your hips.

He’s pretty hot, you have to admit, a little under six feet tall, with dark hair and eyes and a nice smile, and dancing against him feels good. If it’s any indication of what if would be like to have sex with him, you’d let him take you home in a heartbeat. Of course, it’s been pre-planned that you’ll go back to your room upstairs if you hook up, so your people are nearby in case anything goes wrong; it’s maybe a little weird, the thought of your coworkers being cheerleaders while you lose your virginity, but what about this isn’t weird? At this point, you’re just going with the flow.

This guy is nice enough, doesn’t go straight for your ass like other guys you danced with, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing; you pull back, get his attention so you can tell him thanks for the dance, but you’re going to go back to your friends.

You don’t get a chance to say that, because you’re guided away from him by two strong hands on your waist. You turn, ready to tell someone off for getting handsy with you, but it’s Hotch, so the defensive posture you’d slipped into softens.

“Oh, hey. What’s going on? Is everything okay?” you ask loudly; his expression is serious, his brows pulled down in a frown. He shakes his head, leans in closer.

“I can’t let you go through with that—with him,” Hotch says in your ear, still hard to hear over the thrum of the music, and you put your hand on his shoulder, lean up so you can speak into his.

“What? Why not?” you ask, breathless from dancing and the heat. “JJ and Emily thought he seemed alright.” You didn’t actually want to go through with it, but that’s not important at the moment, not when Hotch is clearly trying to get some kind of point across.

“It’s not that, I just—you deserve better.” You frown, not sure you heard him right, and one of the hands on your waist moves lower; he presses you closer. “I don’t know if you would consider it, but I could do it. I could be the one.”

“The one?” you breathe. You need to hear him say it to confirm it’s not all in your head, that you aren’t taking anything out of context.

“The one you sleep with. The one to show you how good it can be. The one who will treat you well.”

You take a step back, have to see his face; is this pity, kindness, genuine interest? Because for the last few weeks, after every bad date, you’ve come back to the thought of Hotch kissing you, touching you, taking you apart. You know his hands are capable, you know he is kind and gentle, and it’s only the thought of him that keeps you from leaving with the first guy to show you attention. You’re so frustrated, never more desperate to feel than you have been since he told you you deserved something good.

He swallows when you look up at him, and your heart races.

“If you want to, I want to. No pressure if you don’t,” he assures you. What he’s saying is so unexpected, but so perfect, and you nod, wet your lips, lean back up on your toes to put your mouth to his ear.

“I want to. I trust you.” Feeling bold, you brush a hand over the back of his head, press your lips to the side of his neck. “Please?”

“Are you sure?” He sounds as tense as you feel, holds you tightly, like he needs to make sure this is really happening. You cling to him just as tightly, nod your head against his throat, and he squeezes your waist, ushers you across the crowded patio and inside the cool air of the hotel. You both sigh, because it’s quieter, more comfortable, and your gaze lingers over his body until he pulls you in for a gentle kiss.

You’ve done your fair share of kissing, and Hotch is so good at it, his hands on your face, his lips softer than you would have imagined, but firm in the way they press against yours. When the kiss breaks, you bring your hands to his wrists, breathing heavily, and then lean in to follow up with a kiss of your own.

He smiles softly, and you smile back, then slip your hand into his and let him lead you to the elevator. You’re not sure if it’s the night of dancing, the heat, the thrill of not only having sex after waiting so long, but having sex with Hotch, or what, but you feel changed; you’re a grown adult, you know that losing your virginity doesn’t mean much, doesn’t change who you are fundamentally, but the thought of experiencing it gives you a stomach full of butterflies in the best way possible.

“Would you like to go to my room, or yours?” he asks when you board the elevator, and he presses the button for the third floor. You plan to say it doesn’t really matter to you, but a thought crosses your mind.

“We can go to mine. I have condoms.” You’re not shy about using protection, know it’s just plain stupid not to, when you've been essentially searching for a new partner whose sexual and medical history you know little to nothing about, but telling Hotch makes your face heat a little. “I bought a variety pack—you know, when I started going on the dates.”

“Good. That’s good,” he says, nodding, and then he bends to kiss you, brushes his fingers over your jaw. “How are you feeling? Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Good,” you clarify. You feel so much better than okay you barely know how to say it, but there is one thing you didn’t think to ask before. “Hey, are you… are you attracted to me?” You look him over curiously, and the elevator dings; you step forward to get off, walk down the hall, but Hotch puts his hand out to stop the door, which stops you.

“I’m attracted to you. You’re gorgeous, and ever since you mentioned on the jet that this was something you were looking forward to… I can’t deny I’ve thought about being the one you share it with. Are you attracted to me?” You wet your lips, ready to reply with an emphatic yes, but he must take it for hesitation. “I understand why you want to do this, but if you aren’t attracted to me—it’s important that you want this with me, not just that you want this. I don’t want us to do anything that will make you uncomfortable.”

His words make you lose a little of the nervousness you were still holding onto, and you decide to show, not tell, how you feel about him; you wrap your fingers in his shirt and guide him down for a kiss that is hotter than before, still soft and slow, but wet and deep, too. After a moment, the elevator dings—likely due to the door remaining open for so long—and you break apart, breathless, and exit the elevator to head down the hall to your room.

Your interaction isn’t exactly awkward at first, but a little stilted: you both take off your shoes, and you grab waters from the mini fridge, hand him one and take a long sip of the other. It’s almost as if you are delaying the inevitable, but it’s not because this isn’t something you want to do; if pressed, you’d say the idea of having this time with Hotch is actually something you want to savor, not rush into too quickly. You aren’t delaying, but prolonging, and eventually you have to snap yourself out of it and just enjoy what you have while you have it.

You cross the room, walk over to him, and put your hands on his stomach, look up at him with clear eyes. His fingers ghost over your bare arms, and for a moment you just share breath, a lingering stare, until you stretch up to meet him in the middle for a deep kiss.

Hotch moves his hands to your hair, tips your head up, and you wind your arms around his back, pulling him closer and stepping forward until his legs hit the foot of the bed. He is warm, broad, solid beneath your hands, and you push them up the back of his shirt, skim them over his skin.

“Can I take this off?” you breathe when you separate, and he nods, helps you work it over his head and drops it to the floor.

Your hands rest on his stomach again, glide up his chest, and when you kiss this time, he turns you so your back faces the bed, eases you onto it. He lays between your legs, kisses until you’re both panting with need, and when you lean your head back to catch your breath he moves his mouth to your neck, trails it slowly up, then down, softly bites at the base of your throat. You hum softly, clutch his shoulders, bring your knees up around his waist.

“God, I want you.” He pulls back, looks down at you, his chest heaving, and you nod, brush fingers through his hair. “I want you, Hotch. Please touch me.”

He begins with the slow drag of big, careful hands down the outsides of your thighs, over your hips, pushing your dress up around your waist. You can’t stop looking at his face, serious and handsome, even though the rest of him is perfect too; you like that he looks affected by this, like it means something to him as well, like you’re not alone in feeling a bit overwhelmed. He moves his hands to the soft insides of your thighs, squeezes them, then leans up on his knees so he can pull your panties off, sets them on the bed beside him.

“I’m just going to rub. Tell me if it’s too much, not enough.” He curls over you for a kiss and slides his fingers along your pussy, three of them, long and thick. You close your eyes immediately, because the first touch is so good, his fingertips gliding through your slick and spreading it over your lips and clit; you are both breathing heavily, mouths hovering over each other, and you clutch at his biceps while he rubs where you are soft and aching.

It’s not that it’s not enough—you could get off this way, easily, you’re halfway there already—but you want more, imagine yourself clamping down around his fingers, digging your nails into him when you come.

“Can you…” You trail off, bite your lip, and he smooths a palm over your cheek, your hair.

“Ask me. Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I want to give it to you.” A soft, needy noise leaves your throat, and he presses his lips to yours, slips the pads of two fingers over your clit, rubs circles against it. “Is it this? Is this what you want?” You wet your lips, think no but yes, move a hand to his face.

“Can you put your fingers inside me? I want to feel you inside.” Your voice trembles over it, not used to being so direct, not used to asking for what you want, and his answering kiss is deep, wet; he pulls back to look at your face as he presses one finger inside, and you feel your expression shift, from desperate to intensely pleasured, your mouth open, eyes wide. “Hotch, oh.” He pulls it out slowly, nearly all the way, and pushes it back in, rubs your cheek, brushes his thumb over your lips.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” Good is an understatement, and you clench around him, slide your hands down his forearms, nod. “Good. It’s okay if you’re just quiet, but if you’re nervous about how you’ll sound, don’t be. I’d like to hear how you’re feeling.” Another reason to feel so good about this—because you are self-conscious of the way you’ll sound, and you should have known he would pick up on it, try to ease your insecurities. You wet your lips, nod, and he moves the finger slowly in and out, adds another when you ask him to.

“Mmm. Mmm.” You bring a hand to your covered breast, squeeze it, and he moves to push your dress up further, to bare it, maybe, but you tense, then instantly feel silly.

“What is it?” he asks gently, running his hand over your stomach instead, and your muscles relax, you sigh.

“Just a little self-conscious… about my breasts—especially after everything I saw downstairs,” you say, huffing a laugh, and he chuckles, nods.

“Miami is a bit much. But you’re so beautiful, sweetheart, just as you are, and it’s clear they bring you pleasure. If you’ll let me, I’d like to take your dress off all the way, touch them… kiss them.” The prospect sounds so tempting—your nipples are sensitive beneath your own hands, but under his? His mouth?

Your breathing picks up again, and you nod, rest your arms over your head so he can pull it up and off. You swallow, trembling and bare beneath him, and he steps off of the bed to push the rest of his clothes off, too; you know you feel vulnerable, so maybe he sensed it, wanted to make you more comfortable? Either way, he is gorgeous, and you’re so grateful to be doing this with him.

“Where are the condoms?” he asks, bending over the edge of the bed to kiss you with a hand on your cheek. You direct him to your bag, and he opens the box, takes out the one he needs, walks back to you; you lean up on your elbows to watch him intently as he tears the package open, rolls it onto his cock. When he climbs on top of you again, when he pushes your knees gently apart and makes himself at home between them, you shudder; you can feel his dick for the first time, hard against your thigh, and he leans in to kiss your throat, your shoulders, and eventually, your breasts.

His mouth covers one, his hand covers the other, and you gasp when his lips close around your nipple, suck softly. “Hotch, oh my god.” You lift your hips, looking for contact, and he removes the hand from your breast, uses it to line his cock up so it can slide over your pussy as you rock against him, wet, perfect pressure, as he pulls your breast more roughly into his mouth, nibbles it.

You arch your back, pushing your chest closer to him, and he moans, slowly glides his hands over your throat, into your hair. He shifts the angle of his hips, and he slips out from between you, making you sigh at the loss. Now that you’ve felt him, it’s maddening to be without, and you wet your lips, touch his face.

“I’m ready.” He leans in to kiss your cheeks, your chin, rubs his nose softly against yours, and you meet for a deep, slow, wet kiss.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Please.” You move your hands to his waist, guide him closer, and he pushes slowly inside, lets you get used to the stretch it brings. It just feels good, not really a new sensation, since you’ve put toys inside before, but he is so much thicker, more satisfying to feel along your sensitive channel, his body warm on top of yours.

“How does it feel?” he murmurs, lips grazing yours, and you curl your hand around the back of his neck, just kiss him, enjoy the fullness and the slide of his tongue.

“So good. You can move,” you say, and your voice sounds strained, but it’s with arousal, not discomfort. You hitch your knees up higher, put your hands on his arms, pull him in so he’ll know that. “Want to feel you, Hotch.” You share breath for a few moments, and then he pulls back and thrusts forward, repeats it a few times, slow and steady, looking into your eyes.

You moan, carefully roll your hips in time with his, and he pumps inside a little deeper, a little quicker. You grip his arms, move your hands to his face, unsure what part of him you want to touch, anchor yourself against. He leans down for a kiss and you press your fingers to his cheeks, kiss him more passionately, less timidly than you’ve been so far. He groans against your mouth, and you pant as your bodies work together; it’s almost instinctual, the need to take him deeper, to meet, thighs hard against each other.

“Are you okay?” he asks, sliding his hands over your sides, hips, and you nod, gasp when he shifts up, gets his mouth on your breast again, kisses it wetly while his cock glides inside. That’s enough to have you moaning, loudly, head back, your hands on his body now, to feel his muscles flex while he thrusts inside you.

“Hotch, oh. Feels so good, I—” He bites down, lightly, just the edge of his teeth, and your legs snap tight against his body, shaking while you come around him. “Oh, oh. Mmm.” Your muscles contract so hard he grunts, your pussy all but trapping him there, and he grinds against you, grips your thighs.

“So perfect. You feel so good coming for me, so tight.” You ride out the pleasure, rolling your hips against his, and when you’re a little looser he thrusts again, slides an arm behind yours, his hand carefully around the back of your neck, kisses you until he comes, groaning, in your ear.

You look up at him as he gathers himself, wets his lips, and you curl around him for a hug; he holds you tightly, rubs gentle palms over your body, murmurs that you’re incredible and he hopes you know that was special. It's the connection you were looking for, intimacy, and you are so incredibly happy you found it, even if you did find it in the unlikeliest of places.

You lay together for a few minutes before he pulls out, ties off the condom, takes it into the bathroom, and then you go in to pee. You look yourself over in the mirror—again, fully aware that losing your virginity changes almost nothing—but you can’t help feeling like a missing piece has locked into place.

If makes you wonder if the missing piece maybe wasn’t sex, but Hotch.

When you head back into the other room, you expect him to be dressed, or at least getting dressed, but he’s laying back on the bed, covers turned down, body still bare—what you can see of him is bare, anyway, because crisp white sheets cling to his waist, make him look only that much more delicious as he waits for you.

You suddenly ache with desire again, touch your chest at the rush of emotion, of sensation, and then you climb on the bed, slip into his lap, kiss him again. This time it’s different, because your lips and tongue are all saying what you can’t, and it’s intimate, passionate, vulnerable, intense.

Except, maybe you can say it, because he kisses back just as furiously, and it translates into something as strong as what you’re feeling, his hands on your face and lower back holding you close.

“I want you,” he whispers, looking into your eyes, and you’re panting hard, desperate for more. “Not just tonight—I want every night to feel like tonight. I know you weren’t planning for anything more than this, but if you like, maybe I could take you to dinner when we get back. We could see if there’s something more?” He looks nervous, like the offer won’t be well received, but you just nod, smile, lean close for a gentler brush of lips.

“I’d really like that. I don’t want to only feel like this tonight.”

You kiss a little more, softer, sweeter things, eventually moving from his lap to curl against his side; the two of you cuddle, talk—it’s not awkward in the slightest, just feels right, and you drift to sleep warm and content in his arms.

Maybe Miami’s not so bad after all.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

[lyssahlyssah]

Obey Me! Lucifer's Dream

a/n: This is a piece for the lead-up to Kinktober. I wanted to bring the unevolved, evil, and dangerous Lucifer out in a safe environment where no one actually ends up getting hurt. The timeframe is just after MC arrives in the devildom and meets everyone, but hasn't had time to get close and develop relationships. Thanks to @theinariakuma for beta-ing.

Trigger warnings: fantasy violence, implied fantasy murder, implied fantasy rape, sadism, anger, dark themes.

Pairing: F!MC x Lucifer

Category: not suitable for work, dark fantasy

//

Midnight rolled around again and Lucifer rubbed his temples with gloved fingers. With no sun, day and night had little meaning here, but even so, he had been awake for five straight days, a full two days longer than his normal and it was starting to show.

Irritably, he signed his name to the latest document in front of him and with a scowl, snapped the pen in two between his fingers. I mean, how much was a demon supposed to take?

First, there was helping Diavolo with his extra paperwork since Barbatos was on vacation, then overseeing the RAD student council... Mammon playing the fool... and now babysitting the new human exchange student. The last one took an enormous amount of his resources because she was just so damn fragile. He was always having to watch over her, keep lesser demons from devouring her, creating special education for her, and most of all, controlling his own temper so he wouldn't kill or frighten her. She obviously didn't belong here, but Diavolo was firm with his instructions regarding the human, she was to be treated as gently as if she was back in her own world.

He scoffed, irritation sliding into anger. Something about interworld relations. Really, who cares at all about that. If his time in the Celestial Realm had taught him anything, it was that humans were weak, unworthy of his time, and invited trouble. Trouble was already something they had plenty of, thanks to Mammon.

And he certainly didn't care about maintaining relations with the Celestial Realm, he didn't want to see another angel for the rest of his life.

He resented the extra intrusion on his time. Solomon was a different story, he could take care of himself and required very little attention, and as far as Lucifer cared, could stay as long as he liked, so long as he didn't try to cook.

Uninvited, her face floated into his mind and he angrily stuffed the thought away. MC... What kind of a name is MC anyway, he thought.

He got up and walked to the piano, sitting down in front of the keys, hoping some music could help clear and calm his head. Playing a few bars of his favorite composer, De La Lordo, he closed his eyes and leaned into the music. However, his anger continued to throb and as it did so, his fingers tripped over one another causing a shriek of dissonance that cut through the silence of his office like a knife.

Irritation exploding, he slammed down the lid to the keys. Even his favorite classical music couldn't cool him down. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw HER face. HER body. HER skin. He didn't understand. He was the chosen one of his father's creations, the strongest, the most beautiful, the most talented, the most intelligent. His burgeoning attraction to something so unremarkable sent waves of revulsion and confusion tumbling through him.

Unable to control his anger and disgust, he rampaged through his office; and only after his curtains and furniture were hanging in shreds with several new vase-shaped holes in the walls did he finally sit down hard in the armchair by his fireplace, leather creaking to accommodate his weight. He hadn't lost his temper like this for a long time, but he knew his brothers wouldn't dare approach his door after hearing his wrath. Spent, he pushed his sweaty hair out of his face and leaned his head back against the soft surface, eyes closing.

...squeals in the dark.

Everything was fuzzy. He shook his head roughly to clear it, but the cloudiness stubbornly held on. Hazily, he pushed through long-limbed bushes that grasped at his hair and clothes into a woody clearing and there she was. Small, perfect, tearful eyes wide, gag tightening into the sides of her mouth, hands tied in front of her. She's naked. A fire to one side, casting flickering shadows that danced across her terrified face.

His heart started to race and his breathing quickened. This is a dream, he thought.

Touching his tongue to his upper lip, and then dragging it across the top of his lower teeth, he continued to watch her struggle. He felt dark urges bubbling up within him...he wanted to hurt her. Use her. Feed off her fear. The longer he watched, the stronger the urges became.

His fingers curled up in tight fists at his side. How good it would feel to let go...stop controlling himself for once. Stop doing what everyone expected of him. Just be free. Free to hate. Free to rage. Free to destroy.

The passion was too intoxicating to resist. With eyes closed, he let the anger take him. Roaring, he exploded into fire, white-hot flames threatening to sear his bones to ash. His handsome face melted into a horrific ghastly caricature of its former self. Pain as blackened wing tips burst through the taut skin of his back leaving bloody and ragged holes around them, pain as one curled horn ground its way free of the top of his head, then the other. Pain as his bones stretched to make him larger, thicker, new muscles pulsating with power. Pain as his claws burst from his fingertips impaling themselves on his palms as he ground his fists with rage.

All was pain and he drank it in like a man dying of thirst. His transformation complete, he throbbed with energy, heat, and rage.

The poor girl had yet to see him emerge from the darkness, but emerge he did, at last, a red glow upon the ground and an earth-shaking tremor heralding his arrival. Her already widened eyes, bulged from their sockets. Too scared to make a noise, strangled whimpers were all that emerged from around the gag.

Standing tall in all his terrible glory before her, her fear increases his desire.

He frees himself from his pants and masturbates furiously. He can't remember how long it's been since he touched himself like this, with an anger and intent. Or at all, for that matter. Passion had all but dried up for him after his fall from grace. Life had become controlling his brothers and the mundane of Diavolo's paperwork. It felt good just to feel anything again.

Sadistically, he chuckled lowly. His beautiful, terrible eyes narrowing, he lets loose his enormous hard cock, where it hangs heavily erect against his leg, waiting. Her eyes follow its movements and he revels in her horror. She knows what's going to happen and that she has absolutely no way to stop it.

Even through her fear and almost as a betrayal to herself, she can't help but feel a supernatural attraction to him, his power, his beauty. He can sense it as well, and it increases his contempt for her.

It's only too easy, he thinks arrogantly. She can't help but want me, even like this. I can smell it all over her. She wants to get fucked by a monster.

It confirms all of his previously-held beliefs that humans are inferior. He sneers, face contorting. Pitiful. So weak...so insignificant. Utterly disposable.

That last thought ignited his lust to new levels. Here was a toy he could abuse with no repercussions to his conscience. She wasn't worth consideration or care. Since she was beneath his respect, he could be himself completely.

Dark excitement pushing him forward, he took a quick step towards her, and she cringed backward against her restraints, desperate to flee.

He smiles. "It's no use trying to escape, little one," he said cruelly, his soft words contradicted by his harsh tone."Escape doesn't exist for you anymore. You're mine. "

Her screams echo throughout the woods, full of terror and ecstasy.

Hours later, the screams fade as a long howl rises. The girl's mangled body lies still on the ground, every orifice stuffed full and dripping, blood on the ground. Her face is quiet, eyes glassy with rapture, expression frozen in terror. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

His violence finally sated, Lucifer stands with his bloody cock dripping, drenched in sweat and other fluids, parts of himself slipping back into human form. An unexpected warm rush fills him as he looks at her, and impulsively, he leans down and tenderly kisses her cooling cheek.

At the touch of her flesh, his eyes open and he is back in his office chair. His grandfather clock lets him know morning has come.

The chair lies in ruins around his outline, he had transformed outside of his dream as well. He shifts in the chair and his pants catch against him uncomfortably, sticky, full of his cum several times over. He feels an overwhelming sense of release, of a long-overdue itch scratched, a boiling tea kettle that has let off its steam. Feeling powerful and confident, he rises to clean himself and get ready for the day.

Later

"Once again, Lucifer will be providing you with your lessons and general protection this week," Diavolo said conversationally to the girl. All three of them were sitting in Diavolo's office, sipping tea kept at the perfect temperature by Barbatos's careful attentions. The girl hesitantly looked over her teacup towards Lucifer, remembering the handsome demon's obvious irritation the week before.

"I'm at your command," Lucifer said silkily, cooly polite. He showed none of the irritation from before, and in fact...looked perfectly content with his extra duties.

For a second, she thought she heard something odd in his tone...what, she wasn't sure.

She glanced his way again, and shivered as she saw he was watching her...a faint smile on his lips, red eyes glowing.

[twiceasfrustrating]

I'm sorry if I already requested this of you I honestly have the memory of a walnut. But can I request headcannons of the boys + dia who find out MC has an emotionally abusive husband? Like fluff with some murder maybe?

thank you

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Characters: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)

Additional Tags: abusive relationship mentioned, some are a bit murdery, I don't know how to write fluff for such a situation but I tried

A/N: If you are in an abusive situation in the USA and need to speak to someone, please call 1-800-799-7233. If you cannot call, you can also text “START” to 88788. If it is safe for you, you can also go to the website directly. Abuse takes many forms, but it is always about control.

Feel free to add the numbers/contact for other countries if you have them.

Lucifer

He got upset at MC once and they flinched when he yelled and they started apologizing like there was no tomorrow. That was how he found out something was wrong. They wouldn’t say anything, but he could tell that something was deeply wrong. Perhaps he had never noticed before the formation of their pact how MC shuddered around him whenever he got upset, but now he did.

He is very careful not to yell again and when he does he is quick to lower his voice the second MC shows distress, reassuring them that he is not angry at them and would not harm them. It sounds almost hollow after how he acted when they originally met, but he means it.

There was one time MC dropped a dish on the floor while cooking and it broke, spilling hot food everywhere. They started picking up the pieces in a hurry, not even paying attention to how the hot shards burned and cut up their hands.

Lucifer was quick to pick them up off the ground and tend to the fresh injuries, all while they kept apologizing and saying that they would clean it up as soon as they could and saying they would make something else. Lucifer forbade them from doing either and cleaned the mess himself. He did that a lot. Took care of their ‘mistakes’ and cared for them. They would almost believe he wasn't the same terrifying man they had first met.

It takes a long time for MC to get used to their new relationship with Lucifer and once they do they are far more comfortable and less skittish.

He is not pressuring the story out of them. He can wait, as difficult as it is, for them to open up. However, he is no fool. He knows who is to blame, and that man should be very afraid should Lucifer and he ever meet.

Mammon

MC always spoke so well of their husband when they first met the brothers. Mammon was actually jealous and wished MC would talk about him that way. They would always say how kind their husband was and how he loved them and how he wanted the best for them. It sounded like some kind of cheesy romance novel.

Things started to get weird though when he and MC started to get even closer. He would invite them out, only to hear “I don’t think my husband would like that” or “I shouldn’t be alone with you”. It was weird the first time, but it quickly became a pattern. A very worrying pattern. Mammon knew abuse when he saw it. He was the family butt monkey and a witch punching bag, after all.

The difference is that he’s a fallen angel that is used to such treatment and, as a demon, the things done to him do very little in the long run. Humans are far more fragile though; their minds, bodies, and hearts. And then Mammon started to hate MC’s husband with a passion that could not be matched.

He cared less about making that bastard pay and more about taking care of MC. Such treatment can ruin a person, especially good people like MC. He would do anything to show them that they deserved better than that man, whatever that eventually meant.

Leviathan

He and MC have a little too much in common for his taste. It is actually almost disgusting how little self-worth they seem to have, but he can also see how that was trained into them.

They play down their worth a lot: “It’s nothing”, “It could be better”, “I failed again”, etc. They never say anything positive about themself. They are really good at picking out their flaws, but almost incapable of pointing out their merits.

It goes against everything Levi believes in, but he has to start praising them since they won’t praise themself. He likes hanging out with them, the stuff they make is nice, they are a really quick learner. It feels weird to praise someone, but it’s nice to see MC start to feel a little better about all the things they do.

Although, he also has the mild thought of showing MC’s husband that there are more terrifying things in the world than the horrors a human is capable of. After all, Levi has seen the monsters that dwell in the deep; he is one of those monsters and there is a reason humans fear the darkest depths.

Satan

There are some wonderful upsides to being the avatar of wrath. Normally, Satan wouldn't be so crass as to give into them, but sometimes humanity is just so vile that he can't help himself.

One of those upsides is a mind filled to the brim with the instinctual desire to rip and tear anything he can get his hands on to pieces. It's an instinct he fights off constantly with his centuries of training and self-discovery, but just this once he doesn't mind becoming the beast he was born as.

MC's husband squeals like a stuck pig throughout the entire night, only the winds, spiders, and Satan being able to hear and appreciate the sound. And appreciate it he does, until the screaming stops and his hands are drenched with blood.

He really needs to get himself cleaned off before he sees MC again, otherwise they will be terrified. He needs to look his best when they come running to him worried about their missing husband. It’s sad how much they worry about him despite everything.

Asmodeus

MC was always so calm and docile when he wanted to spend time with them. He didn’t really get it at first but it was easier to dress them up and take them out, so he didn’t question it. At least, not until someone (read: Solomon) not so subtly pointed out that it is unusual for someone to be so passive, almost to the point of being doll-like.

Asmo didn’t believe it at first. How could anyone treat someone as sweet as MC so cruelly, especially someone that is supposed to love them? But from that day onward, his eyes were opened up and he started to notice things.

The way they didn’t put forth their own opinions and let him take the lead on everything, how they stuck close to him when they both went out, the subtle way their fingers reached out then drew back when they liked something.

“Do you like it?” He would ask and their response was “do you?”

It was so difficult to get them to start putting their own wants and desires above what they thought he’d like. When they showed interest in something, he would fawn all over it. If they liked something, he liked it too. He would buy them things they even glanced casually at, told them they were worthwhile and lovely, anything that other man would never say to them.

He tore them down so completely, but Asmo would work tirelessly to build them back up.

Beelzebub

He is the softest man in the world, and sometimes MC just lets things slip out. He’s very easy to open up to and they don’t think about what they say. He was the first person that they opened up to about what was happening to them.

Suffice it to say, Beel was shocked when they mentioned how terrified they were for the exchange program to end. Despite everything that they had been through over the past year, they didn’t want to go back.

Beel had only felt so powerless one other time in his life. He couldn’t go with them to protect them and they couldn’t stay in the Devildom forever to stay safe. It was painfully cruel just how much he couldn’t help them.

All he could do was hold them and listen to them get everything off of their chest, dreading the day that the exchange program would end.

MC has to hurry up and learn how to summon him, because he wants to keep them safe from that awful situation. He would never allow another person it the world to hurt them again.

Belphegor

Belphie likes exactly one human in the three realms and every other one is none of his concern. Or, they wouldn’t be his concern if it weren’t for the fact that the one human he cared about was the victim of this particular instance.

He’s not like some of his other brothers. He doesn’t do comfort and he isn’t the best at torture, prefering to get everything over with quickly so he doesn’t have to expend all the extra energy. But, for such a special occasion, he is more than willing to put in the effort.

Humans really do create their own worst fears. Their minds run a mile a minute and they have the strangest way of finding how their own terrors can overpower what little defenses they have.

He may not be able to touch MC’s husband, but he can certainly return every slight against his favorite human. Long, sleepless nights wracked with unending horrors that only that man can truly appreciate.

All the while, he will gladly hold MC when their own nightmares overtake them, trying to put their mind at ease for just this moment. How he wished that his powers could control the waking world as well as their dreams...

Diavolo

“Don’t go back.” It was the first time Diavolo had brought up the idea. It was one he had been considering for a long time, knowing that it was extreme given that MC was a human and had to live in the human realm. However, he couldn’t live with himself knowing the kind of life MC would return to once they left.

The shouting, the insults, discarding everything MC liked because their husband doesn’t care for it… Diavolo would never feel right knowing he sent someone dear to him back there.

He had the means to help them get literally anywhere but back to that man. Diavolo could help set them free from that life, even if they didn’t want to stay in the Devildom. He knew MC would have the support of everyone they had met.

All they had to do was say yes and he would move the Devildom itself to get them out of there.

[belphies-cuhm-sluht]

I enjoyed your dad!Lucifer and dad!Asmo stories! May I please request one of dad!Belphie where Satan takes over? 💜💚

Welcome Home (Dad!Belphie Pt. 2)

A/N : I live for this kind of angst, I love it. Although this hurt my Belphie loving heart, these fics are so much fun. (Part 1) Word Count : 3.1K Warnings : children; babies; maternity; mentions of MC's death; mentions of childbirth; dad!character; angst

Belphie stiffened when he heard his son say it, but he didn’t have time to react before the knock came. He groaned as he got up off the floor, picking his son up and walking to the door to throw it open, expecting another Akuzon delivery for Leviathan, or maybe Mammon had just forgotten his keys. “See, it’s not Ma…” He hadn’t even been looking when he opened the door, he was still on edge from his son uttering the word, but the way the child was reaching out towards the door made him look up. “Y/N…” Your name was whispered from his lips, he felt like he was dreaming, this was all just some sick dream that his mind had come up with out of guilt and self hatred. He must have fallen asleep on the floor, that’s what this is. You couldn’t actually be there, could you? “You would not believe how hard it is to get out of heaven. You all made it seem easy, but that guy is a real stickler.” You joked, grabbing your son from Belphie’s arms and holding him against your chest. “It’s been so long… You’ve grown so much. I’ve missed so much… How long was I gone?” You looked away from your son's purple eyes to meet Belphies, but he was still silent. It was like he had gone into shock, which, you wouldn’t blame him. Nobody probably expected for you to come back, but you weren’t going to spend your eternal life up in the Celestial Realm when your entire life was down in the Devildom. “Belphie… Can you atleast breathe? Please? You’re worrying me.” His mouth fell open, but the sound that escaped him was like a mixture between a squeal and gasp, and you didn’t really know what the sound meant, but his eyes were wide and his hands were holding his hair away from his face as if he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You can’t… You can’t be here… I watched you die.” He shook his head, quickly grabbing his son back and walking into the living room, shaking his head in disbelief. “That was one of the worst days of my life… I never thought you’d come back… I never thought I’d see you again.” He turned back around to face you as you walked into the house, shutting the door behind you. “How are you back?” You giggled lightly, trying to remember what happened in the Celestial Realm, but the memories were fading faster than you thought they would. “Well… First of all the line was so long, you would not believe it. They need to make the gates more like an amusement park entrance, maybe like five gates instead of one. It’ll really speed things up.” He didn’t seem to see the humor in it, not right now at least. It probably was the fact that he still didn’t understand how you got back and you were making jokes about the waiting time in heaven, it probably wasn’t a good time to do it. “It took forever to get through those gates, and the entire time I was waiting, I was thinking of you, and I was thinking of him. I don’t even know how I got sent up there in the first place, but as soon as I got through, I went straight to the guy who’s name shall not be said, and I told him I wanted to go back, to be back with you.” You rolled your eyes as little bits and pieces of memories came back to you, the hell that you went through just to get out of there. “I caused so much trouble, and I think I finally just annoyed everyone to the point where they didn’t care and they just gave me the boot… and here I am!” You gave him two thumbs up which your son mimicked back to you, but Belphie was still standing there, blinking rapidly as he tried to process everything that you just said. “So you ditched heaven essentially, to come back to your demon boyfriend and your demon kid who both killed you?” He said it as if it were a weird thing, and to most it probably would be, but to you it just seemed like the only thing to do. It was a pretty quick summary of everything that happened, and you probably could have summed it all up to that, but then there would have been no humor to break the ice and… you kind of felt like the situation needed a little comedy to lighten things up. “You’re such a dork…” He mumbled, but you saw the small smile tugging at his lips. You were

finally back, something that he never thought would happen, something that he never thought would be possible, but it did happen, and it was possible, and you were standing in front of him right now and he didn’t know how he actually felt about it.

“So how long have I been gone?” You asked, your head in Belphie’s lap as you laid on the floor, watching as your son tottered across the floor over to the toys that had been stacked in the corner of the living room. “He’s gotten so big…” As much as you had joked about the wait, it hadn’t felt like it was that long. The events that had taken place to get you up there in the first place were fresh in your mind still, it felt like it had just happened, but how big your son had grown said differently. Belphie pouted slightly as he thought of just how long he had gone without you, how long he had gone through this alone. “A year… and a half.” He ran his hand over your hair, watching your reaction. Your eyes gave away how you were really feeling, he could see how his words upset you, and that wasn’t what he was trying to do, not at all. “I never forgot you. I never got over what happened. I relived that day over and over in my mind… I’m so sorry Y/N…” His head dropped, resting his forehead against yours as he cradled your face in his hands. It was the first time you had ever heard him apologize for anything, and for once, he didn’t have a reason. There was no need for apologizing, not for this. “Hey… Don’t…” You reached up to cup his cheek, craning your neck just enough to kiss him before dropping your head back down into his lap. “I’m here now. You don’t have to apologize. Plus…” You held his chin between your thumb and pointer finger, turning his face to look at his son who was now sitting in the corner playing with his plush farm animals. “It was worth it to me. I have you, and I have him, and I can stay here with you forever. What is there to be sorry for?” You let your hand drop down against your stomach, smiling as you continued to watch your son, but your happiness was short lived as Belphie groaned, pushing himself up off the floor, causing you to roll off his lap. “You’re such an idiot! You think it was worth it? Dying for that thing?! You’re not the human I fell in love with anymore, you’ve changed.” His breathing was heavy as his nostrils flared, his hands shoved into the pockets of his cardigan. “And you may not notice it, but I do. And now… now you’re saying you want to live out the rest of eternity down here with me and the demon spawn.” He sighed loudly, shaking his head, but you didn’t understand why he was acting like this, speaking this way. “I said before all of that happened that I wanted to spend the rest of my human life down here with you, and that once I did die I would come back. I guess the process was a little sped up, but I don’t mind that.” You sat up, eyeing him suspiciously. You didn’t know where all of this was coming from, you thought that he was happy to have you back, and now he was basically saying that he didn’t love you anymore? “You didn’t have a problem with the plan before… And now that I’m here you don’t want me? That’s not fair, Belphie.” You swallowed thickly, digging your nails into your lap as you sat on your knees looking up at him. He looked indifferent , like he didn’t even care that what he was saying was hurting you. What had changed? “You didn’t come back for me. You came back for that, and you can have it. I don’t care. I wasted a year and a half of my life on the thing that took you away from me, and you come back and try to sweep it all under the rug, like it never happened.” You could hear in his voice that he was getting choked up, the lump in his throat causing his voice to crack. “You didn’t see your face… You didn’t see what I saw. I watched it hurt you, I watched it rip through you, and I watched it kill you. You don’t know how hard that was… And you don’t even care. You want to just walk back in where things left off and start playing house and… I’m just… I’m not ready for that.” Your teeth were sinking into your bottom lip as you listened to him, fighting back the urge to cry. He was wrong, he was so wrong. You might now have been able to see yourself, but you felt everything, but that didn’t change the fact that it was your child, that it was his child, and you

loved your son just as much as you loved his father. “What so… So you want me to leave again? You’d rather me just be completely dead and never have come back? What’s the reason? So you can suffer with the memories? So you can hate him forever for taking me away even though I’m right here?” You walked over to your son, lifting him off the floor and holding him on your hip, glaring at Belphie. “You’re utterly ridiculous… I… I don’t even… You’ll have what you want, but I’m not going to let you fill him with guilt for the rest of his life for something he couldn’t help.”

Belphie watched as you left again, walking out of the house with a luggage in one hand and his son’s hand in your other. “Well, that was stupid.” Satan said, appearing from seemingly nowhere beside Belphie, watching you walk down the pathway to the gate. “You finally got her back and… you let her leave again. You make no sense. Weren’t you the one crying every night because you missed her?” Satan’s eyes never left you, watching until you were too far off in the distance to even make out. “Shut up, Satan. You sound like Lucifer.” Bephie grumbled, slamming the door shut as he turned his back to his older brother and headed back up the stairs to the attic. It was supposed to be a low blow, but Satan knew that Lucifer wouldn’t have butted into his brother's business like he did. He waited to hear the attic stairs before walking out the door, sprinting down the walkway and out of the gates until he caught up with you. What Belphie… What none of his brothers knew was that he was infatuated with you. You were graceful, beautiful, funny, smart, sweet, and so much more. His heart had been torn as he watched your stomach swell with his brother’s child, and it had completely shattered when he watched that child rip through you, rip you away from Belphie, away from him. “Hey, you look like you need some help.” He said breathlessly, running his hand through his hair as he smiled sheepishly down at you. You were just as beautiful as you were before, even with the tear streaks that stained your cheeks. Your eyes glistened as you looked up at him, but it was only from the tears, tears that someone as wonderful as you shouldn’t have spilled for someone as shitty as Belphegor. “Oh… Satan… I uhm…” You sniffled loudly, dropping the luggage to the ground as your eyes overflowed with more tears. Satan did the only thing he knew to do, what he really wanted to do for so long, pulling you into his arms and holding you close as you cried against his chest, your words mumbled as you spoke into the fabric of his sweater. “I don’t know where to go… I don’t know what to do… I thought he’d be happy… He…” Your voice broke off into quiet sobs as his hand rubbed soothing circles into your back. Of course he knew that the only reason you were holding onto him like this was because you were broken, and you felt helpless, but he hoped that in due time you’d hold onto him like this for other reasons, because you wanted to, because you wanted him. He pulled back, sliding his finger under your chin to tilt your head up, using his other hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Shh, it’s alright. I’ll help you. And if it makes things any better… I’m happy that you’re back. I’ve missed you, Y/N.” It felt good to finally get that off his chest, originally fearing the repercussions that those words would bring him if he said them anywhere around Belphie. It didn’t matter now though, Belphie had done the damage, and Satan was here to try to clean it up. He cleared his throat, kneeling down in front of your son who looked at him expectantly. “You’ve missed her too, haven’t you?” Your son nodded quickly as a child would, smiling wide up at you before looking back to Satan. “How about ice cream?” He looked up at you, waiting for your okay and how could you say no? Those two words had your son tugging at your hand, pulling you in the direction of the ice cream shop and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Are you sure this is okay?” You asked, stopping right outside of the door that you had walked out not more than an hour ago. “He doesn’t want me here, I’m sure me and the baby can stay at a hotel until we find somewhere else to go.” You didn’t want to admit it, but you were scared to go back in, scared to face Belphie again. Would he be mad that you were back? You didn’t want to deal with that, and you shouldn’t have to. You were only doing what you thought was right, and in Belphie’s eyes it had been all wrong. How were you supposed to know that he wouldn’t be happy? “Nonsense. You’ll stay here until you find a place. I’m not letting you spend all your money on a hotel room and food when you could stay here and get both for free. Plus, your room is still open, it’s still yours.” It was his idea to keep it, not that he’d tell you that yet. There was a time for everything, and right now what you needed was for him to be your support system, a friend that you could turn to and a friend that would be there. He opened the door for you, having to practically push you in as your son ran back into the living room to find his toys. “What the hell…?” You heard Belphie’s voice, clearly confused as he rounded the corner, his eyes landing on his son first before glancing up at the door to see you and Satan standing there. “I thought she was leaving. I thought they both were leaving.” His words stung, but you tried not to let him see just how much it hurt you. He didn’t deserve to know he had that much hold on you and your emotions. “Why the hell did you bring them back?” He eyed Satan suspiciously, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for answers. “I couldn’t just let her walk around the Devildom with a child that small by herself. I was doing the right thing.” He turned to face you, his eyes were soft as he read every emotion on your face. He could see the pain that Belphie’s words alone were causing you, and it irritated him more than he’d ever admit. “How about you go up to your room, get you and the baby situated. I’ll bring you both something to eat.” You nodded slowly, calling your son over and quickly carrying him up, glad to be away from the looming glare of Belphie. As soon as you were up the stairs and out of earshot Belphie let loose, coming at Satan and not holding back. “You’re a fucking liar. I know exactly why you went after her, you sick freak. You think that just because I needed a break to sort things out in my own head that you could rush in and try to take over?” He shoved Satan back, not even caring that his brother was the embodiment of wrath and pushing him like this was sure to have them both brawling. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” “What’s wrong with me? Shall I quote you? ‘You’re not the human I fell in love with.’ Do you remember, Belphegor?” He hissed the words, standing tall as Belphie shrunk away from him, backing up as his own words were repeated to him. “Or how about the fact that you won’t even call your son by his name, you only call him it or that. What’s wrong with you?” He scoffed, shaking his head at his youngest brother. “You know, I loathed you for what you did to her. You were the reason she died, you just couldn’t control yourself. You killed her… And you had no right to pity yourself, you should have only felt guilt. But then… she came back.” He chuckled loudly, stepping closer to Belphie to get in his face. “And you screwed up again… So tell me… What is wrong… With you?” He cleared his throat, standing up straight once more as he fixed his sweater. “Anyway, I have to go make her something to eat, she and the baby must be hungry. It’ll be a nice way to welcome her home, don’t you think?”

[moemammon]

You are not Beyoncé but you're singing your heart out when you think you're home alone.

(Featuring the demon brothers and GN!MC)

For once, you had the house to yourself! Was this a miracle?? Were the heavens finally smiling down on you from above? Was this the result of all your good karma??? Whatever it was, you were almost certain that you were alone for once.

And what did that mean? Time for a good ol' fashion jam session. You put on your favorite tunes and set them to blast through the speaker of your D.D.D. while you danced around the house, singing your heart out. Who cared if some of your notes were flat, or if you had to drop a few pitches to hit those high notes?

Not you. You were just living your best life without a care in the world.

Until...

Lucifer

Of course the eldest would be around. Arguably the most mysterious and omnipotent brother in the house, so yeah. He's there.

He told you this morning that he’d have a meeting to attend after classes today. You thought he’d be out for a long while, but it just so happened that the meeting ended early today, much to his relief.

Not to yours though, because that means that Lucifer has front row seats to your amazing concert without your permission.

He didn't even have the courtesy to make himself known! He just waited in the kitchen, quietly preparing his coffee while your singing echoed through the halls.

You were sauntering your way to the kitchen as well, fumbling over forgotten lyrics without a care in the world, when you saw him.

Enemy spotted.

Does this mean he heard every single time your voice cracked-

Your eyes lock and Lucifer doesn't even mention what you were just doing, despite the obviously being within earshot of you.

You really start feeling the heat rising in your cheeks when he says "You seem to be in a good mood. Did something good happen to you at RAD today?"

Regardless of how you respond (or not), Lucifer turns his back to you to tidy up, and says "....I don't believe I've ever heard your singing before. You'll have to give me an encore in my office some time."

You swear you can hear the mischief in his tone....

Mammon

This seriously was unheard of. An afternoon without having mammon glued to your hip?? Hell must've frozen over or something.

Regardless, you weren't going to take this for granted! Mammon did mention something about a 'foolproof money making scheme' he had a dream about last night, so he was probably off trying to see if he could make it a reality.

Things like this usually took a huge chunk of greedy boy's afternoon, so you figured you were safe to sing as you pleased!

Besides, he probably would've texted you if he were on the way home, right?

Apparently not, because Mammon was very much home, and did not send you a text. Honestly? He forgot to. He was too busy wallowing in self pity.

How was he supposed to know that using magic to duplicate grim was illegal??

He managed to escape any real trouble and made his way back home, only to have his ears immediately blessed (or assaulted) by your singing.

He's not the type to sit around in secret until you notice him, so catch this boy marching around the house until he finds you himself. Not so quietly calling out your name the entire time, too.

Mammon caught you in the empty library singing your heart out. The acoustics were great in there! They also kinda drowned out the outside noise, so you couldn't really hear him yelling for you.

"Oh, I thought you were screamin' about a bug or something. What song is that?"

He's not shy about singing in the shower at the top of his lungs, so it's not like he's judging you?? But he's got his phone out when you spot him. The bastard is recording you...

So your knee jerk reaction is to attack

"Wh- Oi!! What're ya hitting me for?! I don't care if it's just a pillow- Hey!"

He has chosen death. Goodbye Mammon.

Leviathan

It was kind of bold of you to assume that Levi would ever be out of the house, but he DID mention something about a concert he wanted to attend..? Or some kind of book signing?

You don't really remember, and you don't have the mental strength to scroll through the sea of spam texts he's sent you today.

C'est la vie.

Since you're pretty sure you're alone, you're not taking your solo concert all around the house of lamentation, from the foyer to the west wing, up to the attic and down to the dining room.

Gotta find the perfect spot to sing this next part. It's got a really good bit with a flute, and you wanna stare longingly out of a window or something-

And it's when you pass by otaku man's room that he decides to make himself known by poking his head out. His headset is around his neck and his hair's a little tousled, hinting that he was in the middle of gaming.

You freeze. Neither of you can look the other in the eye.

It takes a while before the silence can be broken, but before you can say a word, Levi speaks.

"Y-You know... you should come to karaoke with me! Only if you want to, I mean! I didn't know you were a fan of singing, so... but you probably have other plans, right? You don't want to hang out with a gross otaku like me blah blah blah-"

You aren't sure if your brain is malfunctioning from being caught in the act, or from the word vomit spilling from everyone's favorite weeb.

Satan

Satan is a good, studious boy so you assumed he was staying after class to head to the library. He was lagging behind, so you didn't question it.

Or maybe he was planning his next prank? Lucifer did have to make an announcement tomorrow morning in front of the student body, and Satan had been awfully interested in glitter bombs lately...

Whatever the case, he wasn't home right now! Or so you thought.

You were busy switching between two different choruses AND a sick guitar riff all in one song, so there was no time to be thinking about the demon's whereabouts.

You did wonder where you left your bag at, though. You vaguely recalled dumping it at the front door, so maybe that's where it was?

Scooting your way down the hall like a music powered locomotive, you were right in the middle of imitating the sound of drums when you spotted the trembling grin plastered to Satan's face.

Hm.

Maybe you could ask Diavolo about sending you back to the human world right now.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were here, or I would've said something." Satan tells you, clearing his throat to further suppress his laughter. From the way his shoulders are shaking, he was barely holding on.

"I didn't think you were the type to like songs like that. Do you have a playlist you could recommend me? I'm interested after seeing how much you enjoy it."

That cheeky grin of his never breaks for a second, so you can't tell if he's actually asking for recommendations, or if he's watching for your reaction.

Asmo

Not a surprise that you assumed he wasn't home, since he rarely is. He's always out partying or shopping around, so you usually don't see him much around this time.

But that also means you're free to sing as loudly as you want! Look out Mariah Carey, there's a new high note singer in town.

Asmo can vouch for that! Because he can hear you. Clearly.

Okay but he's one of those people that joins in while you're singing.

Legit the moment he goes inside and recognizes your song, he's trying to serenade you from the other side of the house.

And boy do you hear him. This man can SING (as expected of a fallen angel), and he likes to sing loudly. He wants all eyes on him after all!

And maybe you'll be so smitten by his angelic voice that you'll come running into his arms and beg that he takes you right then and there!

Wishful thinking though, because that is not how you reacted. Boo...

He finds you, and wants to know what you think of his voice. "Well? My singing was beautiful, wasn't it~? I used to sing all the time up in the celestial realm! I don't mind giving you some private lessons back in my room~"

Was he implying that you needed lessons? Maybe... but he's a sweetheart about it so can you really be mad at him?

Beel

A crepe cart recently opened up for a limited time, and there was no way Beel was going to miss that. And knowing him, he wouldn't come home until there were no traces of food left in sight.

So you figured you'd have plenty of time to brush up on your sea shanties! Bold of you to assume...

Beel can inhale a billion times his weight in food in like, five minutes. What made you think he wouldn't be back home by now?

He was full for a good ten minutes (a new record!) and spent that time in his bedroom, hence why you didn't hear his usual rummaging through the kitchen for food.

Speaking of food, you were feeling kind of hungry yourself! And a little parched from all the singing, so a snack break couldn't hurt!

You slid on your socks along the hardwood floor all the way to the kitchen... where you nearly slammed into Beel. There he was, the mad lad himself.

He was also on the way to the kitchen. Surprise surprise, right? And he managed to catch you by the shoulders before you could slide into anything.

Beel is the least phased by your singing. He just thinks it's nice that you were comfortable enough to sing so loudly! Good to see that you're enjoying yourself.

He doesn't exactly address it? Instead he moves his hand forward to place something into yours.

It's a crepe that he saved, just for you! You stare at the delicate pastry, all topped with layers of fluffy whipped cream, strawberries and blueberries, and lovingly drizzled with chocolate sauce! There's a bite taken out of the side, though-

"I tried my best to hold back, but I took a bite. Sorry..."

How can you be mad at him?? You're not even embarrassed about the singing anymore tbh. Too full of love to care 💕💕

Belphie

When,,,, was Belphie ever not home,, like,,,,

This man has never seen a classroom in his life, so it's not like you could've expected him to be at RAD.

And he wasn't usually in town?? Definitely a homebody.

But Beel wanted someone to go with him to that crepe cart, and Belphie couldn't exactly turn his dear brother down when he gave him those big baby eyes-

And since Beel wasn't home, you figured Belphie was still out, too!

Spoiler alert: you thought wrong.

Belphie was home, and now wide awake thanks to your banshee screams singing. He managed to slip away from Beel when he got too tired. He didn't really want a crepe anyway, so he decided to head back.

Only to be rudely awaken... how dare you...

He's hellbent on finding you, JUST so he can get you to shush. Please.. let him rest his weary bones...

When he does locate you, you have your back turned to him and your music on max volume, occupying yourself with grabbing your clean laundry to take back to your room.

He doesn't speak, instead choosing to watch you shimmy around to the beat of your song. And when you do a little spin, you turn right around to face him and get to witness the sheer amusement on his face.

He's NOT letting your forget about this moment. And you can't escape him either, he won't let you.

The bastard corners you just to repeatedly ask "Hey, what were you singing? I haven't heard that one in a while. Mind singing it again for me?"

"With a voice like that, I'm afraid to ask you to sing me a lullaby."

"...Just kidding. Your face is really red right now, you know?"

You feel the sudden urge to stuff him into the dryer, but you resist.

The urge grows stronger when he imitates the little dance you were doing.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Something causes Lan Qiren to just SNAP, go absolutely fucking feral, and run off to become a rogue cultivator.

Beautifully Spent

- Chapter 1 -

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

“It is your duty, Qiren.”

“Is it?” Lan Qiren asked coldly. “I believe you’re thinking of my brother. You might remember him – the sect leader?”

He’d never spoken that coldly to anyone, least of all an honored elder, one of his own teachers, but he had no choice.

Ever since he was young, Lan Qiren wanted to become a traveling musician - to wander the world freely, without the burdens that would fall on his older brother, the prospective sect leader. Even as he got older, he'd never quite let go of that ambition, refining it until it had become not only a dream but a plan.

He would see that plan come to fruition, no matter what it took.

His teacher looked at him helplessly. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked. “You know your brother has chosen seclusion –”

“I know that in the eyes of the sect I have never been a quarter the man he is,” Lan Qiren said quietly. “I know that in each instance that we have argued, you have all taken his side. I know that I was asked, time and time again, to yield – because he is the elder, because he is the heir, because he is the more talented of us two. I have always yielded, because I am a filial son, a good brother, and I love my sect. I have always yielded.”

His teacher cast his eyes down to the ground.

An acknowledgement of guilt.

“I will not yield this time,” Lan Qiren said simply. “This is the rest of my life, honored teacher. This is my entire life. For once, let himbe the one to yield – to do his duty to his sect, as he was always meant to.”

“But –”

“I have always been here for him.” Lan Qiren did not allow him to interrupt. “I have been his scapegoat when things have not gone his way, I have been his pawn in political games, I have even been his punching bag when he needed to vent his irrational anger. Everything he has had the freedom to do, he has done because he has had me here. If I were not here, would he be able to go into seclusion?”

His teacher was silent.

“He would not,” Lan Qiren concluded. “To go into seclusion when you are the only option to lead the sect is to be an unfilial descendant of our ancestors. And so, if I am not here, he would be obligated to live up to his duties.”

“His heart has just been broken. Do you have no empathy for him?”

“As much as I do for the woman who was forced by circumstances to agree to marry him, and no more.”

“Qiren…”

“Think of it as me being dead, honored teacher,” Lan Qiren said, and ignored his teacher’s flinch at such inauspicious words. “Do you need me to remove my forehead ribbon before I go?”

“Qiren! Of course not!”

“Ask my brother,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “He will have the final word, as usual, and he does not like not getting his way.”

He left that day, his head held high.

He did his best not to think of his brother, who had, in his own way, wanted freedom, too.

Lan Qiren travelled, after that. It was just as he’d always planned it: quiet nights along forest paths, visits to small towns in out-of-the-way corners of the world – inquiring and then solving any issues they had that required a cultivator, and playing for them when no such issues remained. He had anticipated hardship, knowing himself to be a rich young master who’d never really faced the world; he hadn’t anticipated kindness: a few married women in one town taking the time to show him how to do laundry, giggling at him all the while, a group of young woodcutters in the next the best way to forage and cook food when one was hungry, a merchant and his wife teaching him how to bargain to avoid getting cheated…in time, through the generosity and enthusiasm of others, he learned all the skills he needed.

He refused payment for night-hunts – amazingly, his sect did not cut him off as he’d almost expected them to, and he was still able to collect his usual allowance – but accepted it for his music, and from his place behind his guqin he watched, quiet and content, as life swirled around him in all its myriad forms.

In between music and night-hunts, he idly taught some skills to the children in the towns he passed through – the vast majority were common people, completely lacking in cultivation skills, but his sect’s rules and the philosophy behind them were applicable in far more situations than that, and basic martial skills in even more. Whenever he stayed somewhere for more than a few days, he added in lessons in basic literacy, mostly because the idea of not having books at hand was abhorrent to him; the parents involved were generally more grateful that he was keeping their children out of trouble than especially interested in what he was teaching them, but it’d never hurt anyone to know a little bit of reading.

When he happened upon a place already governed by another sect, he did not take particular care either to avoid or to approach them; if they happened to meet, and to invite him to stay with them, he would. Lao Nie tracked him down six times for that very purpose, citing increasingly less plausible excuses, before Lan Qiren finally agreed to make the Unclean Realm a regular stop on his travels just to make him stop; in contrast, Cangse Sanren just showed up at the camp he had made for himself one day, her husband as always by her side, and simply refused to leave for the next three months.

He did not visit the Cloud Recesses.

Not when he heard about how his brother had, however reluctantly, come out from seclusion and begun to do the work of sect leader, and do it well, the Lan sect prospering under his leadership as they had always expected to. Not when he got news that his nephew was born; not when he heard that one nephew had become two. Not even when he heard that his brother’s wife had died, though the thought of that miserable woman’s self-inflicted fate had moved him enough to write a letter of condolence to his brother – their first contact in seven years.

Lan Qiren did not expect anything to come of that impulse, though perhaps he should have known better: it wasn’t more than a week later that he received a letter in return, the heavy formal parchment used by the Lan sect as familiar to him as the back of his hand, his brother’s equally formal calligraphy very nearly as familiar.

The words on it weren’t familiar at all.

I have made a terrible mistake, his brother wrote. I need your help.

Lan Qiren was perhaps not especially filial to his sect, having abandoned it as readily as he did – but despite everything, he did love his brother.

He went home.

“Lan Huan, courtesy name Xichen,” his brother said, nodding at the small child, pudgy and fat and adorable, quivering like a pudding even as he tried to force a smile onto his face, clutching onto a baby only a few months old, the little one strangely solemn despite the inexpert manhandling. “Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji.”

Lan Qiren was not as shy as he used to be, and he had gotten better at dealing with children. He knelt down until he was level with them, though he did not force himself to adopt any expression that did not come naturally. “Hello,” he said. “I’m your uncle.”

“Hello, uncle,” Lan Xichen said.

Lan Qiren held out a hand and waited, even as his brother took his leave, busier than ever. It took a little while, but Lan Xichen eventually put his own hand in his, and walked with him; after a little while, he even entrusted him with little Lan Wangji, fussing until Lan Qiren had tucked him into the corner of his arm in a manner he found appropriate.

By the time his brother found them again, Lan Xichen was chattering on and on about his xiao lessons, while Lan Qiren nodded along and added his own observations – he was decently skilled at the xiao himself; while it was not his preferred instrument, there were times when it was easier to carry than a guqin, and he had had time, when he was younger, to indulge himself in learning more than one instrument.

When Lan Xichen saw his father, he fell silent at once. He did not hide behind Lan Qiren’s robes, though Lan Qiren half-thought he wanted to – his little hand trembled in Lan Qiren’s palm.

“Would you like to take your brother back?” Lan Qiren asked him. Lan Wangji was a good baby, crying only a few times, each time responding well and easily to the usual things a child his age wanted – milk, a burp, attention. Moreover, Lan Xichen was good with him, thoughtful and careful; Lan Qiren had no concerns entrusting the baby to him, and Lan Xichen brightened a little when he realized that, nodding happily and taking Lan Wangji, pausing only a moment to glance worriedly at his father before scurrying off.

Lan Qiren looked at his brother.

“He’s afraid of me,” his brother said. “You can tell, can’t you?”

A blind man could tell. Lan Qiren said nothing.

“Wangji cries whenever I hold him, too, even though he almost never cries the rest of the time. He’s not even a year old, and he already knows.”

“Knows?”

His brother looked out into the horizon. His hands were behind his back, clasped in a formal pose. “That I’ll ruin them, too.”

Lan Qiren put his own hands behind his back as well. After a few moments, he said, “You care for them both. That’s not nothing.”

Their own father hadn’t managed even that. He had treated Lan Qiren with utter indifference, while treasuring his eldest beyond the point of reason, encouraging him to always think only of himself; the seeds of their estrangement were planted long before either of them knew it, each of them learning different lessons from their father’s mismanagement – Lan Qiren how to be inferior and doubt himself, his brother to be self-absorbed and careless with the feelings of others; Lan Qiren to bend himself to the point of breaking, his brother to refuse to bend at all.

It had served neither of them well.

“I don’t know what love is, except possession,” his brother said. “Xichen torments himself to try to live up to my expectations, and all I’ve managed to teach him, other than fear, is how to say yes to everything just to make people go away. I find myself falling into the habit of thinking of him as an extension of myself, which is still more than I can do with Wangji, who doesn’t even cry like a regular child should…” He paused. “You didn’t cry much as a child either.”

Lan Qiren glanced at his brother, surprised. He hadn’t known his brother had paid enough attention to him back then to even notice.

His brother smiled thinly. “Our family is known for its quiet children, did you know? I hadn’t, but they told me after Wangji was born. Apparently, there’s a few in every generation: a little slow, a little strange, with minds that don’t work quite the same way as the rest of us. The ones that don’t like to look you in the eye – sometimes they learn to speak, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they’re brilliant. As babies, they’re generally a little too quiet. There were three in our father’s generation, but in ours there was only you. And now, there’s Wangji…”

He shook his head.

“I wronged you before, Qiren. I don’t want to do it again – I don’t want to know what sort of father I’d be to a child like you. I’m not willing to risk waiting to find out, either.”

When Lan Qiren left the Cloud Recesses, he took with him a qiankun pouch weighed down with more money than he’d ever had in his life, two children, one smiling happily as the other burbled quietly, and his brother’s trust.

He had no idea what to do with any of it.