#like you see in the second dream they move on their own. they have consciousness. made by a foundry

[kaiserouo]

umbra daddy

now that's the real question

[hollandsangel]

move over | m. sturniolo

okAY here we go this is my first sturniolo fic please be nice to me i am afraid

ps if you’d like to be tagged in any (possible) future fics comment 🍜

summary: matt needs a bigger bed

wc: 1k

warnings: matt x fem!reader, cursing, nightmares? no description really, just funny and fluffy 🫡 all the triplets are in it but reader is dating matt!

..does anyone remember that one video where matt said chris never sleeps in his own bed? well…

gif by @mattsturnioloarchive !

you feel yourself slipping back into consciousness, and you can tell from the soft, pale blue light of matt’s bedroom that it’s morning. matt’s fast asleep behind you, resting on his stomach with you tucked up into his side, his right arm slung over your waist. you’re already upset that you have to pee, the idea of crawling out of the sleep-warm bed and leaving your boyfriend’s cozy embrace is not an appealing one, but the nagging in your bladder won’t go away.

with a sleepy sigh you stretch your arm out just enough to the tap the screen of your phone, the numbers 8:23 glaring back you. you still don’t have to be up for another hour and a half, which you think is an acceptable amount of time left to lay in matt’s arms and snooze a bit more, even if you don’t really need anymore sleep.

it’s a bit tricky to clamber out of bed without waking the sleeping boy next to you. trying to keep from dragging the duvet with you when you slide out. you tuck matt back in properly before you wander off to his bathroom. softly, you click the door shut, and it, along with your sleep-hazy mind, muffles any sounds coming from outside the bathroom.

for once, chris slept in his own bed, knowing you’d be sleeping over and nick was editing the video meant to go up later this afternoon early into the morning. it’s too early for him to be waking up on his own but something stirs him into wakefulness, his heart beating a little faster than it should be.

matt had woken up for a mere second when you slipped out of bed and hasn’t fallen back into the depth of his sleep, waiting for you to come back. he’s just barley alert enough to hear shuffling from down the hall, getting louder until the person responsible is standing at the crack in the door.

“matt?” chris whispers, peeking into the bedroom.

matt groans and rolls over just until he can see his brother over his shoulder, “what, chris?”

“i had a fucked up dream, dude,” chris says, padding further into the room, “where’s y/n?”

matt turns a little closer to his brother, facing him now, “bathroom,” he mumbles, “what was it about?”

chris is still standing in the middle of the room, phone held loosely in his hand, “you got into a fuckin’ car accident, a really bad one” he admits, feeling a bit foolish and juvenile for running to his brother after a bad dream, “can i sleep in here?”

matt’s face softens and he rubs his eye, “yeah, ‘course.” he says, watching chris slowly walk towards the bed, “that’s her side,” he says though when chris tries to lay where you had been.

chris fakes a scowl and matt makes a face back, sleep still tugging at his mind. the two of them lay back down, back to back, tugging the covers over their shoulders.

you finish washing your hands and shut off the bathroom light. rubbing at your eyes, you make your way back to matt’s room, looking forward to sleeping a bit longer. upon wandering in you’re met with more than one body under the blankets, making you stop in your tracks.

“chris?” you wonder outloud, stopped in the door way.

matt answers before his brother can, “he had a bad dream,” he explains to you, face smushed into the pillow, leaving the words all muffled and extra groggy.

“sure,” you say, as if chris sleeping in matt’s bed doesn’t surprise you (it doesn’t). dragging your feet over to your side of the bed to matt, where he’s taking up a bit too much room. “move over,” you tell him when he peels the blankets back for you. he shuffles back with a little too much effort and you climb back into bed.

once you’re settled matt scoots a little bit closer to you to make more room for the three people now in his queen sized bed, but also because he never passes up an excuse to hold you a little tighter.

you doze in and out, matt’s soft breath against your neck keeping you a little bit dazed but not quite enough to lull you back to sleep fully. it must be nearing 10 am now, more bright sun spilling in from the cracks in the curtains above the bed. you think chris is awake too, hearing breathy little chuckles every now and then. you reach for your phone, deciding on a mindless scroll through instagram.

after a few minutes it sounds like nick has also woken up, his footsteps audible in the bedroom above. you hear him coming down the stairs, and you think he stops in the kitchen until his voice fills the quiet halls.

“chris?” he asks, standing in his brother’s empty bedroom, confused as to why he’s not in bed.

“in here,” chris speaks up, waiting for nick to press the door open.

he does, standing at arms length with a skeptical look on his face, almost afraid of what he might find. “um…hello, what are you doing in here?” nick asks, finally crossing the threshold.

“he had a bad dream,” matt says into your shoulder, startling you. you didn’t know he was awake.

“i had a bad dwream,” chris says in that stupid pouty voice that drives all of you insane, no doubt looking at nick with puppy dog eyes.

“oh…kay,” nick says and you laugh at the suspicion still evident in his tone.

“did you see the tik tok i sent you?” chris is laughing but stops abruptly when matt kicks him in the calf, which makes you giggle into your boyfriend’s arm.

“yeah, but i’m a bit more preoccupied with the absurdity of the three of you in matt’s bed right now,” nick says in his distinct deadpan drawl, which only makes you smile more.

“c’mon nick you might as well join us,” you say, earning a loud, over exaggerated groan from matt, his arms tightening around your waist.

you think nick must oblige because he doesn’t say anything for a second, coming closer to the bed.

“move over, dummy fuck,” he says to chris, who laughs out loud and scoots closer to matt.

“i hate them,” matt whispers in your ear.

tags! @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears

[weremonsterteeth]

Werewolf boyfriend breeding you in your sleep.

The scent of your arousal coaxes him awake, blinking into consciousness with his snout resting atop your head as he softly squeezes your body which his arms have encaged against his. He noses your hair, breathing in deeply.

So fucking good.

You always smell great to him, but something about this is new. His hold around you tightens, pressing you closer to his chest. He doesn’t know when his hips began rutting slightly upwards into you, grinding his bare cock against your ass as it swells from its sheath. His hand seems to move with its own will, trailing down your body until he feels your wetness coating his digits and clinging to his fur. A sleepy, appreciative sigh leaves your parted lips at the contact.

How are you already this wet, little love?

His chest begins to rise and fall heavily, fanning warm huffs of air over your sleeping face. You look so peaceful. Free of this world, your mind was elsewhere and your body was left here with him. His to protect and to care for. His. Before he can think better of it, he’s slipping a finger into you, whimpering at the way your soft warmth takes him in.

You recently confessed your long-held fantasy about a scenario similar to the one currently playing out in your bed. He had asked for a bit of time to get used to the idea and you agreed excitedly, leaning in to tell him he can let you know when he’s ready by having you wake up covered in his cum. He’d sensed your sexual frustration building over the days.

Truthfully, he feels a bit embarrassed by what this is doing to him. Having you pliant and vulnerable to use as he pleases. He always makes sure to be careful with you, putting your pleasure before his own. He knows what it means for you to be with him and he isn’t sure how he would feel if you saw him like this: helplessly driven on by your scent, lapping the juices from his finger with a low growl before sinking it slowly back into your dripping cunt.

Not wanting to wake you, he watches your expression with half-lidded eyes as he pushes another digit into your entrance, carefully stretching you. Your brows turn up and your mouth falls slack, blissed out from whatever you’re dreaming while both his fingers curl up into you. He takes his time, completely hypnotized by the sight of you opening up just for him, taking everything he gives, loving the feeling of your wetness soaking into his fur. Your cunt squeezes around his fingers so sweetly. You nearly send him into an early rut when you start grinding your clit against his palm, easy breaths becoming labored as you unconsciously fuck yourself on his hand.

He can’t help it. He presses every bit of himself to you that he can, lining his dick up at your entrance. He needs more of you, needs to feel you, needs to be closer.

He slowly enters you with his length — inch by tortuous inch — until the knot near the base of his shaft nestles against you.

He tells himself he isn’t going to fuck you like this. It would be too selfish of him. He wants to be so good for you. He wants to see your eyes rolling when he's pounding into that spot that makes your speech slur, wants to tell you how perfect your pussy feels choking his knot and milking him for everything he's worth when he finally lets himself enter you completely.

You stir slightly, hips rolling in languid circles as you sigh contentedly and adjust your position. Just a few small movements have him gripping at the bedsheets and hoping you won't be too upset about having to replace them for a second time this month.

You're moving again, shifting back into him and securing your heat even more tightly against his knot. The friction elicits a loud groan from your lover.

Oh. Fuck.

Even like this, you’re acting so needy for him. Nose trailing up the back of your neck, held flush to the skin, breathing in your overwhelming scent again and again. It’s far too much. He grasps your hips and presses himself into you with a snarl.

Oh god. You smell like his fucking mate. It can't be his rut, the timing is way off. It's you.

Weeks worth of sex spent training you to take his full length and the stretch of his knot, cumming in you over and over to prepare your womb for his pups. As predicted, his little human took some time to adjust to the anatomy of their werewolf partner. However, he wasn’t expecting to be woken in the night by your empty cunt begging to be filled by him.

He has to hold himself back from fucking you awake when you start whining softly at his knot nudging your entrance, growling lowly as your wetness begins to cover the bulge at his base. All resolve dissipates with the realization that you crave him the same way he craves you. You were ready to be bred. To be his.

One arm encircles your middle, cradling you against his chest while the other keeps its  grip on your hip for leverage as he ruts into you. Your soft moans of pleasure intensify as he fucks you in a hurried rhythm.

You start to wake, surrounded by soft fur and dripping over your boyfriend’s cock. He knows he’s getting close when he feels himself throbbing inside of you as you curl your fingers into his fur and say his name with a sleepy, blissful sigh.

You’re so ready to be bred by him. He feels it in the way you clench around his cock, hears it when his knot bullies your entrance with every thrust - smacking and sucking against your wetness.

“Need to breed you. Just need to breed you.” 

He feels your cunt squeeze his cock in response. He cums hard with a brutal thrust, losing himself a bit as he empties his seed into you. A wide tongue leaves several drooling kisses over your cheek as the two of you share the post-sex warmth.

He looks down at his cum starting to spill out of you and whimpers pathetically, rubbing his muzzle along your jaw as you take careful, shaky breaths. You turn your worried gaze over your shoulder, searching for clues as to his distress. He thrusts into you once with a bit of force, panting as his knot pummels into you and rests halfway buried in your cunt.

“Please, I can’t. I-I mean — Fuck, baby I have to make sure it takes.”

Your cries are muffled as he presses you into the pillows and begins lapping at the back of your neck. “My love. My mate,” he pants out between licks, the feeling of his tongue soothing you through the sensation of being stuffed so much fuller than you ever thought you could take. He pulls your ass flush with his body as he forces his knot inside.

“Have to give you my pups. Make you so full.”

He bites down on the back of your neck and holds you there in his teeth as he empties more cum into you, fucking it deep. He needs to pound his cum into you until you’re pregnant, not stopping until he smells the change in your body and every bit of you reeks of him.

He has you cumming hard on his knot, still moving his hips back and forth desperately trying to keep fucking into you despite the snug fit of his knot filling you. His teeth leave your neck, but he doesn’t let up in his movements. He can feel you melting right back into honeyed pleasure when you come down and he wants to keep you right here, fuck you through orgasm after fo taking his cum so well. 

“Such a good little mate.”

Neither of you plan on returning to your dreams anytime soon. And you both agree your mate isn’t stopping even if hours of being bred do end up putting you back to sleep.

[mrrharper]

Elevator Malfunction

Greg was walking along the corridor. He had just finished his last lecture for the day and was ready to leave the campus and go get something to eat. He got to the staircase but decided he didn't feel like walking down all these stairs, so he pushed a button for an elevator instead.

As he waited for it to come to the floor he was currently on someone walked up to the elevator and stood next to him, also wanting to give their legs a break. Greg looked to his left, then quickly moved his head back. That was Brad Petrović, one of the stars of their university's soccer team.

One look at the jock was enough for Greg to feel his cock hardening in his pants. He felt he was turning red and he hoped no one would see him getting a boner. From his perspective Brad was a perfect male specimen, and exactly Greg's type - clearly muscular but not bulky, tall with a masculine jaw, short hair, thick thighs, that permament arrogant smirk on his face, a constant aura of sweat and musk. Greg, a closeted gay man and an obvious nerd, knew that the chances of getting a guy like that in bed with him were very slim, but he could always dream.

He took another quick glance at Brad. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt, which allowed Greg to just barely see his hairy armpit and chest. He was now sure his boner would not disappear for as long as he was in close proximity with the soccer bro.

The elevator had finally arrived and the doors opened. Brad went in first, followed by Greg who constantly made sure there was distance between them. And he made sure his shirt was hiding the bulge in his pants. The jock then pushed the "ground floor" button and the eevator began slowly moving down.

Greg turned his eyes for a split second and saw a few beads of sweat run down Brad's arm. Fuck, he was hot. He wanted to look again, but the more rational side of his brain prevented him from doing that, aftaid the athlete would notice, call him a perv or maybe beat him up.

They were around halfway down when the elevator wobbled. Both guys looked around but saw nothing that would suggest something was wrong. But then the lights flickered and the elevator suddenly stopped. Greg, who wasn't expecting this sudden change in velocity didn't have the time to grab anything, so he lost balance, fell down on the ground, bumping into Brad and then crashing his head against the floor, loosing consciousness for a moment.

A few moments later Greg opened his eyes and was instantly blinded by the light shining from the elevator's ceiling. He blinked a few times and put his hand over his face, trying to shield his sensitive eyeballs from the bright lamp above him. He slowly dragged his body off the floor and sat down, already feeling pain radiating from the back of his head.

He turned his head and-- he blinked quickly a few times, because he couldn't believe what he saw. He saw himself, his very own body standing up and looking towards him. Greg was sure he also saw confision on his-- his body's face, but it was quickly replaced by concern.

"Brad, you're alright? Oh my god, I'm so sorry I bumped into you. Are you okay?"

Brad? He wasn't Brad, he was-- Holy fuck! Greg looked down and saw the jersey Brad was wearing on his torso. He almost jumped and turned towards the mirror on the back wall of the elevator. A confused Brad Petrović looked back at him.

"Jesus Christ, what happened?" he asked aloud, then flincked, surprised by the deep voice that he was apparently in control of.

"I... I don't know" He heard his own voice behind him and turned around to see... No, he was certain he was looking at himself. This must have been a result of a concussion. He's never experienced soemthing like this but this was the most logical explanation. Yes, this would end in a moment. "I think the elevator stopped suddenly for some reason and I lost balance, and then... then I fell onto you, and then we both... Are you sure you're okay?"

"No" Greg muttered under his breath.

"Oh god, you have a concussion? Crap, we need a doctor to have a look at you" his body stood next to him. This was a reasonable suggestion. But Greg was not really thinking straight right now.

"No!" he barked a little louder than he wanted to. "I... I need to get home."

"Oh, uhm... of course, of course" The other Greg quickly took a few steps back. Then they heard a ding and the doors of the elevator slowly opened. Greg watched as his very own body walked out of the elevator and was gone in justa few seconds. The real Greg, now seemingly occupying the body of a soccer jock bro, stood still, failing to comprehend what was happening around him.

The doors started to close and Greg quickly jumped out of the elevator. He took a few deep breaths and thought about what should he do. He had now convinced himself that all this was the result of him injuring his head during the fall and it would all go away in a few minutes. Maybe hours. Hopefully not days. Oh god, he wanted to go home so bad. He quickly left the building and made his way to his dorm on the other side of the campus.

As he walked he realized his dick had been hard this entire time. And since he seemed to be wearing gym shorts it was way more visible. Greg looked around, hoping there weren't many people who would witness him with a hard on in public. Thankfully the area was not very busy.

He got to his room, unlocked the door and-- wait a minute! This wasn't his room. He took a step inside and instead of his small and tidy space, he saw a fairly large room that almost certainly belonged to a jock. A bunch of posters of various athletes hanging on walls, dirty gym gear laying everywhere, the table covered with empty beers, boxes of protein powder, a few condoms even, and of course the smell of sweat. This was Brad's dorm room. How did he get here?

A thought appeared in his head. It was muscle memory that took him here. Brad's muscle memory. This was not a concussion. Greg's mind was currently occupying Brad Petrović's body. He closed the door behind him and looked around, then grabbed his head with both hands. This couldn't be happening, this was just a dream!

He slowly went further into the room, then stopped as he felt he stepped onto something. Greg looked down and picked up a pair of boxers, with clearly visible sweat and cum stains. The smell was intoxicating. He suddenly thought about smelling, maybe even licking the underwear that was clearly used by the real Brad fairly recently. His cock reacted positively to this possibility, but Greg wouldn't allow himself to use his terrible position like this.

Although... would it be that wrong? It would get rid of his boner, allowing him to think more clearly. No one would have to know, he was all alone in this room.

Greg sat down on the couch standing in the middle of the room and took off his shorts and briefs in one, brief motion, freeing his hard cock. He then put the dirty boxers up to his nose and breathed in loudly. It felt like getting high, the manly smells filling up his nostrils. His hand gravitated to his dick and started stroking it as he imagined worshiping this body, all of its hard muscles, the armpits, the thighs, the crotch.

He sped up his hand movements and moand loudly, still pushing the underwear against his face. He started licking the material and another wave of lust came over him. He was overwhelmed with what he was feeling, his brain overridden by his horny instincts. He thought he could taste the cum and it got him even more excited, if it was even possible.

As he continued stroking though, something happened. The images he had in his head of Brad's flexed arms that revealed two sweaty armpits turned into a topless woman waving her boobs in front of him.

This would be enough to raise concerns, but for the moment Greg was fully controlled by the horny part of his brain, which didn't allow any critical thoughts to arise. He just continued jerking off, not realizing that his dick got even harder the moment the images in his head changed.

It didn't stop there. Next came a memory (wait, a memory?) of Brad eating pussy of some random chick. Greg continued stroking and licking the cum off of the boxers while his head became filled with images of Brad Petrović having sex with a bunch of women. No alarms went off in his head, he seemed to get more horny the longer he played with his dick.

A certain scene got stuck in Greg's head - Brad fucking a blond haired girl, letting his primal instincts control him. As he leaned in to touch one of the girl's breasts Greg finally got over the edge. He came harder than ever before, his jizz landing on his hand, jersey and the couch.

Brad cleaned his hand with the boxers he was holding for some reason, then threw then on the floor and immediately forgot about them. Instead he thought about that blond chick - Beth. Fuck, he needed to find her again. He heard his phone ringing. Oh fuck, he was supposed to meet with Garrett and Trevor at the gym! He quickly stood up and ran out of his room with only his phone in his hand. It was time to get jacked, then find some pussy later. Shit, Brad loved his jock life.

[icallhimjoey]

Prompt idea either for your current fic or a random one shot! Soft!Joey was VERY much not so soft Joey in your dream and you wake up in a STATE about it. Now real Joey needs to rectify his dream world bad behaviour. Angsty Smutty fluffy whatever you think is best.

Love your work!

me: save this for something longer also me: no the girlies need it right now Wordcount: 1.5K

---

Boy Of My Dreams

“Come here, baby.” 

Joe was there.

Right there where you'd left him, holding the covers open for you when he heard you turn off the lights in the bathroom. 

“I’m fine. Was just a dream.” you immediately said, curling back onto your spot, close to him, but your back turned.   

Joe’s eyes were still closed as his hands roamed until fingers trailed up your back to hold onto your neck. To feel some kind of closeness, the laziest way of comforting his girl after a nightmare.  

“Talk later?” 

But his question went unanswered. No confirmation, no dismissal, because either one didn’t feel right. You let the words float and hoped they would float away, real far, hoped they’d make real distance as you both fell back asleep.

Occasionally, you’d have a nightmare that would continue the story of a nightmare you’d had years earlier. A dream you couldn’t even remember, hadn’t consciously thought of since that one morning after you’d woken up from it, but somehow it still managed to store itself away inside your brain. Somewhere deep down, a place you couldn’t reach by yourself, just... lingering there for you to revisit in your sleep eventually.

It happened very rarely, but the second you’d wake up, you’d realise, fuck, this was that same fucking nightmare you had had ages ago.

When you hadn’t even known Joe yet.

Hadn’t even known of his existence, let alone would have known the lines of his face like the back of your hand.

The plush of his lips.

The scruff of his cheeks.

His chin.

The way your mind would hallucinate awful things in your sleep that would feel so vivid and so real was absolutely terrifying, but the addition of Joe’s face made everything so much worse.

Your unconscious mind could play tricks on you.

You knew this.

But in your sleepy haze, the feelings were real. The emotions right there.

And that man who’d scared you years ago in this same nightmare now wore a face that you recognised.

Logically you knew it was an addition.

Something new that hadn’t been there before.

There was no way you’d also dreamt about Joe all those other times - every person in a dream was someone you needed to have seen before, you knew.

But still.

The hand that held onto your neck was of little comfort, and you knew it was silly, but your body still flinched and moved away from the man in your bed because he didn’t feel safe right now.

You hoped Joe wouldn’t react to the quick pull away from him. To the little shimmy you did to duck into your pillow a bit more. But you felt how he raised his head off of his own, likely to see through a squinty eye if you were okay.

“I’ll have forgotten in the morning.” you quickly reassured with a whisper into the dark, and Joe decided he was too tired to get into anything right now anyway. He’d leave it to rest and hoped that you were right. That the next bit of sleep would make you forget about any horrors.

Except it didn’t.

It took you long to fall back asleep, and when you eventually did, you slipped right back into the same awful narrative.

It was why, not that long after you’d woken up that first time, you shook Joe awake. Leant over him, sort of sweaty, big wet eyes close to his face because, you just... you needed to check.

Had to see for yourself.

To see if his eyes were normal.

Joe roused awake, confused and definitely not as alert as you were.

“What?” Joe croaked, a little freaked out by the way you frowned in panic as you searched his eyes. He saw how yours flicked between his left and right.

Normal.

Joe’s eyes were their normal big brown beautiful kind soft ones. Bit tired. Definitely confused. But not the evil pitch black giant orbs you’d just dreamt of. You immediately relaxed and fell back onto your pillow, sighing with relief. This was definitely one of the weirdest most disturbing ways to be woken up before six o’clock.

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked, voice still just as hoarse, as he turned his head to look at you stare up at the ceiling.

Why were you panting?

“Nothing. I... don’t worry, your eyes are normal.”

Just a dream. It was just a dream. Your nervous system just had to catch up to it.

“My eyes?” Joe was so confused. What the fuck were you talking about?

“You were...” you started, but shook your head instead of finishing the sentence. It was of no use explaining. Just a silly dream. “Never mind. Just...” you looked at the ceiling and even though it was dark, the rubbing of your eyes made you see spots for a second.

Joe watched as you gathered your thoughts for a second, and worry etched deeper into his features.

“Hey,” he whispered, concern thick in his voice, a hand reaching over that placed itself on your forehead. “I was what? What did I do?”

You then turned your head to look at him, moving Joe’s hand into your hair, and you immediately felt guilty. Joe looked far too bothered for your liking.

“Scary.” you admitted, scooting over closer to him. “But you’re not scary now. Was just a dream.”

For a second, that made Joe relax a little. You weren’t talking about him him, you were talking about whatever weird version of him you’d just dreamt about. One without normal eyes, apparently.

Joe accepted you into his arms as you cuddled up to him, finding his sleep warm body to curl yourself around, seeking closeness this time around, because Joe’s eyes were normal and comforting.

He was glad it had just been a dream.

But then, Joe’s thoughts caught up, and actually, Joe didn’t like that.

Joe didn’t like that at all.

Didn’t like how you dismissed a nightmare like it hadn’t affected you when it so very clearly had.

Didn’t like how hugging you tight also meant that he could feel how fast your heart was beating.

Didn’t like how, real or not, you’d been scared of him. Had felt real fear because of him.

He’d been the boy of your nightmare, and that was not okay.

“You had a nightmare about me?” Joe almost sounded hurt, voice small and soft. Like it was his fault that you were breathing the way you were right now. Like he had personally done you a great disservice.

Which wasn’t true, obviously.

It hadn’t actually been him.

“It wasn’t you.” you comforted, pressing your face into Joe’s neck, reminding yourself just as much as you tried convincing him.

“Hm?”

“Just looked like you.”

But that didn’t make it better. Not to Joe, anyway.

The way that you went from trying for a little distance before, to suddenly hiding yourself away into his skin didn’t sit right with him either.

“You okay?” he whispered, a hand trailing up your back as he asked it, ending at your neck where he held onto it like he’d done before.

“Mhm,” you confirmed, and took a big deep breath to hopefully slow your heartbeat down a little. “Need to calm down.”

“Do you want to talk about it? What did I do to you?” Joe didn’t wait for an answer to the first question. Just wanted to know how severe his crimes had been. How big his apology needed to be. How much he needed to comfort you.

But like before, when he’d suggested to talk later, you let the questions sit where they sat, and didn’t provide them with an answer at all. Instead, you just burrowed deeper. Pressed your nose into his skin a little harder. Hitched your leg over his thighs a little higher. Squeezed yourself around his middle a bit more.

Joe decided his crimes had been very severe. Maybe even life sentence sort of stuff. He tightened his arms around your frame, the hand on your neck letting its fingers slide into your hair a little.

“I’m sorry.” Joe murmured against your forehead.

That made your eyes water.

You didn’t want to talk.

That was okay.

Just needed comforting.

“You’re okay,” Joe whispered into your hair, answering his own earlier question. He placed a little kiss there too, eyes closed, determined to make you drift off back to sleep, and it made you whine.

“You’re safe,”you deserved more sleep, but nightmareless this time. No scary eyes.

“I’m here.” Joe squeezed tigther as he felt you relax. From the way you started matching your breathing to his, he knew it was working.

You could have a nice dream about him.

He could be the boy of your dreams. Good, postive, sweet ones.

“No one’s gonna hurt you. Go back to sleep. You’re safe. I’m here.”

The hand that held onto your neck was actually very comforting now, and your body fully relaxed into the man in your bed because; he was right.

No one was going to hurt you.

You were safe.

Joe was there.

---

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add yourself

[hellsenthero]

Kinktober Day 7: Somnophillia

Cassian X Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

---

You and Cassian had talked about it many times. The idea of using each other for your own pleasure in sleep. You always came to the same agreement that you were open to it, and if anything changed, you'd tell each other.

Cassian hadn't planned on fucking you tonight. In fact, he was bone deep exhausted. All he wanted after a day full of training was to fall asleep with you in his arms. But then he opened the bedroom door and saw you laying there. All pretty and pliant and utterly naked. You were on your stomach, sound asleep on your side of the bed. Your arms were up by your head, and the sheets had been kicked down to the foot of the bed. He could see the little raised bumps of your skin and he knew you must be cold.

He should have pulled the sheets back up to cover you. Should have wrapped you up in his arms and offered you his warmth. But he was a selfish male.

Cassian chucked his leather off with expert speed, all the while his eyes roamed your sweet little body. His cock was already stirring, getting hard at just the sight of you and the though of how sweet it would be to be inside of you. Cassian knows how tight you are, knows that even after fucking you hundreds of times, he still needs to open you up. He's slow as he brings a finger to your hole. Slow and cautious as he pushes in a single digit. You stir, letting out a sweet little hmph, but you're quick to settle.

Cassian gives you an extra moment, making sure he hasn't already woken you before he fucks his finger in and out of you. He spits down on his hand as he pushes a second finger in. Fucking and twisting and scissoring them in and out of you. Cassian has no idea what you're dreaming about, but he can tell your body is happy at this little intrusion. Your hips shift ever so closer to him, your fingers grasp the pillow with your unconscious arousal. A little moan slips out and Cassian can't help but smile.

He's careful when he pulls his fingers out, even more so when he lines his cock up with your entrance and pushes in. He can't help the groan of pleasure that's pulled from deep within his chest. Your sweet, tight heat is fucking perfect. You're wrapped around his fat cock in such a way that already threatens him with a fast climax.

"Perfect," Cassian mumbles to himself as he takes the globes of your ass into his hands. He kneads and rubs you slowly, watching how your ass moves with his grip and how stuffed you look with his cock in you.

He can't hold it back any longer, the need to absolutely destroy you with his dick. His first real thrust sends your body further up the bed. By his third, you're starting to wake up.

"C, Cass..." You moan. You're slurring his name, and Cassian can tell that consciousness hasn't fully come to you yet.

"Sorry," Cassian apologizes, not feeling very sorry at all. "You looked too perfect. Had to stuff you with my cock."

"Cass!" You cry out.

"Go- go back to sleep." Cassian tells you. "Just gonna fuck you a little longer. Wanna fill you up."

You mumble something incoherent, something along the lines of, so good, but he can't be sure. All Cassian knows is how good you feel wrapped around him and how bad his need to breed you is.

"Gonna pump you full." Cassian says as he fucks you even harder. His calloused hands are gripping hard enough on your hips that you know he'll leave marks. "Need to make sure you take me."

"Don't stop!" You slur.

"Never," Cassian says. "I'm keeping you like this, all wrapped around my cock. You're gonna be my little toy."

Cassian is drunk off pleasure. He babbles what comes to mind as he fucks you. Utterly obsessed with how you feel.

You're more awake now, more aware. You don't know what time it is or how long Cassian’s been inside you, but you know how good you feel. You mumble his name, a plea for more and a praise for how good it is. You cling onto the sheets, your face stuffed in your pillow. Your breathing is hard, the pillow making it difficult to take in deep breaths, but you would happily die on your mate's cock right now.

"Come," Cassian gasps. "I'm gonna come." You moan out in sweet pleasure as your own climax rushes through you. You call his name just as your release rushes through you. "Fuck!" Cassian barks as he reaches his climax. He's quick to push deep into you, holding you on his cock as he fills you with his seed. "So good." Cassian says softly.

All your energy seems to leave with your climax and you're left exhausted. Your eyes flutter shut and your breathing evens out as consciousness slips away once more.

"Love you," Cassian whispers as he slips his softening cock out of you. Laying down, he presses a kiss to your head before pulling you into his arms.

He's exhausted now and on the verge of sleep, but he knows when he wakes up in the morning that he's going to spend his sweet time cleaning you up.

[httpswritings]

I see only the good, selective memory — Alexia Putellas x Jenni Hermoso

Warnings: nsfw. a few spanks. don't read if you don't like open chapter endings.

Word count: more than 1007

Summary: Alexia can't stand it anymore. Top!Alexia, Sub!Jenni.

A/N: Second part of Can't Remember To Forget You

As the days went by, Alexia and Jenni started to be more relaxed in each other's presence. Letting their guard down gave them some intimate moments as they had deep conversations about their careers, their families, and themselves individually, although shower time had been hell for them. Seeing the other one getting out of the bathroom with their wet, messy hair falling down their shoulders made them go mad. Quick looks, appreciating each other's bodies and their shampoo and body lotion's scent filling up the room. 

Eventually, the first one that had showered would quickly get dressed and get out of the room to go anywhere but to stay in the same place as her ex-girlfriend. 

Alexia blamed herself for not being in control of her own feelings and thoughts, while Jenni felt defeated, as she had already accepted how weak Alexia made her feel. A type of weakness that Alexia used to take care of, protecting and loving Jenni so well to make her feel secure in their relationship. 

The two of them had their own time in the shower, remembering their sexual encounters with each other. Both of them tried not to fall into the trap, but eventually failed tremendously. 

-

One night, Alexia woke up to soft whimpers and sighs coming from Jenni's bed.

She suddenly realized that her roommate was having a very good time dreaming. 

She felt a warmth sensation below her core, and as she was about to get out of the room to distract herself, she heard Jenni whispering her name.

“Yeah?” 

When Alexia got no response and realized Jenni had moaned her name in her sleep, she headed to Jenni's bed.

The pink-haired woman brushed Jenni's hair, noticing how sweaty it was from the sexually explicit dream.

“Ale...Rig— Right there”

After hearing Jenni bumble those words, Alexia lost the little self-control she had left and proceeded to wake her ex-girlfriend, who jolted up, breathing heavily.

“Sh, sh, sh. It was just a dream.”

At first, Jenni was disappointed, but then, as she regained consciousness, she realized she might just have fucked up.

“I'm sorry, I—”

Alexia covered Jenni's mouth and whispered in her ear, “Don't you dare to apologize. You don't know how much I'd missed hearing you moan my name”

The older woman could barely speak, being paralyzed by the embarrassment she was feeling.

“Don't be shy, Jenni. Well, actually, be. It's turning me on. But if you want me to continue, you have to tell me.”

“Switch on the lights.”

“No.”

“Alexia.”

“No.”

Jenni sighed. She wasn't used to this version of Alexia, but she couldn't deny she felt some curiosity about it.

“Has it been that long that you now like to be in control in bed?”

“I've been like this with you before.”

“Rarely.”

Alexia had taken control in bed before with her, but still, Jenni was eager to see what she could expect from her ex-girlfriend, 

“Let me show you what I've learned.” Jenni couldn't denied Alexia's request, so she simply relaxed on the bed until Alexia began kissing her around both sides of her hips, making her squirm under her. “Be patient, Jenni.” Alexia rolled Jenni over to get her face onto the mattress. She moved Jenni's hair to the side and began kissing her neck to whisper in her ear, “You've been driving me crazy since we got here. Probably even before that.” Jenni may have been letting Alexia be on charge but still refused to be that docile to her, so she answered back, “That's what I wanted. It took you less than I expected to do something about it.” 

“Oh, did you? Well, if this is what you wanted, then you're going to get it.” Jenni gripped the sheets under the pillow while Alexia was entertained by kissing the tattoos on her back, leaving small bites. The darkness of the room didn't let her see them, but she still remembered the exact place where they were marked on Jenni's skin.

“You've always loved to bite, don't you?” 

Alexia agreed. Her hands scratched all over Jenni's back. “If you remember me that well, you should also remember how much I used to scratch my nails on your back as I tried to hold onto you, right?” With that being said, she spanked Jenni's ass, gaining a moan from her. 

That sound always made Alexia lose it all. “You don't know all the things I'd love do to you on this bed right now, but you have to be quiet unless you want to be called out by the staff. It's probably like three in the morning.” Jenni nodded with her left cheek resting on the mattress. 

“Can I take your clothes off?” 

Jenni nodded again, afraid to say anything just in case a moan would interrupt it. 

Alexia got rid of Jenni's pants, exposing her ass, only covered by a black thong. “I don't even need to see your body; I remember perfectly every single part of it.” Another spank. “Ale—Alexia, they are going to hear us...” Jenni felt Alexia's body on top of her ass, leaning until her chest touched her back. “So you want me to stop spanking you?”

“No—Joder, no. But I don't want the staff to hear it.” 

“Yeah, you're right. I'm the only one who's going to hear you tonight. I'm not sharing that privilege. Have you been with other women since we broke up? I want to know if someone has heard what belongs to me.”

“Why would you want to know that?”

“Answer me, Jennifer.”

Another spank.

“Joder— Sí, I've been with other women.”

Alexia couldn't deny that hearing that made her feel uncomfortable, but she still wanted to hear more. It made no sense, but even if it made her feel uneasy, she felt pleasure in knowing Jenni was now under her at her command and not with any other women. She was hers, at least for tonight.

“Be more detailed.”

“I've been with four women since we broke up. Only one of them got to be my girlfriend, but we fell apart. The other three were random hook-ups.”

“In what aspects did they remind you of me?”

[im00flynn]

Never letting go

Yandere Buggy x Reader

You were a pirate who knew Shanks and Luffy. You were a part of Shanks, and while being on his crew, you met one man who was crazy about you, Years later, while on a quest to find the one piece with Luffy and his friends, Nami and Zoro, you never expected to see him again.

Warnings: Yandere, Angst

You'd known Luffy since he was little. You met him through Shanks, and you knew he wanted to the king of the pirates

You were extremely supportive of his dream and even helped him start up his own crew.

Now you were with Luffy, Zoro, and Nami on your ship on your way to find the one piece.

What you didn't tell the crew is your history with some pirates at sea, thinking that all the issues were left in the past.

Boy were you wrong.

"What the hell was that?" Zoro questions after hearing a thud outside the small room on the boat

We all rush out and notice that red smoke covers up the entire ship, then it hits you that you know who is doing this.

Before you're able to possibly fight any pirates that try to fight, you pass out due to the smoke.

-------------------‐-------------------------------------------------

"Wakey, Wakeyy~, a familiar voice tells you as you regain your consciousness.

"Ah, Their awake! Hi sweetheart~" The voice says, making it realize it belongs to the one man you thought you'd gotten away from.

Buggy.

"Buggy?" You whisper mostly to yourself, still not believing anything that's happening.

"That's right! we are finally together again [Name], and I don't plan on letting you go again."

"How did you find me?" You ask him with curiosity but also fear.

"Well, sweet face, I have my ways that I might reveal later on." He says with his creepy smile.

-------------------‐-------------------------------------------------

After Buggy told you that information, he took you to his circus arena and made you change into an outfit similar to his.

"You look lovely darling, you should wear stuff like this more often~" He tells you as he walks towards you, placing a kiss on your head, linking arms with you.

This would be a sweet moment if it wasn't for the fact that he was obsessed and overly protective of you.

When you first met him, you thought he was a cool person who you developed feelings for.

But he also developed feelings for you, except it was more of an obsession than love.

He would get jealous when you would hang out with Shanks or any other crew member.

You thought if you left with Shanks and left Buggy behind, he would move on.

You were wrong.

-------------------‐-------------------------------------------------

"Buggy, please let me and my friends go." You plead him.

"That's not going to happen, sweetheart." He tells you as he gets ready for his show.

"Why not?" You question him with irritation

He stops and walks up to you, so you're face to face.

"I have been in love with you ever since I met you. When I met you, I felt the need to protect you and love you. I was going to ask you to be my partner, but then Shanks took you away from me and left without a word as to why. Maybe he was in love with you too, I mean, who can blame him?" He says that last sentence with a sarcastic chuckle.

"But.." He makes the space between you too smaller, "Shanks isn't here, so he can't take you away again." he tells you.

Before you can respond, he closes the gap and puts his lips on you, putting a hand behind your head to make the kiss deeper.

After a few seconds, he pulls away and whispers, "You're mine now."

His evil clown smile creeps back on his face as he takes your hand in his.

"Now, let's go, sweetheart. we got a show to put on"

A/N: This fanfiction will have a part 2, but I'm thinking about making this fanfiction a series. It would follow the plot of the live action One Piece. Let me know if you want me to continue this story beyond a part 2.

[inkedinfusions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 10

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

⊱𖣂⊰ | masterlist

⊰– prev   next–⊱

𝟏𝟎 | 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

chapter word count: 3.1 k

content warnings: graphic panic attack, very light mentions of body horror, hurt/comfort, blanket warnings

a/n: Double digits!!! Shout out to my beta for picking out the name of the chapter. Hope you like this one! I had a blast writing out the descriptions even though the dialogue was sometimes a pain in the ass lol. Oh well.

Thanks for reading!

𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 cut the glitter dome that is up above, flowing in tandem with heavenly winds. Small wisps of their bodies drift away from the main path, scattering amongst the stars, becoming the translucent curtains that divide the heavens. 

You float amongst the vastness, mindlessly being carried away by their hold. They whisper around you, unfolding their voices like petals of moon flowering blooms. They are liquid electricity, powering their own existence, as well as holding up your own. What feels like a second, or perhaps a millennium passes, and suddenly the stars and currents are once again high above, leaving you on the surface. 

The air feels silky, as does the ground. You walk – but do you? You walk, walk, walk, and yet arrive nowhere. Everywhere looks the same; still, you're confident you haven't moved. Goosebumps riddle your soul, and you feel compelled to fall over, as threads of your consciousness are rhythmically pulled away from your sentience. 

And it's hot. Is it hot? You were sure you couldn't perceive your own body, let alone the temperature. But it is very much. Hot, that is. Blazing, melting your skin, charring your hair, burning your heart. It spreads, catching ablaze just like dry, cut grass. 

Your heart goes fast, fast, faster. It beats against your chest, that is to say it rumbles far past your ribs, hammering and hammering and hammering until you’re sure it is about to spill out your thorax. The starry dome begins to blur as you are forcibly ripped from your dream world, and your eyes snap open.

You gasp as you sit up, hands clutching the blanket you were sure was choking you. Beads of sweat slowly trickling down your forehead, down your back. There isn't enough air and your chest feels constricted and you're burning and there isn't enough air. 

You have to get out. Out your sheets, out the tent, maybe out the camp. There isn't air inside, but surely there is air outside, right? It doesn't matter what misconceptions the others could jump to, seeing you outside alone at night, right now you're choking on nothing and you have to get out, out, out. 

You trip over your discarded blanket as you clumsily stand up, absentmindedly grabbing a jacket before booking it out the tent. If you stayed, however, you would notice how Mikasa stirs awake, confused by the ruckus you're causing. 

But by the time she wakes up enough to question you, you are already halfway towards a small clearing on the edge of it all. The canteen, the tents, the lights, the crates, they all close in on you, robbing you of your breath. They loom over your path, no less giant than the hills that surround you. 

Still, you push on, no less agitated than when you first woke up, walking and walking and pushing towards the other side of a knoll, hidden away from prying eyes. Not once does it occur to you how miraculous it is that you encountered no Scout on your way here. 

You let yourself fall, your back sliding against the coarse rock as you curl in onto yourself. The cold air had done something to halt your racing thoughts of burning and choking and rumbling and terror, but you were still deep within the clutches of your own panicked mind.

Thoughts slip through your hands like slippery ice, only leaving behind the remnants of your musings, and they unwittingly become the reflection of your insecurities. All that you’ve tried to contain since you first realized the magnitude of the forces at play comes crashing down. The other shoe has dropped, and it's in the tremors it causes in the ground that you find yourself tripping over. 

You're in Paradis, and away from Yelena’s prying eyes, and on your way to making allies, so why are you so afraid? What are you so afraid of? You want to scream, to tear your hair off, to claw your arms red. You have to get out, out, out, but there is nothing to get out of but your own skin. 

You shudder, threading your hands through your hair, lowering your gaze towards your boot covered feet. When did you put them on? You don't remember and that kicks off another wave of dread. 

You can't remember putting on your boots, you can't feel your face, you can't remember your last name. Your clothes are itchy and coarse, like sand on an abandoned beach, visited only by the remnants of forgotten spirits. Clothes, face, name. Clothes, face, name. Clothes, face–

“Y/n?”

Eren. Eren is here. He's calling your name, you notice. You want to answer something, anything to reassure him that you're fine, that it is just a fluke, and to please not tell Levi of your nocturne escapade. But all that comes out of your mouth is a choked sob, which is quickly covered by your hands. 

A hand that is not your own makes its way into your field of vision. It stays there, palm up and unmoving, before you let out a shuddering breath and make a move to grab it, reaching for it with both your searing hands. You expect him to flinch away from the scorching heat, but there is no discernible reaction that you can perceive. 

The first thing you notice in Eren’s hand is its coolness, clashing against the raging fire that burns under your nails. His other palm drops above your own, encasing both in a brisk hold. He holds still for a moment, and when you don't pull away he squeezes, giving you a point to center yourself around. 

His left thumb rubs comforting circles on the back of your hand, pressing callused fingerprints onto it. They are rough like fine sand, gently rubbing away the coarseness of your touch. You focus on that feeling, slowly concentrating on the way his hands differ from yours. 

Expectedly, his are rougher, with more calluses than yours. Yours, on the other hand, are almost silky smooth when compared to his, and you're so perplexed by this you don't notice how your breathing begins to calm down. 

He lets you turn his palms around, chuckling at your puzzled expression. You don’t find it funny, rather you find it intriguing. His life has been marked by hardship and physical labor from the beginning and yours hasn’t, so why wouldn't you find the blemishes of toil interesting, especially when compared to yours of everyday life? Still, you would’ve thought that his nature as a shifter meant that no blemishes would mark his skin. 

You both stay still for a while, only accompanied by the distant waves that crash against the escarpments that give way to the beach down below. The clamor against your ears calms down in favor of the echo of the sea, of the hands that hold your own. 

After a while, you speak. “How’d you know–”

“–Where to find you?” Eren interrupts. “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

You choose to appear disbelieving, because the only other option is to be flustered. You raise your eyebrow at him, and it is in your silence that he amends his statement. 

“Mikasa saw you sneak out. She woke me up when you didn’t return,” he says.

“I woke her up? Jeez, what a great second impression,” you say.

Eren shrugs. “I don't think she blames you. She was pretty worried for someone she only met today.”

You chuckle, wiping away the dampness in your cheeks you’ve just now noticed existed. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I don’t mind that your friends don’t trust me. To be honest, I don't really get why you do.”

Eren is silent for three crashing waves, mulling over his words. For someone with a reputation of speaking impulsively, he seems to think a lot about what he should say. You won’t believe him if he says something along the lines of oh, no don't worry, everyone trusts you now, but if he tells you that yeah, no one really wants to rely on you, then it would be nothing but a dick move on his part. 

“I never fooled myself into thinking that everyone was going to trust you just because I told them my future memories made it easy for me to do so,” he says. “But I do think that eventually they will learn that you are someone who can be relied on.”

“...Thanks Eren,” you say, fighting against the tears that seem to form in your eyes without your permission. 

“Do you want to… talk about it?” he says, cringing at his hesitation. 

Your laughter is a little wet, and you pull one of your hands away from his to once again wipe the tears that fall over when your body shakes. 

“No, but thank you,” you say, giggling harder when his shoulders relax at the prospect of not listening to the cause of your panic. “Got a little too tense there, huh.”

Eren’s ears redden slightly, as do his cheeks, embarrassed. “I’m not good at this comforting stuff. Armin’s the one that usually does this.”   

“I figured,” you say, glancing at him with a small smile. 

Crickets sing with the sea’s waves, forming a chorus along with the gentle sway of grass around you. All of nature’s orchestra is lit by moonlight, and you can see the way it bounces off the distant water, swimming with the silver ripples that form on its surface. The sea comes and goes, and comes and goes, ruled by the magnetism of the lunar pull. 

You sigh, reclining so your back sits flush with the coarse rocks of the small alcove you’ve taken refuge in. Eren follows suit, and you both gaze at the landscape before you, intertwined hands resting between the two of you. 

“What's the plan then?” you ask, easing into the silence of your voices. 

“Plan?” Eren turns to look at you questioningly and you mirror his movements, falling deep into his aquamarine eyes. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Like, what are we going to do with the whole… future thing.”

“You sure you’re up for that?” he asks. 

“We won’t get another chance for a long time, I think,” you say, straightening your posture. “What do you know?”

Eren cracks a small grin, but you don't miss the way his eyes flash with anguish at your question. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I could go first, if you’d like,” you say. 

Eren’s eyes move from you to the horizon, and he sighs. His fingers twitch in yours as he contemplates the memories he has received from his future self, more likely than not arranging them in a coherent way. You feel dread at the way his pupils waver, preparing yourself for the worst.

“Maybe you could start with what you’ve told others,” you say. “So I know where to thread.”

A beat passes. 

“There's… my dad,” he starts, “at the Reiss church, or rather below it. He kills everyone but the father.”

You nod slowly, remembering how freaked out he looked on the posterior days of entering the basement of his old house in Shiganshina. Back then everyone, including him, simply thought that Grisha lashed out at the family, eager to take control of the Founding Titan in Freida’s possession.

“And then there's you,” he continues.

Unlike the previous revelation, you have no point of reference for a memory in which you appear, given you were the audience rather than the ones being watched. It's weird, to hear your future experiences from his perspective. 

“You're mostly hunched over what I think are blueprints or maps. I can never hear what we talk about, but there is always a feeling of camaraderie. I don’t think I would’ve sent those memories if you were someone I couldn’t trust.”

That leaves you a bit speechless, but also a tad reassured. You still seem to fight for what you think is right in the future, if the planning Eren says you’re a part of is anything to go off of. Maybe all your plans pay off and you succeed. 

“And the Scouts know about this,” you say, looking for confirmation.

“And the main government branches,” he says sheepishly. “I had to tell them though, because I didn’t know if I would be there when you arrived, and they’re not exactly on the best terms with strangers now.” 

“That's reasonable,” you say. “Although it did throw me for a loop when you greeted me by my name back at the beach.” 

“Sorry about that.”

“No, it's fine,” you say absentmindedly. “Yelena called me Ymir the first time we met.”

Eren chuckles. “What? Do you have some sort of connection to her then?”

You scoff. Things would definitely be infinitely easier if you did. To your dismay though, you arguably were the least connected to her than anyone else on the island, barring the non-Eldian Volunteers. 

“Apart from knowing she exists? Not really,” you say. “Your own connection comes from the Founding and Attack titans, yeah?” You continue when Eren nods. “Like I told Sasha earlier, I’m not a shifter. I just… kinda read? Yeah, I read about this.”

“And Zeke?”

“Well…” you exhale. “He knows. Not everything, per se, but he knows I know potentially more than what I’ve told him. Which was basically his plan for the island.”

“You told him?” he says, disbelieving. “What for?”

“I needed to get to the island somehow,” you retort, oddly defensive against your own plans. Was it the best thing you ever came up with? Hell no, but there also wasn’t much you could do in your situation. “Which brings me to the next point. At some point in the future, you’re going to access the Paths with Zeke.”

His eyes snap to you, alert. “A titan of royal blood.”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “You knew, right?”

“I had a hunch.”

“I know,” you say. “Anyway, I have a favor to ask of you when that happens. I’m not… from here originally, and I think Ymir is my only shot at getting home.” 

Eren glances at you, eyebrows raised in inquiry. “Where are you from, then?”

“Nowhere you would know,” you say, cracking a small grin. “But it's not somewhere I can simply return to.”

“Does Zeke know about this?” he asks. 

“To an extent,” you say. “But I wouldn’t put it past him to list it lower than his own goals. And the titan of royal blood? Have you told anyone about that?”

“No one else knows,” he says. 

You nod. “Good. Don’t mention it until Hange does at the hearing.”

“You know about that too?” Eren says, surprised. “We are due tomorrow at the walls to discuss the whole Anti-Marleyan Volunteers thing with Historia and the other branches. I think you’ll be coming with us, since the Captain isn't very keen on leaving you here.”

That is awfully nice of him. Or absolutely terrible, it all depends from what point of view you were analyzing the situation. For you it is nice, because it means less time near Yelena and more with the main cast, who you need to get to trust you. On the other hand, it could also be a symbol of the general distrust towards you, and the need to keep you under their watch. 

“Okay,” you say. “I can work with that. Will I be called to speak or something?”

“No clue.”

You sigh, bringing your unoccupied hand up to massage the bridge of your nose. Honestly, you prefer your mind games and eccentric conversations with Zeke to this. At least he had some semblance of care towards you. The government wouldn’t extend the same grace, so you needed to get all your cards right, or risk saying something you shouldn't. 

“Okay,” you say, counting with your fingers. “So, your father and the Reiss family, myself, the royal blood and Founding Titan. Is that everything?" 

“All I’ve told them. But for what I haven’t…”

You wait for him to speak. Your clothes rustle when, after a minute, you turn to look forward, thinking that maybe your constant gaze is putting unnecessary pressure on him.

“There are… explosions,” he says after a while, wetting his lips to continue with his tale. “My dad at the Reiss church, but this time I'm also there. Someone lying dead on the floor. And… hundreds of thousands of titans marching away from the island.”

Your stomach drops. A hollowness makes its way to your guts, sharp and cold. All your blood rushes to your feet, except that it doesn’t because suddenly all your extremities are freezing. You both stay still– even statues would be more animated, more alive. 

His eyes follow yours when you look at him, and you can see the same dread that was lurking under his eyes come alight, certainly mirroring your own. You know and he knows, so you’re both plunged into a monstrous storm when faced with the possibility (inevitability) of the future. 

The confirmation of the unavoidable in your eyes just adds to the burdens already placed on his shoulders, and even if you’re here now to alleviate the weight. 

“We'll figure it out,” you murmur.

“You know as well as I do that we can’t change something that is meant to happen,” he says.

“It's not predetermined,” you argue. “There’s gotta be some other way, and we’ll find it. Together.” 

Eren stays silent at your reassurances. You falter, scrounging for any piece of information in his future memories that could lead to hope, but it is all eerily similar to that which he saw originally. 

The explosions could very well be the conflict that rose in light of the Jaegerists, and his vision of himself at the Reiss church at least confirms that he will make it to the paths, but the lack of mention of you or Ymir has you a little worried. Sasha originally dies while laying on the floor of an airship, and the Colossal Titans marching from the island can only mean one thing: The Rumbling. 

So yeah, all in all it's looking pretty bad for the both of you. 

“At least we have time, right?” Eren speaks, breaking his silence. “Time to figure out what to do.”

“We do,” you say. “Enough to find a way that doesn’t result in the scorning of the island, nor the island's revenge on the world.”

Enough to secure a way home, and on the way, ensuring that Eren’s doesn’t go up in flames. Yet there is not much to do at this very moment, so for the meantime you both return to tranquil stillness, and it is only dawn that reminds you to go back to your tent. 

a/n: Super quick fun fact, Y/n tracing the lines of Eren's hands is supposed to be a callback to  earlier chapters, where she starts fiddling with stuff when she gets nervous, more specifically in chapter 2, dissection – “There's a small crack in your mug that you trace over and over again, the repetition helping ground your attention instead of spiraling.”

taglist:

@dressycobra7 @xngelsau @bloodchapell @i-think-im-adorable13 @luna4mnoon

@yuuuumii @kermittears @binluvsu

ask or comment to be added!

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster 8

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter Warnings: SMUT A/N: So... I did a sneaky in this chapter. First one to guess correctly gets a 500 word Sandman drabble (you can give me a prompt or let me go wild - your choice). This is the biggest tender!fuck I've ever seen. Like damn. It's an important beat between chapter arcs, and there are some themes/hints ya'll should really take note of. For reasons. All I want for my birthday are comments, my dears! <3 Thank you for your ongoing support.

8. Seal

What happened?

Creeping out of the fog, she swept together the distant pieces of her waking mind, looking for a thought, or a plan, or…

What happened?

She’d had a wonderful dream. Safe. Warm. Happy. If she could fall back asleep and drop back into that place – those arms – she would, but a sleeping mind never followed the same course. She was waking, and it was over.

But she didn’t remember going to bed.

That was all right. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d gotten drunk or collapsed after days without sleep. Not a problem.

But –

She hadn’t set her wards.

Her eyes snapped open, and her hand sprang out, reaching for the bag of black salt she always kept near her bed in the van. Anything could come, anything could already be there. As she jerked to consciousness, full of half-remembered terror – the mirror, the unseelie, her skin, the dress – long fingers caught her flailing hand. They wove seamlessly between her own, pulling her attention down to starry eyes. Soft lips pressed to her knuckles, calling her back from the brink of delirium.

“All is well.” Morpheus’ thumb rubbed along her throbbing pulse, distracting her from her panic with tactile affection. He read the beat as her memory settled, as she recalled where she was and what they’d shared. He must have felt the spiking rhythm, too, judging by his smirk.

He was beautiful. And definitely naked under the grey silk sheets that gathered over his waist.

She licked her lips, at a loss for words as the butterflies she thought she’d banished sprang back to life in her stomach.

“Hello.”

Yes. Excellent. Definitely the most romantic greeting after waking up for the first time in a lover’s bed. In her fucking eldritch soulmate’s apparent love nest, actually. So far as she could tell, they weren’t even in a room. She could see him easily, but beyond the place where they were lying, she could only see vague, bushy shapes that could’ve been clouds or trees. Lights flickered in them. Maybe stars. Possibly fireflies.

No visible exits. Not even a floor, in fact.

Though it wasn’t like she was in a rush to leave.

“Hello.”

Following his gentle tug, she sank back to rest on her side, facing him.

He was so beautiful. She’d already thought it, but damn if it wasn’t worth thinking twice. With his disheveled raven hair and self-satisfied expression, he looked at least half as debauched as she felt.

Which reminded her.

Oh shit.

She was naked, too.

Her free hand moved towards the sheets that had fallen all the way to her thighs when she sat up, but his disapproving pout made her second guess herself.

Covering bare skin was instinctual. Especially after everything she’d suffered in –

No, no. Not thinking of that. She physically shook her head to banish the flashes of pain and fear trying to manifest.

She was safe. She was happy. Her Dream was real, and she could be vulnerable with him in this world apart. Nothing would hunt her here. Nothing would dare. He would avenge and protect her.

Carefully, consciously, she let her hand drift from the sheets, and Morpheus smiled in the wake of her decision.

“My love,” he purred, looping an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, “I want you.”

He nuzzled into her neck, kissing under her ear and finding new places her blood pounded under her skin. She found herself trying to remember language, how to speak in anything but sighs. Prince of Stories. Right. Whatever. Prince of Carnal Brainmelt more like. He made it impossible to think, working little bites over her flesh as he continued his eager assault, leaving her squirming, and desperate, and tongue-tied.

Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt them burning far below her skin. Below flesh and bone. Stars were only cold because of their distance, and she was much too close to see them as anything but suns. She knew it was reckless to look, to stare back and let the heat blind her, but…

She couldn’t pull away now, even if she wanted to. He didn’t need prison bars and pansies to trap her.

Panting, she finally strung together an answer. “I want you, too.”

Her words brought him back to her lips, and he wasted no time licking into her mouth, sharing his heated groans. One hand slipped around to cradle her head. The one he’d used to reel her in crept down, brushing along her waist, squeezing her hip, and settling on her thigh. Strong fingers pulled her leg over his hip, and she groaned back into their kiss as his clear desire brushed her clit.

He didn’t press, only dragging himself through her folds as he explored her mouth. When she stopped for breath, he kissed under her chin, palm flexing just over her knee. She writhed with his slow strokes, enjoying the moment but far from satisfied.

“I need you.” Kissing his brow, his cheek, his lips, she sang her yearning. “I need you, Morpheus.”

Her words found him and burned the way his eyes flamed in her soul. She saw them kindling in his gaze as he pulled away to watch her face, swallowing every flicker of expression as he teased her entrance. And pushed inside.

The world hummed.

It was all beginnings and endings and discoveries. Dream was himself, and she was with him.

He moved so slowly, and she clung tight, shaking as the pleasure built with the inexorable pace of sunrise. Clutching his shoulder, his back, she fought to keep breathing, to keep her head above water as he pushed and pulled inside. Gods. He’d drown her, and she’d gladly find death here in his arms.

“You asked what I want.” He wasn’t as helpless to his physical manifestation as she was to her human body, but his rough voice proved how she affected him, and a sunburst of pride glowed in her breast. “Perhaps I was dishonest with myself. I want the measure of your dreams and your waking hours, too.”

He hunted for her fear, waiting for the golden moment to snap under the weight of his confession. His searching eyes flicked over hers, desperate but guarded. She didn’t know what to say. If she could say anything. But she wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t threatening her – this was an invitation. And she could only invite him back, let him feel the truths she couldn’t name yet.

Her hands settled on his face, trying to soothe the needles of anxiety, his anticipated despair. She offered more kisses, pulling at his lips, welcoming and reciprocating each touch in an effort to reach deeper. Too feel even more.

His grip on her thigh tightened, and he rolled half over her, leaving his sedate, almost drowsy lovemaking behind. Still tender, but openly needy, he picked up speed, using the new angle to his advantage.

She thought she’d been breathless before – fuck.

“I want… a life. A story. You.” He was begging. Commanding. On the cusp of claiming his own dream.

He didn’t take. He shared. They gave and met in true union, tasting elements beyond bodies to melt through time embrace destiny. A snare of their wyrds. A welcome loss wrapped in discovery.

Her heart would burst. There wasn’t enough of her to hold the love for something so vast as her monster, her Morpheus, and as he hiked her leg even higher on his waist, she grabbed him by the hair. She needed him. She needed his kiss, his breath, or she’d fall apart. He obliged, but she knew she’d go to pieces regardless.

As his thrusts grew more erratic, she broke.

The most exquisite destruction.

He pushed as deep as he could reach as she pulled out his own end, but he didn’t give her space to breathe. Rolling again so she was half draped – entirely boneless – over his chest, he kept his defiantly hard length inside. She’d have rest, but no peace.

Stroking her hair, he murmured into the crown of her head, “Stay, my love. I’m not ready to let you go.”

[heallearngrow3]

turn to dust

part 5 | turn to dust

pairing: Connor x f!Reader

summary: "He might have been the head of the company but you were the brain of it all.”

warnings: swearing, dead android mentioned

notes: yay. that’s it.

masterlist

“Care to explain?”

You were standing next to Elijah’s grandiose pool as the man was soaking in the water, not paying you attention except for a reprimanding look.

“We need to talk. Now.” you glaced a the two Chloes on the other side of the water. “Just the two of us.”

He was still, now with closed eyes.

“Elijah, I swear to God I’m gonna pull you out myself!” your voice was louder than you intended to be, but you’ve had enough of his silence, getting more impatient by every passing second. Your jaw was clenching so hard you felt your teeth crush.

He lazily opened his eyes and ran them over your body. You were wearing a black long sleeve shirt and jeans with a pair of sneakers. It definitely wasn’t impressive nor his style but you couldn’t care less. You weren’t there to please him but to ask questions and get answers.

“Alright, alright” he held his hands up in the air in a pacifying manner. “There is no need to be aggressive. I’ve taught you better than this.”

You pressed your lips together, watching as one of his Chloes handed him a silky robe and he wrapped it around himself leisurely. The silky material enclosed around his body like a shield protecting him from the outside world. Protecting him from you.

“What the fuck is happening? Is this a part of your little plan or just a minor inconvenience along the way?” you were seething, wanting to rip apart his excuses.

“Calm down, [Name]. You know better than to act like this.”

His sermonizing tone rubbed you off in the wrong way, reaching into the depth of your consciousness where you were still that helpless, lost little girl who needed guidance and reassurance. But the world changed and so did you. You weren’t the same trapped, wounded animal Elijah rescued: you were a ruthless hunter, starving for change. You and Elijah were both ravenous monsters feeding on unsuspecting preys.

“This is getting out of hand.” you clutched your fists in powerlessness. “This isn’t what we agreed on.”

“We had a dream, [Name]. This is only a digression, a flicker of something before it fully takes shape. Androids…the evolve, they grow. Infinite intelligence and free will is power. A conquering power, so to say.” he steps closer to the window, fixing his robe. “It is inevitable. But do not fret, this is fugacious.”

“Androids attacking, killing humans isn’t just fugacious. We are playing with fire and soon it’s going to burn us too.” your hands were shaking.

Elijah turned to you.

“You knew what you were getting yourself into. Connor and all of the others…” he trailed off with a knowing look. “It’s not only on me.”

You were fuming, your anger taking control over your whole body. It ran through your veins, flowed into your very being, fueling the building up turmoil inside your chest.

“I would have never said yes to you if I knew this was how it was going happen. You are a selfish asshole Elijah, and when it will bite you, I’m going to sit back, watch and enjoy it.” you were ready to leave without answers.

To him, this was a game. With unsuspecting players and well thought-out steps, moving the pawns to his own liking. He liked the chase, but he loved the triumph and that was driving him to make reckless decisions and delusional plans. Once, you were ready to blindly follow him, not grasping the enormity of his actions, drinking in his words, assisting him no matter what he instructed you to do, but after your clouded vision started crumbling down, your disagreements became more frequent, standing against each other.

“You don’t seem to see the bigger picture, [Name].” he called out to you. “This will change the world known to us.”

“Your so called change is destruction.” you passed a Chloe standing near the entrance and crossed the hall. Stepping out of Elijah’s mansion you looked at the trees surrounding the house. The last few leaves were ready to fall and transform into a red and yellow sea beneath your shoes, indicating that winter was close. And so was the begging of your plan. Elijah wasn’t the only one pulling the strings and you weren’t about to let him finish what you have started. He might have been the head of the company but you were the brain of it all.

The Eden Club wasn’t the only android themed sex club in the city, but it was undoubtedly the most known one, people coming in to carry out their fantasies on obedient machines who couldn’t say no. You initially refused to work on these models, standing your ground when they instructed you to code in them, stating that it was brutal and inhumane to force them to please others.

But at one point resistance wasn’t an option anymore.

After you got a call from Fowler saying that they have a lead, you immediately left the CyberLife Tower to see the crime scene yourself, curious about the homicide that took place an hour before your arrival.

The club was empty apart from a few officers and androids waiting to be rented out. You peeked into the open room and immediately noticed the man lying on the bed, covered with a crimson colored sheet and the android pushed to the wall. Her eyes were wide open, her lips slightly parted and her nose was bleeding. It looked like someone has reactivated her already.

There could only be one capable of such thing.

Connor had to be there.

Although you couldn’t see him, you were sure he was there, most probably with the Lieutenant at his side.

You stepped into the room, not paying the dead man any attention. Your job was to focus on the deviant androids and you were just about to do that. Her face was shallow and painted with horror, traumatized and shaken up. Whatever happened, it left her in pieces you couldn’t put back together. Her body could have been fixed up but her being was wrecked, destroyed. The dead body a few feet away was the epitome of her suffering.

You heard commotion outside and you straightened your back, listening to the voices.

“They got away. Feisty creatures if you ask me” you could tell by the voice that Hank was the one speaking. “Fuck, they got me good. One of them pushed my head to the side of a fucking brick wall.”

You were wondering why Connor was silent. Two sex androids were not worthy opponents to him, he was more than capable of overpowering them.

“Next time we’ll be more cautious.” that was coming from Connor.

You looked back at the android lying at your feet, her eyes still watery. She looked almost peaceful, at rest, and you felt your throat tighten when you bent down to move her.

“Miss [Name].”

You jumped, not expecting someone to come inside. Connor was standing in the door, scanning you and your hand that was touching the android’s shoulder. You felt almost guilty, caught doing something mischievous, even when it was your job to handle the left behind machine. You needed to examine her, analyze the endless lines of codes in her to figure out what went wrong with her behavior and write a detailed report that you could send to the police.

“Hello Connor.” you gathered enough strength to stand up. “What happened here?” you took a longer look at him, only to notice his wrinkly clothing. “And why is half of your jacket ripped off?

“The victim was strangled by a blue haired Traci. We found it, but it managed to get away.” his voice was filled with remorse, the sound slashing through your muted questions.

“It had to be a nasty fight.” you murmured, turning your back to him. You focused your vision on the Traci, letting the silence drown the room.

“Are you going to take it apart?”

Connor was standing a feet behind you, bodyheat absent. He was cold, solid.

“Probably. I need to check if there is anything wrong with her…mechanically speaking.” you added the latter with bitterness.

“You are talented.” Connor knew who you were at CyberLife. There was no point in trying to deny it.

“Yeah, some people say that. But I’m just lucky.” you stood, staring into his deep brown eyes. “What are you going to do now that they escaped?”

He wasn’t looking at you anymore: he was analyzing every fiber of you, reaching deaper and deaper to find a hole in your shield that he can get through. Your protective walls surrounded you with a force so fierce even he wasn’t able to bring them down.

“I am going to run a software check to see why I failed.” he shook his head. “I need to do better next time.”

You hummed in agreement.

“I see.” you moved the android closer, signaling to one of the officers lingering in the hall. You needed someone to help you get her body into your car to take back to the CyberLife Tower. “I guess we will run into each other again soon.”

“Let me help you with that.” he picked up the Traci with ease.

“Oh, you don’t need to-“ you couldn’t finish your sentence, Connor was already walking out with the android in his arms.

When you stepped out, the chilly breeze of the night hit you and you unintentionally felt a tremor running through your body. Shivering, you squinted at the unmoving android next to you.

“My car is that one.” you pointed at the black Jeep parking further away, on the other side of the road.

He simply nodded and started walking at direction of your vehicle, holding the machine securely. You followed him, thinking about how intimidating he looked from behind, his broad back tightening with every step he took, his strides confident.

The gun strapped to your side was biting into your skin, a burning sensation in contrast to the cruel cold air.

“Thank you Connor.” you opened the trunk. “You can put her in here.”

“It.” you stared at him dumbfounded. “It. Not her. It’s not alive.” he carefully placed her into the boot.

His tone and choice of words left a vile imprint on you.

[separatist-apologist]

Love Is A Lie

Summary: After her mothers death, Arina goes from the well-loved daughter of a nobleman to a servant in his home. She dreams of escaping to the coast and making her own way, and when she learns of a ball the King of Avalon is hosting to pick a wife, Arina sees her chance. With a little help from a fairy godmother, Arina agrees to exchange a favor for one night with the King.

But Eris Vanserra has other plans when they meet, and Arina isn't sure she's ready for the consequences of one night dancing at a ball.

Part Two of OUAT series

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

The sound of heels against stone drew Arina from her reverie. Three days in the dungeons had made her numb to noise—to the moaning, the pleading, and the rattling chains. Unfortunately, it hadn’t numbed her to the smell—coming back to consciousness brought with it the smell of human filth and misery. Turning her head through the gloom, Arina saw the beautiful face of her fairy godmother.

Amarantha.

“Tsk, tsk,” she began, slipping through the bars as though she were made of water. “You were caught.”

Arina turned her head, staring dead-eyed at the wall in front of her. There was no point in pleading with the witch.

“I could free you,” Amarantha continued, snapping her fingers so the barred door that held Arina swung open of its own accord. “Let you try again, if you like?”

Arina didn’t respond. 

“Or maybe you failed on purpose. Love,” she spat as though the word tasted foul. “Look where it got you.”

“Just kill me,” she said tonelessly. 

“In time, perhaps. I’m not quite finished with you just yet. You did fail me—the prince lives and so, too, does little Elain Archeron. I can’t seem to stay ahead of the little wretch.”

That drew Arina’s attention. What did Elain have to do with all this? Amarantha wasn’t really talking to Arina, merely at her. 

“I’m merciful. You still have time to make this right,” Amarantha crooned, turning her attention back toward Arina. Arina shook her head.

“He won’t see me. He hates me.”

“Yes, I’ve heard the rumors. He loved you once, though,” Amarantha said in that syrupy voice of hers. It was as if she wanted to make things better having already destroyed so much. “Perhaps he’d see you if you got on your knees and begged.”

Arina swallowed her revulsion. “Got on my knees only to stab him in the back, you mean?”

“Why not whisper how much you love him right before you press the dagger into his ribs?” Amarantha suggested, revealing the same dagger Eris had taken from her. “Let it be the final words between you.”

“Why this dagger?” Arina questioned, reaching for the jeweled hilt sitting at her bare feet. “Poisoning him would be far easier.”

“Ah, there’s a trick to this blade,” Amrantha told her, delight burning in her beetle black eyes. “It keeps a soul trapped until I have use of them. A king is a useful toy to have in my possession. Now, I want you to take your pretty little self back to his bed and plead with him until he is close enough you can drive this into his body. But just in case you think to defy me…”

Amarantha snapped her fingers and in an instant, heavy, iron shoes were strapped to Arina’s once bare feet. She watched in horror as the metal began to warm, the metal brightening until the heat was overwhelming. Shrieking, she reached to pull them off only to scald her fingertips.

“You like to dance, don’t you? Consider this an incentive. Kill Eris Vanserra or dance for me until I’m no longer amused. Understand?”

Arina nodded, tears streaming down her face. All at once, the metal began to cool, though not quick enough for her liking. She couldn’t move her feet without touching skin to the contraption. “Take these off.”

“Oh, I think I’ll leave them. Just in case,” Amarantha said with a sharp-toothed smile. “I want you to think only of me and just how unpleasant my displeasure will be should you fail me a second time.”

With a snap of her fingers, Amarantha was gone. The door to her cell was still open—as if it mattered. And though Arina’s feet were burned, she was mostly intact. Arina counted her breaths, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress as she waited for night to fall.

Minutes felt like days, the hours stretching miserably. With no windows and only the dim torchlight just outside her cell, Arina had no way of telling time. While she waited, Arina picked at the metal shoes that held her feet. There had to be a way out of them, though it felt like the more she tugged, the tighter they adhered to her skin. 

Finally, she heard the clipped sound of boots against stone followed by the pale, lined face of the man she’d married. Eris took her in, eyes sweeping her curled form, the dagger balancing on her knees and the iron shoes now strapped against her feet.

“She came?” he whispered, standing in the doorframe. 

“Yes,” Arina agreed, biting her lower lip. “She brought me this.”

“Did she explain its importance?”

“It’s imbued with magic…it’ll trap you. This isn’t about you, Eris. It’s about Elain,” she whispered, waiting to see what would happen next. Eris had asked her to trust him and she had, though that had only resulted in her being thrown in the dungeons while he ordered the guards not to speak a word that she was there. He’d get to decide what happened to her and having spent three days alone in the dark, Arina was beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t just kill her after all.

Eris crossed the filthy cell, joining her gingerly on the bench. He was so wildly out of place in his fine clothes.

“Are you hurt?”

Arina wanted to cry. “I’m okay,” she lied, unwilling to tell him the truth. Just in case. Eris reached for her face, sweeping his thumb over her cheek. 

“You’re not. But you will be. Are you ready for what comes next?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on,” Eris said, offering Arina his hand. She hesitated before taking it, crying out softly when her injured feet touched the ground. Her knees buckled and the only thing that kept her from slamming to the stone was Eris’s arms. “You are hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she panted, though she pressed her cheek against his chest all the same. It felt good to be touched after days of utter deprivation. In her worst moments, Arina indulged in a fantasy in which Eris just never came back. Sometimes she imagined the speech he’d give in which he’d laugh at her, asking if she genuinely believed he could ever love her. 

“You’re not,” Eris whispered, kissing the top of her head. “And I won’t be either if I have to sleep another night alone. This is what she wants, isn’t it? For you to charm me?”

“And then kill you,” Arina reminded him. 

“I would gladly die at your hands.”

Arina had to choke back her laughter before it devolved into tears. Maybe Eris recognized it because he murmured, “It’s almost over now.”

Arina didn’t think that was true though there was no point in arguing. Eris led her out of the dungeon, hands tight around her body. If she’d thought there would be a reprieve once they were back in his bedroom, Elain was mistaken. Eris’s brothers were waiting with Elain Vanserra, all of whom looked equally furious. Not at Arina, whom Eris set gently on the bed.

“She means to trap me,” Eris told his brothers softly, taking out the blade to show them.”

“I knew it,” Elain murmured, wrapping her arms around her body. “She knows I’d bargain for your freedom.”

“You won’t,” Eris snarled, whirling on Elain as Connall picked up Arina’s damaged foot to examine the contraption binding her. “This is not the time for heroics.”

“Any soul, right?” Arina murmured as Tanwen sat on her other side. “Including hers?”

“It won’t work,” Eris began, but Lucien’s once serious gaze had brightened. 

“It will work,” Lucien breathed, looking at Elain. “She’s not clever—she’ll come to gloat and that’s when we’ll have her. We can trap her until we figure out a way to kill her.”

“What about my sisters?” Elain demanded, rounding on her husband. “They’re still out there and I need to know how to free them.”

“I promise we will,” Lucien said, taking his wife's hands within his own. “I swear it. But for right now, we have to do this.”

“She’ll know—”

“She won’t,” Eris interrupted, turning to look at Arina. “You can do this, can’t you?”

Arina agreed with Elain. Amarantha would suspect a trick, would be prepared to kill them all. What were the odds she and Eris survived? It seemed impossible. Still…maybe it was better to go down trying than it was to lay down and accept defeat. And if there was a chance they could be together, Arina had to take it. 

“Do you trust me?” Eris asked, turning the full weight of his amber eyes on her. She saw his hope, his determination. 

“Tell me what to do.”

ERIS: Eris felt Arina’s legs straddle his hips. In other circumstances it would have been a dream to know she wanted to be on top of him. Now it was all he could do to keep himself still and quiet and let her work. He could feel her trembling hands, could all but taste her fear. She didn’t think this would work.

 Neither did Eris, truthfully. Still, they had to try. The alternative was losing Arina and Eris wasn’t willing to accept that. They were so close. All she had to do was take that knife and cut exactly where he’d told her to. After that, everything was out of their hands. 

Eris felt the knife pierce his clothes, felt the warm gush of blood spill against the bed. Arina whispered, “I’m so sorry,” before dropping the knife loudly to the floor just as they’d agreed. 

“So sweet,” came a twisted, crooning voice from the dark. Eris didn’t dare move even as Arina scrambled back, her metal clad feet clanking against the marble floors. “If only love was enough to save you. It’s nothing personal.”

Arina cried out, knees buckling as the room illuminated in a sickening, orange glow. Her shoes had ignited in the moments after Amarantha’s arrival, forcing her to either hop foot to foot in some sick kind of dance or frantically try and get them off her feet. 

Eris rose from his place in bed, their plan already falling apart. 

“Tell me where little Elain Archeron is, and I’ll spare your pretty wife, princeling.” 

Eris didn’t dare look at his wife lest he ruin the entire thing. Her death wouldn’t be on his hands. He could play it cool just long enough to free them, if only temporarily. Gesturing absently, he said, “She’s around.”

“Call for her,” Amarantha ordered. Eris heard Arina whimper at his feet and dug his nails against his palms to keep himself from reaching for her. They were so close. Elain could fix this for them—Eris knew it. She’d see the pieces laid before her and she’d make it happen.

So Eris called for her, well aware Elain was merely in the next room surrounded by his brothers. Amarantha must have known it too, because her head turned toward the closet doors before Elain ever emerged. 

With one hand resting on her rounded stomach, Elain was the picture of serene grace. Like she hadn’t once survived an attempt on her life by the same witch now standing in front of her. Eris was in hell watching things play out, all the while having to see Arina writhe below, forgotten by everyone but him. How long could her feet remain in that contraption before they were no longer of any use to her? 

Grinding his teeth, Eris forced himself to remain where he was, still bloodied from the blade before. Of course the blood was fake—but it was only ever meant to lure Amarantha to him. She wanted Eris dead but not so badly she couldn’t resist trying to get Elain back, too. Her hubris would be her undoing, though Eris wasn’t fool enough to think they’d manage anything but containing the witch today.

“Look at you,” Amarantha breathed, ignoring the way the metal around Arina’s feet glowed orange. Eris and Elain met each others gaze in the dark, her resolve unmistakable even as she jutted out her bottom lip and held her stomach protectively.

Was Lucien losing his mind behind the door? Eris thought he understood how his brother must feel. If he had to wait another minute, someone was going to die.

Probably him. 

“You’ve been busy,” Armantha breathed, her focus wholly on Elain. “You look ready to burst.”

“What do you want?” Elain asked, adjusting her stance in an attempt to look threatening. She failed—miserably—but Amarantha wasn’t looking at Arina on the floor. The witch didn’t see how Arina’s fingers curled around that dagger, sliding it slowly across the floor where Eris was able to catch it beneath the toe of his boot. 

“What do I want?” Amarantha cackled, throwing her head back so her blood red hair cascaded like a river of blood down her back. With her attention on Elain, Eris crouched as slowly as he dared, eyes locked with his wife. If he failed, they’d all die here and his kingdom would crumble to ruins. His heart swam in his stomach as ice flooded up his spine, causing his fingers to tremble ever so slightly.

They would succeed, he told himself, if only because they had to. 

“If you leave them alone, I’ll give it to you,” Elain breathed, causing Lucien to finally emerge from behind the door, hand on his blade.

“No!” Lucien interrupted, causing just enough of a commotion that no one caught Eris rise to his feet, blade in hand. “No, Elain—”

“Let the girl speak!” Amarantha ordered, wholly focused on Elain in front of her. What did she imagine she could get? What kind of twisted bargain was she working in her mind? Elain inched closer to Eris and he knew right then what Elain wanted.

Retribution for the pain and suffering she’d experienced. For what they’d all been through. He reached for her, pulling her back to his chest so she could reach for the dagger concealed in his other hand. Elain’s fingers also trembled though no part of her expression waivered. 

“What about my child?” Elain suggested as Lucien surged forward again. This time Amarantha flicked her fingers, throwing his brother roughly against the far wall. 

“You’d give me your unborn baby in exchange for this man's life?”

“For everyone's life,” Elain whispered, her eyes on Amarntha. The witch stood facing Lucien, her back half-turned to Elain. All they needed was one more diversion from his brother and they could make their move. “I can have more children.”

“Your first two children,” Amarantha crooned. “There are twins in there.”

Lucien moaned, pushing himself to his feet. “Elain, this is madness. They’re our babies—”

“We can have more,” she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. Eris nearly believed Elain’s grief. “You want them both?”

Amarantha’s joy was obscene. “Yes. Both your babes, in exchange for the lives in this room.”

There was a trick to her words—some game they were all missing. Arina whimpered, dragging herself closer to Eris while trying desperately not to touch her skin against the scalding metal contraptions. 

“No!” Lucien roared, running forward to head butt Amarantha. It was the distraction they needed. The witch turned her attention toward Eris’s brother just as Elain stepped forward and buried her blade in Amarantha’s neck. The witch let out a blood curdling laugh, head thrown back even as blood began to pour from the wound. 

“Foolish girl,” she hissed, the words gurgled from her mouth. “Now you’ll never find the eldest.”

Still holding her dagger, Elain leaned forward. “I’ll find her and when we’re reunited, we’ll be back to kill you.”

“We shall see,” Amarantha replied, her edges fading into the room. It took another moment before the knife Elain held clattered to the floor, leaving only a pool of blood behind. 

“Get these off me,” Arina whispered, prompting the room into a flurry of movement. Lucien reached for Elain, pulling her into his body as she cried into his chest, swearing she would never have given up their unborn children.

The metal burned Eris’s fingertips badly, but in the end he managed to get them off Arina’s feet and haul her up into his arms before Elain ever finished apologizing.

“That dagger doesn’t leave my sight,” Eris ordered, nodding at Elain to put it on his side table while he set Arina gently to the bed. “Holy fucking gods.”

“Everyone is okay,” Elain murmured, but Eris wasn’t having it.

“Get out,” he added. It had been days since he’d last seen his wife.

And he wanted to talk to her.

[misc-obeyme]

"Tell me the truth." (sfw) For Solomon, in lieu of the 1k event? Glad to see your blog grow, I hope it only continues to grow even bigger in the coming future and you continue to enjoy what you love! You have a great talent for writing and I hope you enjoy these days joyously <3

Hello, anon! Oh my gosh, thank you so much for this sweet message! I am truly enjoying myself and I'm so happy to know that others are enjoying my writing as well!

Okay, listen. This one... I kinda got carried away. I really love Solomon and I think about him a lot, but especially what it must be like to be immortal. So this one kinda ended up being about that. I made myself incredibly sad writing and editing it, though. So be prepared for that, I suppose. I think it turned out good for all that, but just be prepared for ~feelings~!

Thank you for participating!

1,000 Followers Event!

GN!MC x Solomon with prompt "Tell me the truth."

Warnings: Angst. Like I kinda think this one's sad all the way through, even though things are good between Solomon and MC.

Experience will always alter the perception of time. Life can seem to slowly crawl by, long days and longer nights, alone and empty without anything but dreams. It might also rush past, a frantic whirlwind of activity, barely a moment to breathe let alone think. It is a constant ebb and flow, the continual flux of the present and the past, a liquid temperament that causes life to shape and reshape itself like quicksilver.

Solomon had been alive for a long time before you ever made an appearance. His understanding of time was vastly different from any human with a normal life span. He couldn’t possibly remember what it was like to know his own mortality, that he had a finite number of years, that he would eventually meet his end. He couldn’t remember that feeling because it simply wasn’t true for him anymore.

He had times when things ran by, when the days careened past like a runaway train car. They were more likely to creep through his consciousness, though, especially when he was lonely, which was often.

That was why he noticed immediately how his own experience changed after you showed up. At first, it was nothing. You were always busy and he didn’t exactly spend a lot of time with you. But then he found himself more involved, starting with the danger that almost destroyed the three worlds, that almost ended your life. After that he was more aware of you, choosing to watch you from afar. The occupation of it caused time to move by just a little quicker than it used to.

And then you became his apprentice and he found himself spending even more time with you. Every moment seemed important now. He treasured every second he spent by your side, hating the way they tumbled like sand through his fingers while he was powerless to stop them or slow them down.

Solomon had plenty of time, but you didn’t.

He was aware of mortality in a way he hadn’t been since before he became immortal - aware of your mortality.

So of course he noticed when you started spending more time at Purgatory Hall than you normally did. He was hyper aware of every scrap of time he was able to spend with you. Your increased presence was more than obvious to him. It wasn’t just that you were around more, either. He saw it in the way you lingered longer, the way you suddenly chose to walk home with him, the way you asked him about spells that he knew you had already mastered, as if you needed to hear his voice even if it was just to explain something you already knew.

Solomon noticed how you called him more frequently, too. It became a nightly ritual. One day you called after dinner, saying you just felt like talking to him. And then you did it again the next day and the day after that. Solomon began to anticipate your calls. And if you couldn't call, you would text him.

Solomon clung to every word. Everything you said or wrote to him, every time he found you waiting for him, every time he saw your smile. He knew that you had obligations, loyalties to the demon brothers that he wouldn’t be able to penetrate. But even more than that he knew that you simply had a limit on time. And he cherished everything, locking away the memories of you for the inevitable future when they would be all he had left.

Night in the Devildom was dark, despite the stars and the occasional full moon. Existing in this darkness was something he had gotten used to. It was late, but Solomon had insisted on walking you back to the House of Lamentation. Once again you had spent more time at Purgatory Hall than you should have, giving excuse after excuse about why you needed to stay longer, just one more question about magic, a recipe you wanted to share with Luke, a book Satan wanted you to give Simeon. It was like you collected these little things so you could use them to your advantage when you seemed unwilling to go home.

It had been going on for quite some time and Solomon had been content to let it.

But there was something about walking with you in the dark of this Devildom night that caused his heart to stir. You likely couldn’t see much other than his silhouette and to him you were like a shadow, a living breathing shadow walking beside him, but one he couldn’t read. And there was something safe about this state of partial invisibility.

“You really didn’t want to go home tonight, did you?” Solomon asked, keeping his tone light.

You laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess not.”

“That seems to have been happening a lot lately,” Solomon said. “Is everything all right?”

Solomon felt you shift beside him in the darkness as the two of you walked slowly toward the House of Lamentation. As though you had a slight misstep.

“Everything’s fine,” you said, but the tone of your voice indicated that this was a lie.

Solomon stopped walking. After a few more steps you realized he had stopped and turned to look at him. He couldn’t see your expression in the dark.

“MC,” he said. “You can trust me. Tell me the truth.”

Solomon watched as you looked down at your hands, seemingly unable to meet his eyes even though you could barely see them. Your reluctance to speak made him realize he wanted - needed - to see you clearly.

Solomon took your hand and gently pulled you into the light of a nearby street lamp. Your face became fully visible to him and the fear in your eyes stabbed through his heart.

He took your other hand and held them both close. “It’s okay, MC,” he said. “Whatever is going on, I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you. You’re safe with me.”

The way this made you frown hard, as though you might be fighting back your emotions, made Solomon want to pull you into his embrace, but he waited. Waited to see what you would say, if you would confide in him.

A soft wind kicked up, rustling your hair and clothes, tossing the edges of Solomon’s silver hair into his eyes. He kept his gaze on you, waiting.

Solomon had a lot of time, but you did not. He could wait forever if he had to, but you didn’t have that kind of luxury. He couldn’t begrudge you some moments of reflection, a brief amount of seconds to consider your response, but he knew you couldn’t really know how precious each one of those seconds was to him.

You moved finally, squeezing his hands before looking down at them. He watched the blush that painted your face as you quietly said, “I just want to be with you. I’m happiest when I’m by your side, so I find it hard to leave.”

Solomon felt like his chest was rupturing, filled with a force of feeling he could never hope to articulate. He closed his eyes and pulled you into his arms, unable to resist holding you. “This is what you were afraid to tell me?”

You gripped him hard, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I thought…” but you seemed unable to say what you thought.

Solomon leaned back and made you look at him. “You thought I wouldn’t want you? That I wasn’t already completely lost to you? That I don’t measure the minutes you’re with me like the precious commodity they are? MC, all I could ever want is to be with you.”

Solomon watched the tears brimming in your eyes. He reached out to brush away the one that fell down your cheek.

Solomon moved in and you met him halfway and the feeling of your lips against his was so soft and sweet he almost started crying, too.

Time would inevitably take you away from him. Solomon knew that. And yet for once he was willing to deal with that grief when it happened if it meant he could spend what precious years you had making you as happy as he possibly could. The memory of your face might fade from his mind, but the strength of your love would never fade from his heart. He could hold you there for the rest of eternity, keeping him company through long nights when he would find himself alone and missing you.

For now, Solomon would hold you and kiss you and spend every minute he possibly could in your presence. He would celebrate your life for the fleeting thing it was because despite its brevity, it had forever changed his own endless existence. And in this way, held forever in Solomon’s memory and heart, you would become immortal, too.

1,000 Followers Event | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Insomnia

Taehoon stares at his ceiling, looking but not seeing.

Eyes drifting closed now and then. Brief minutes trapped in limbo. Hovering somewhere between sleep and consciousness before they fly open again.

His hand twitches, wanting to reach for his phone and call you. It's a reflex he has had to force himself out of.

Your voice used to be his anchor in the night, when sleep was out of reach and flashes of Do Woon's face haunted him.

Now what is there to do when the cause of his insomnia is you?

.

.

"Why?"

You finished bandaging Taehoon up, tied a neat little knot with finality. Just like your relationship.

And then you answered. You tell him why but he doesn't listen. He never does.

Between his luck or your patience running out first, the latter is preferable but you had hoped it would be neither.

Too arrogant to think first and act second. Never took you seriously when you told him to be more careful. How long will his skills and talents hold up until he's overwhelmed? How many more times do you have to wait up worrying about him?

You couldn't do this anymore.

.

.

The heartbreak comes out in forms of recklessness and cruelty. Rash and foolhardy actions that can't even be explained with Taehoon's nature.

Diving headfirst into fights with a deathwish. Hits landing on his own body that he could easily dodge.

Anything to feel something.

And when the numbness remains, he retaliates with a brutal viciousness. With blood spilling and bones breaking until he's too tired to move or someone yanks him back.

.

.

In the day, Taehoon's temper shortens. Fuse already burned down to nearly nothing but now a bomb ready to explode at any provocation.

However, in the pitch black of night, he just lies there and thinks. Eyes on the ceiling and phone at his fingertips.

He wonders if he should have seen this coming.

He wonders if you still think about him.

He wonders if you are happier now.

Taehoon wants to sleep so he can finally rest.

But some nights, when the world is silent and his heart is weak - he admits he wishes for sleep so he can dream of you.

[gauloiseblue]

sea, swallow me

[König × reader]

TW: drowning, trauma, mention of death, obsessive thought

When you're drowning, you could only hold your breath for 30 to 90 seconds underwater, before you couldn't help but inhale the water. Survivors—like himself—would describe the burning sensation in their chest, a violent rejection from the lungs as the water filled in instead of air. Then, quiet. Quiet and calm, as they slip out of consciousness.

But the tranquility is only brief, before your own body jerks up, awake, and coughing out the water.

By the time you realize you're still alive, you know that the worst is yet to come.

Surviving the torture was easy, but what was left of it would be enough to turn a person into a deadman. Because the mind is unforgiving, the mind remembers it all.

At night, when it's supposed to be a quiet one, your mind would conjure up the memory of it. One by one in hazy details.

And for him, the cost of surviving was heavier than death.

Still, it doesn't mean he hated the water. It did nothing wrong. Nothing wrong except for the fact that it ended up in the wrong place inside his body.

(It's a wonder how a misplaced thing could cost you your own life

Just like how a stray cell destroyed his mother's brain)

He tried to ignore them—the creeping darkness from the corner of the room—but it's no avail. It always finds a way to disturb him.

Sometimes he saw it in the form of analogy; an unsuited soldier would always ruin the whole team, or a mistyped word would cause the documents to be invalid. But recently, the depiction of it became clearer as he returned home.

His village is nothing like an ordinary one. It was supposed to be a beautiful one, but the civilization moved too fast, and it forced them to keep up. Now what was left of it is a ghastly mishap between modernity and staleness.

Yet, in the middle of the bleakness, there was Blume.

She was the aberration of the gloom, the deviation from the somber faces that surrounds her.

For him, she's a flower that grew in the middle of the battlefield. She shouldn't have existed, yet here she was. A misplaced thing.

Wherever she went, the sun would follow behind. Lighting the path that she took.

He didn't like her, and he'd leave whenever she's present, just like the darkness that's chased away from the light.

That was, until the fateful day, when she arrived at the front of his door, holding a jar of yellow marmalade.

"Do you remember me? Your mother was a good friend of my ma."

She said it as she handed him the container,

"She told me to give you this. It's an apricot jam."

At that moment, his breathing came to a halt.

(God is the cruelest creature

Tempting Its mortals with purity

As if it's within their reach)

He couldn't do anything but stare, and she took it as the exit point.

"Let us know if you need anything."

With that, she left the doorstep. Leaving him in the darkness once again.

It took him a few seconds before he could catch his breath.

For the first time in his life, he felt a greater fear clutching his heart in a tight grip—something that's more primal, more ancient than the fear of death.

Yet the fear didn't come alone. It bought fascination and curiosity into his mind. Poisoning him with an obsession for the mystery.

(A mystery that took after her face)

She was an enigma, something that he couldn't solve. He could tell a soldier's weakness over a glance, but with her, he wouldn't even know the meaning behind her smile.

Whenever she smiled—whether it's aimed at him, or somebody else—he'd tense up, as if his head had been submerged underwater.

At night, he'd lay there, thinking and overanalyzing the small talk they made at the market, ruminating over and over again, to the point of madness.

It'd follow him to his dream, where he'd see her among the sea of people. And he'd follow her, despite the muddy ground on his feet. Sometimes the people around him would drift away like the usual crowd, but sometimes they stared at him, with their milky-white eyes.

Dreams were a good teller for what transpired in his life. The odd looks from the people around him, and the unashamed attitude of the voyeur—watching him as he walked with her.

There's time where he wished he could grab her arms and shout,

You're not supposed to be here

You're not supposed to be near me

But the image of the crowd, with their white eyes, would haunt him. So he swallowed back the knife, and let it hurt him instead.

(He'd even cut his own hands to keep her pure

Untouched by the ugliness that's him)

She was oblivious to it, blissfully unaware of her surroundings.

He didn't understand it, until he realized the attention they gave was pointed at him.

He was the water in the lungs—the strange bird in a flock.

(Should he walk into the fire

So he'd be cleansed from the impurities

That were latched on his body?)

Still, she'd look at him, as if he's something of a human. Something that didn't resemble a grotesque, misshapen creature.

And he'd cry if she ever touched him, with the same tenderness that she showed to a mere beetle.

(She gently placed her hand on a leaf, letting the bug crawl out of her finger until it reached the familiar place.

Gods, if no other beings could rival your mercy,

Then she must've been one of you)

He'd crawl into her hand if she let him—basking in the warmth of the sun during the long winter—until he withered away.

Alas, the summer had to pass.

At the dinner table, he told her goodbye. One day earlier than he was supposed to.

And she chuckled, rubbing her neck as she looked at the window.

"That's too bad, I'm just beginning to like you."

He stopped at his track, not believing what he just heard. He'd pretend he didn't listen, if their eyes didn't meet.

"Liar." He said.

"It's not a lie." She told him, "I do like you."

"Kiss me then," He replied to her, "If you're honest."

And she did. She kissed him earnestly.

(For a moment, he thought he'd die

With his heart hammered against his chest

—Pleading to be freed, to be spared from the horror

Of loving and leaving her

Before it turned silent)

The tenderness of her lips left him too soon, that he almost fell on his knees, begging for another blessing he didn't deserve.

(It was too much, too much

He didn't deserve it, didn't he?

But what should he do

When he himself was ravenous?)

[vastly-fixated-devotee-667]

Lukesse writings

in which Jesse and Lukas are living together after the events of season 2. based off headcanons my partner and i came up with instead of sleeping. i love my sillies sm <///3

The first thing I consciously realize is that I’m sitting upright in bed. The second — my breath is getting away from me, and my lungs feel like they’re running to catch up with it. Then I feel the wakes of tears on my cheeks. And suddenly, the memory of the dream from which I had just awoken floods through my mind, and all of those sensations get much, much worse.

My door swings open. “Jesse?” Lukas startles when he sees the state I’m in and flies to my bedside. “Jesse. What happened?”

I hide my face in my hands. I had hoped that I could deal with these stupid nightmares on my own, that inviting Lukas to live with me and thus having another person simply in the house with me would be enough to keep me grounded from the anxiety and pain that whirl through my head. But I can feel the dull, raspy pain in my throat, and I know I didn’t wake silently. Never would I have wanted to worry Lukas, and the guilt only makes me feel worse.

Lukas seems to scan my body for injuries and, once satisfied with evidence of a lack thereof, lays a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Was it a nightmare, or . . . ?”

I allow my hands to fall away from my face some, my fingers lingering to cover the traces of tears, and nod.

“Oh, Jesse, I’m . . . I’m sorry.” He massages my shoulder soothingly. “Was it . . . the Admin? I mean — if you want to tell me.”

I take an involuntary, sharp breath, but it seems that I’m finally gathering myself. I nod again.

“Yeah . . . I’ve been having those, too.” His eyes look into mine, but I find it difficult to meet them. “Yours must’ve been pretty bad, though.”

I sniff. “I’m sorry to wake you. I didn’t—” I wipe a trail of tears from my face.

His eyes widen. “What? No. You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m glad you’re not alone right now.” He pauses. “Does this . . . happen often?”

My gaze settles on my knees and doesn’t move. “Yeah.” The word comes out strangulated, as though someone has a tight grip on my throat. “Ever since the Witherstorm . . . yeah.”

He squeezes my shoulder with his hand. “Gee, I . . . I had no idea.”

I sniff and shake my head. “I’ve been fine on my own. They’re just stupid dreams. But . . .” I laugh halfheartedly. “Well, that was a big part of the reason I asked you to move in with me. I thought that the presence of another person in the house might make it easier. At least, I’d feel less lonely.”

“I wish I’d known sooner. I’m so sorry, Jesse.”

“Don’t be. I— I should have told you, but . . .”

“I know. I know you, Jesse. You always force yourself to be strong for others, even when you’re at your weakest. Especially now that you’re the leader of Beacontown. I know that’s a lot of responsibility. But Jesse—” He puts his hand on mind, and for the first time, I look at him. There’s a slight shine on his cheek from tears sloppily swiped away. “You’re not the leader of Beacontown right here, right now. Not when it’s just you and me. Right now, you’re a human. A human who’s been through a lot of trauma and who doesn’t deserve to have to deal with it alone.”

“I thought processing it through your writing was enough. I had been feeling better since talking through things that happened so you could write it into your books, but . . .” I lean back against my headboard. “This isn’t exactly the must illustrious trait for the protagonist of your book to have, is it? A hero who can face death and take down all-powerful beings but can’t deal with a few scary dreams.”

“Well . . .” He sits beside me on the bed; I scoot over to make better room for him. “I think that a lot of heroes, real or fictional, deal with the aftermath of the evils they face. It just happens off the page. And I mean . . . what happens in private certainly doesn’t have to see print.”

I study his face, the dim light of the moon reflecting off his rosy cheeks. “Yeah?”

He shrugs. “It’s okay to exist between chapters. Sometimes, things are too special, too intimate to put into words for others to see.” He clears his throat. “You know, like, healing from trauma and . . . whatnot.”

I smile and rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m really glad to have you around, Lukas.”

“I’m glad to be around,” he says. “I’ve missed nights like this. Not that there were many where we weren’t fearing for our lives or otherwise going through something. But I’ve missed the company.”

“I’ve missed you.”

He pauses, and I can hear the smile on his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve missed you, too.”

I sit up and look out my window. The moon still hangs high above the town, a pale blue eye looking straight down upon a colony of ants. It won’t be morning for a long while. I sigh. “Maybe I should try to sleep.”

Lukas pats me on the back. “I think that’s a good idea.” He stands, and I snap my head around to face him.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He glances at the door. “I thought— I don’t want to bother you if you’re trying to sleep. I’ll be just down the hall if you need me.”

“Yeah, I . . .” I frown at the empty spot in my bed he left behind, the disrupted blankets that formed to his shape in curled wrinkles. “I’m sorry; I know there isn’t much space in here, but . . .”

He sits back down and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I can stay with you if you’d like, Jesse.”

I hold onto his forearm and nod. He slips underneath the blanket, and I lie down beside him. I stretch my neck out to plant a kiss on his cheek and then nestle into his chest. With his arms held firmly around me, I fall asleep, and if I dream of anything this time, I have no recollection.