#so what are you saying is The Sandman had me by the throat

[kirkenovak]

2022 Tumblr Top 10

1. 7258 notes - Sep 6 2022

Death, who’s aware that her brother had been trapped in a basement since the start of the 20th century and only managed to got...

2. 6692 notes - Oct 4 2022

The Corinthian is, like, Dream’s dark mirror, right? Blond to dark haired, extrovert and outgoing to closed off and introvert,...

3. 4933 notes - Sep 22 2022

Oh but imagine Dream glimpsing Hob back in 1389 and immediately deciding they’re getting married right now and whisking him away...

4. 3321 notes - Oct 8 2022

How much you wanna bet that the fist time Dream strolled into Hob’s lacture or was spotted with Hob by Hob’s students outside...

5. 2742 notes - Sep 28 2022

Obsessed with the idea of 1389-1889 Hob being asked to be Dream’s lover, husband, partner and agreeing but also completely...

6. 2503 notes - Sep 25 2022

Speaking of Hob accidentally building Dream a temple in the form of New Inn… a temple to someone like Morpheus is a rare thing...

7. 2213 notes - Sep 20 2022

Ok my favourite Dreamling fic trope is this: Desire, chilling with their 78 concubines, watching Bridgerton on Netflix: … Dream,...

8. 2193 notes - Aug 29 2022

9. 1538 notes - Sep 11 2022

Positively feral, foaming at my mouth at the thought at some random being referring to Hob as “Prince Consort” and Hob being...

10. 1317 notes - Aug 27 2022

Dream circa 1389-1889: looking like a man of means, of wealth, of standing, a lord, a rich man, a noble man, royalty even. Dream...

Created by TumblrTop10

[gojonanami]

BEST PART OF MY DAY - KENTO NANAMI

✴︎ summary: on a bad day, you give nanami just what he needs, and remind him why you are truly the best part of his day. ✴︎ contents: pure domestic fluff, reader and nanami are married, taking care of nanami the way he deserves, making breakfast for nanami ✴︎ wc: 795

“What can I do?” you whisper, whisper in his ear, because you know Kento is having a bad day. You know that he’s having a bad day from the way his shoulders tense and his lips are in a tight line, instead of curled in that small smile. 

“Don’t,” he shakes his head simply, running his fingers through his hair, “I’m okay, sweetheart,” 

And you know that certainly means that he’s not. 

“Are you?” You sit beside him on the couch, one leg tucked under the other, curled up beside him, “because I’m pretty sure you’re not,” you place your chin on his shoulder, “come on, there must be something, even if it’s—“ 

And he’s pulling you into his arms, leaning back on the couch, your body beside him, as he buries his face in your chest, “baby,” you run your fingers through his hair, “is this—“ 

“You’re everything, do you know that, love?” His words are soft, but the impact is heavy, warmth flooding your body at his words, “just a few words from you, and I feel my fatigue melt away, how’s that possible?” 

“New jujutsu technique?” And he snorts, “should I tell Gojo?” 

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, leaning up to press a kiss to your lips, and you smile against his touch, tasting the hint of bitter coffee and the faint taste of melon bread on his lips, “how’re so perfect?” And he’s nosing the nape of your neck, pressing sweet kisses. 

“Well you deserve only the best, Nanami Kento, and what is better than me?” You say teasingly, and he chuckles, a quiet rumble that makes you nearly shiver. 

“Nothing I can think of,” and you’re running your fingers through his hair again and again, pressing sweet kisses to his brow, and his eyes are growing heavy, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to put me to sleep,” 

“Maybe I am, think my husband needs some sleep,” you kiss him softly, “dream about Malaysia, only a few months away,” 

“Not soon enough,” he murmurs, “but you’re all I need, my vacation,” 

You chuckle, pressing sweet kisses to his forehead, “Your 5 to 9?” 

“With no overtime,” he sighs, as you snort, before he’s looking up at you, “the best part of my day,” 

And he’s falling asleep, slipping into the sandman’s grasp, and he only wakes underneath a blanket, in the soft sheets of his bed, morning light streaming in. He blinks sleep from his eyes, a small groan in his throat, as he reaches beside him for you, but only finds an empty space. 

His breath catches — where were you? Panic grips him, until he listens — hearing the quiet sounds of pans and spoons clinking, the soft sounds of your humming, as he slowly settles back, easing himself back into bed for a moment, before slipping from bed. 

He comes out to find you only in one of the blue button ups you had “borrowed” from him - one of three you had on rotation, giving them back only when you had washed them. You were humming along to music playing softly on your phone, as you cooked — you had seemingly picked up his favorites from the bakery nearby and even were making some scrambled eggs for the both of you. 

How did he get so lucky? 

He sneaks up on you, his arms curling around your middle, as you jump slightly, before relaxing into his touch, “Kento, I didn’t wake you, did I?” And he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek — you smelt so good, like lavender, apples, freshly baked bread — “baby—“ 

“No, I just woke up when I didn’t feel you beside me,” he sighs into the nape of your neck, “did you stop by the bakery?” 

“Yes and I think the worker has a crush on you,” you chuckle, as he hears the click of the stove turning off, “she asked about you,” and you turn to face him, lips curled in a teasing smile, “you interested?” 

“No, I’m only interested in my wife,” he hums, finding your lips in a kiss, his lips curling, “my very beautiful wife,” 

“Oh, I’m beautiful? What else am I?” You tease, but then he’s tilting your chin up, lips pressing to your forehead first. 

“Lovely,” he murmurs, as his lips move to one cheek, and then the other, “honest,” lips finding your nose, “far too kind,” and then your lips again, “perfect,” 

“Kento…” and he’s kissing you in earnest now, his hand cupping your cheek, while his other arm curls around the small of your back, “shouldn’t we have breakfast?” 

And he only smiles, speaking before finding your lips again, “it can wait, I have to start my day with the best part of it, don’t I?” 

✴︎ a/n: i woke up to all the edits of nanami and i'm depressed to say the least. but it's okay he's in malaysia with us, right? denial, denial is my only option.

✴︎ taglist: @ethereal-softie, @glaceliy, @yumihisusupermacy

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 13

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

All Falls Down (Prequel)

Series Masterlist

ONCE AGAIN: A BIG ASS SHOUT OUT TO @paigereeder. When I say this chapter would not have gotten done w/o her!!!!

*The gif is what I picture Josh wearing w/ a pair of black Nike shorts and some slides* (in the first part)

~ Friday Night ~

“I’m gonna take ’em upstairs,” Josh whispered to Kiyana just as the credit to COCO started rolling. Kiyana stretched and looked over to her left, where both of her boys were knocked out, leaning on Josh. Kairo thankfully went down at his usual bedtime. Kaiden and Kamari, on the other hand, put up the biggest fight to stay up later with their dad. 

They had almost made it through both movies when their eyes started to droop. Kamari doesn’t play about his sleep. The second he feels Mr. Sandman knocking at his door, he welcomes him with open arms. Kaiden, on the other hand, didn’t want to miss a moment with his dad. He had fallen asleep 15 minutes into the first movie, but when Josh tried to carry him up the steps, Kaiden woke up, protesting that he wasn’t sleeping and he wanted to stay with his dad. 

Kiyana let out a deep sigh when Josh disappeared up the steps with both of their sons—this whole day had been extremely awkward for her. It had only been about four weeks since they signed the papers, and here they were, about to go out on a date tomorrow night. She loved Josh, and nothing would ever change that, but Josh had hurt her badly, and she was terrified of letting him back into her heart. 

Standing up, she started cleaning up the living room, gathering the trash from the snacks the boys and Josh had devoured and taking it into the kitchen. While she was in the kitchen, she decided to pour herself a glass of wine. She went to grab Josh a Diet Coke from the fridge, popped it open, got him a cup of ice, and brought it into the living room for him, placing it on a coaster on the coffee table. 

She continued to tidy up, and by the time Josh came back downstairs, she was done lounging on the couch and catching up on the newest episode of Love Island. Josh plopped down next to Kiyana. He glanced at her, her features illuminated by the TV’s light. Just being this close to her again made him realize how badly he fucked up. She would always be his Key. But, before she was that, she was THEE Kiyana Jackson. Before she had become this powerhouse of a woman, the best mother to his kids, an excellent cook, and a bomb-ass nurse, she was the girl that scared the fuck outta him. He couldn’t even hold a full conversation with her back then because his brain would short circuit; knees weak, arms heavy, butterflies in an all-out war games match in his stomach. The girl that his classmates convinced him he’d never have a chance with because she was leaps and bounds above his league, and he had fucked it up being a dumbass, proving them right.

“You good?” Kiyana asked him with a slight laugh, and he nodded, feeling his cheeks heat up at being caught staring. 

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. Kiyana grabbed the remote, paused the TV, and turned her attention to him. 

“Josh.” 

“C’mere,” he whispered, opening his arms for her. “Please,” he added in a hushed tone when Kiyana didn’t move. She bit her lip and looked at him, contemplating whether she should move closer to him. Sighing, she nodded and scooted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he closed his arms around her. The second she scooted into his arms, it was like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. 

Josh fully relaxed on the couch and closed his eyes. This is what he was missing. The arguing, fighting, and cheating were not what he and Kiyana were about. Their being at odds felt so foreign, and it was mostly his fault. 

“What the hell is this show even about?” Josh asked after a couple of minutes had passed. Kiyana laughed and turned her head so she could look at him. 

“It’s about finding love.” She whispered as her eyes dropped down to his lips.  Josh leaned in slowly, his heart pounding as he closed the distance between them. Josh deepened the kiss, letting out a low moan as Kiyana shifted her position and was now straddling him, with her legs on either side of his hips. Josh’s hands roamed down Kiyana’s back before finally resting on her ass, firmly squeezing it while pulling her closer to him. 

Josh’s phone started to go off, making the both of them groan in displeasure. “Fuck..” Josh groaned, throwing his back against the couch. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, breathing heavily as he read the text message he just received. Kiyana arched her eyebrow as he ran his hand through his hair. 

“What?” 

Josh bit his lip as he looked at her. “Don’t be mad.” He whispered. “But I’ll be right back.” Josh saw the look of disappointment and doubt in her eyes, and he immediately cupped her face and tried to ease her worries. “Don’t do that. I promise it ain’t about no bitch. I’m forever about you. I just got something I gotta handle.”  Kiyana rolled her eyes and removed herself from his lap, settling back on the couch and crossing her arms over her chest. “Key,” Josh called out softly, cupping her chin and turning her face so she could look at him. “Trust me, I’ll be right back.” Kiyana narrowed her eyes but eventually nodded her head.  

“Fine. I guess I’ll see you when you come back.” Josh smiled and pecked her lips. 

“30 minutes tops.” 

“Mmhm,”  Kiyana hummed, and Josh couldn’t blame her for her suspicion. He had been disloyal and ruined their relationship. But this was something he couldn’t tell her because she would definitely try to keep him in the house. Josh sighed and stood from the couch. He bent down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Be right back, Key.” She nodded and pressed play on the remote, continuing her show while he walked over to the key hook and grabbed his car keys. Kiyana let him keep his truck in the garage while he was on the road because someone broke into it the last time he left it at his apartment. 

As Josh walked into the garage,  he knew that no matter how much he reassured Kiyana, there was a lingering doubt in her mind—a scar from past betrayals. Settling into the driver’s seat, he pulled out his phone and re-read the text message he had received. 

Ms Deb(key’s co-worker): Dr. Daniels gets off in 10 min. Do what you want with that information… oh and he drives a black infinity w/ blacked out windows. Plate: DRDAN.  Ms Deb(key’s co-worker): delete this thread… and treat my girl right! 

Josh smiled at the later message and started his car before backing out of the garage and driving towards the hospital. 

Elijah smiled as he made his way out of the hospital. He had a pretty good day: three successful surgeries, and his wife came and surprised him with lunch with his children. That smile was quickly wiped off his face the closer he got to his car. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Elijah seethed, eyeing Josh up and down. 

Josh smirked and pushed himself off of Elijah’s car. “I told ya’ bitch ass I was gonna catch you again, didn’t I?” Josh sneered as he walked into Eli’s personal space. Elijah gulped as he looked around. Josh had a good 20 pounds of muscle on Eli, and to be completely honest, Eli didn’t want to walk around with another black eye. 

Eli held his hand up and took a step back from Josh. “I don’t have time for this,” Elijah said, trying to steady his voice despite the nerves tightening in his chest. “You need to leave.”

“I ain’t going nowhere.” 

“Look—” Tired of hearing Elijah’s voice, Josh lunged at him, landing a right hook on Eli’s jaw and knocking him to the ground.  

“Yeahhh,” Josh cackled, clapping his hands together. “Getcho’ ass up. You wanna put your hands on women? Come put ya hands on me!” Elijah staggered to his feet, his fists clenched in anger as he lunged at Josh, who quickly ducked it and tackled him to the ground. There was nobody here to stop Josh this time. Josh threw punch after punch, getting all his anger out on this low life. 

“Alright, Alright. Enough..” Josh felt someone grab the back of his shirt, trying to stop him from punching Elijah. “You got him, relax.” 

Josh stopped swinging, his chest heaving with the adrenaline and fury, and looked down at Elijah, who looked like he was one punch away from a permanent coma. Elijah’s face was a swollen mess, eyes barely open, and he lay motionless, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. 

Josh felt his shirt being tugged again, and he let the person move him off Elijah. 

“Damn,” Josh looked, and it was the security guard who broke up their fight last time. “He’s lucky you beat his ass in front of the hospital.” The security guy joked, cracking a smile while holding his hand out for Josh to shake. “Main Event Jey Uso, nice to meet you man.” 

Josh’s eyes widened. “Hey Uce-” 

“I already paused the cameras; as soon as I get back to my desk, I’ll delete the footage. I hate women beaters. I lost my mom that way.” Josh’s expression softened, and he shook the guy’s hand. “I’m happy your ex has someone who sticks up for her. If only my mom had someone.” 

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that—” Josh paused, as he didn’t know this guy’s name. 

“Adrian, and hey, it’s cool. You did what you had to do. But uh. You might wanna get outta here. I gotta call this in.” Adrian finished off, holding the walkie-talkie up, and Josh nodded. He glanced down at Elijah, who was starting to move, before giving Adrian a nod, jogging back over to his truck, and leaving. 

Kiyana sat up and looked towards the entryway to the living room when she heard the front door open and close. She knew it was way past thirty minutes because she had watched two more episodes of Love Island. She heard him set the house alarm before he started walking towards the living room. 

“You said thirty minutes.” She muttered before her eyes widened as he walked closer to her and she saw how red and bruised his knuckles were. “Dude, what the fuck?! What did you do?” 

“What I had to.” 

“Josh -” 

“He put his hand on you! He could not get away with that shit Key. I did what I had to do.” Kiyana sighed and gently grabbed his hand, leading him up the stairs and to her bedroom. 

“Sit,” She said, pointing to the bed and Josh quickly obliged. Kiyana then walked into the ensuite bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit before walking back over to Josh and grabbing his hands. 

“You mad huh?” Josh asked, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched Kiyana clean off his knuckles. Kiyana didn’t respond immediately, her gaze focused on cleaning his knuckles. 

“I’m not mad. Just wish you would have told me. Would have loved to get a couple kicks in.” She looked up meeting Josh's eyes and chuckled at the shocked look on his face. “What? I was in shock when he actually grabbed me and he walked away before I could actually T off on his ass.” She said as she stood up and climbed into bed.  Josh stood up as well. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Shoot, next time I’ll let you know then.” He said as he started walking towards the door. 

“Woah! Where are you going?” She asked and he stopped. 

“Was going to the guest room.” He said as more of a question and Kiyana started shaking her head and patted the spot next to her. “Fo’real?” Josh asked, a big ass smile coming onto his face as Kiyana nodded her head. He practically rips his shirt over his head before he throws himself onto the bed next to her, his heart swelling in his chest as he hears her giggle. It has been forever since he’s been the one to make her giggle. 

~ Saturday Afternoon ~

“So you really thinking about giving him another chance?” Kiyana sighed and set down her make-up brush before meeting her mother's eyes in her vanity mirror. 

“Yes,” Kiyana replied softly, her fingers absentmindedly adjusting the brushes in front of her. “Mom -” Kiyana started but Imani held her hand up, stopping her. 

“No, You’re gonna listen to what I have to say, Kiyana Marie.” Kiyana shut her mouth and turned her body so her side was leaning against the back of the vanity chair.  “That man” her mother continued, her voice dripping with disdain,  “Has done so much damage to you. Cheating on you while you were carrying this little angel.” Kiyana rolled her eyes at her mom’s dramatics.  “I was here Key, I seen what his infidelity did to your confidence. I saw the way you frowned at your body when you walked past the mirror and now he gets a second chance for what? To do it all over again.” 

Kiyana felt her shoulders sag as he mother’s words sunk in. “So you think I’m being stupid?” 

“No baby girl. I don’t think you’re being stupid. I just want you to not rush back into this with Josh. I know y’all still love each other and you had to stay in contact with the kids but still remember to put yourself first. Don’t just get back with him because you know Kaiden and Kamari are going to be happy.” 

“I am putting myself first Mom. It’s not just about my sons being happy it’s about me being happy as well. Yes, Josh fu- messed up but everyone deserves a second chance. Isn’t that what you told me? After Dad cheated on you, you stayed. You told me that everyone deserves a second chance.” Imani’s eyes lowered to the floor as Kiyana continued. “Dad has two kids on you and you still stayed. Josh cheated and had no kids. And I tried to move on, but I love Josh and can’t change that.” 

“I just want the best for you Kiyana. And you’re right, I did forgive your father but I don’t want you to be like me. But I understand that you are a grown woman and you need to make these decisions for yourself.” 

“Why are you making it seem like I’m making a mistake?” Kiyana asked, getting irritated with her mother. 

“I’m just saying. You need to learn for yourself. I’m not the only one who thinks this either. Kenyatta feels the same.” Kiyana snorted and turned back around so she could face her vanity again. 

“You mean the serial cheater? He cheated on every girl he was ever with Mom - you know what.” Kiyana paused and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna get dressed now you can go.” 

Imani scoffed “Kiyana” she called out, as Kiyana stood and walked into her walk-in closet. Kiyana rolled her eyes as she came back out with her dress in her hand, hanging off the hanger. “I just don’t want to see you hurt again,” Imani said, to which Kiyana ignored. Imani sighed, picked Kairo up off the bed, and left the room, shutting the door behind her. 

As the door clicked shut, Kiyana took a deep breath and tried to steady her racing thoughts. The sound of her mother’s voice still echoed in her mind, a mix of concern and frustration. She slipped her dress on, trying to focus on the soft fabric against her skin rather than the knot in her stomach.

~ Saturday Night ~

“You can do this,” Kiyana whispered to herself. Her mom had just yelled up the steps, telling her Josh was there. Kiyana could hear her kids going crazy after not seeing him all day. “It’s just Josh. You been on plenty of dates with Josh before.”  Taking a deep breath, Kiyana smoothed down her hair and checked her reflection in the mirror one last time before walking out of her bedroom and walking down the steps to meet Josh. 

She felt herself blush as he let out a low “Damn.” before clearing his throat and walking over to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. “You look beautiful, Key. Doesn’t she look beautiful?” He then asked his sons and they nodded their heads. 

“You look very pretty Mama,” Kaiden said and Kiyana smiled and him, bending down to press a kiss on his head, 

“Thank you, Bean” She then turned to Josh. “You look nice too.” Josh’s cheeks heated up at her compliment. 

“You ready to go?” He asked and she nodded.

“Be good for grandma.” She said to her kids, giving them a quick hug before stepping out the door with Josh. The short walk to his truck was silent. Josh opened the passenger door for her and grabbed her hand, helping her into the truck. 

“You ready to go?” He asked and she nodded.

“Be good for grandma.” She said to her kids, giving them a quick hug before stepping out the door with Josh. The short walk to his truck was silent. Josh opened the passenger door for her and grabbed her hand, helping her into the truck. 

 Kiyana stole glances at Josh as he drove, admiring the way the streetlights illuminated his profile, casting shadows across his chiseled features. At a red light, Josh reached across the console and gently grabbed her hand lacing their fingers together. Kiyana’s heart skipped a beat as Josh’s fingers intertwined with hers. The warmth of his touch sent a thrill up her arm. She glanced at him, catching a glimpse of the soft smile playing on his lips.

“I’m happy you agreed to this date,” Josh muttered, breaking the silence in the car. Kiyana bit the inside of her lip and she looked over at him. 

 "I'm glad too," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Josh smiled and started driving again as the light turned green, the butterflies in his belly intensifying as he felt her squeeze his hand.

“Thank you,” Kiyana smiled at Josh as he pulled out her chair for her. The restaurant he picked was nice and cozy. It was one that neither of them had been at before. He wanted to choose a new restaurant so they could make new memories and weren’t plagued by old ones. 

As Josh settled in his seat across from her, he felt like the luckiest SOB in that restaurant. The second he and Kiyana had walked in, all eyes turned toward her. She had turned so many heads, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at one couple, when the woman reached over and plucked her boyfriend or husband on his forehead when he wouldn’t stop staring at Key. 

“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” The waiter came over and set the free bread down on their table. Kiyana ordered a white while while Josh decided to order a water with a lemon. He wanted to stay sober for the conversation he knew they were going to have. 

As the waiter left, Kiyana took a deep breath and looked directly into Josh’s eyes. The dim candlelight cast a soft glow on her face. “I um- I know we agreed to try to move on, but I think we need to talk about everything first.” She said and Josh nodded. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. “What happened? What made you.” She paused as if she couldn’t bear to say it. “What made you cheat on me?” 

The waitress quickly set their drink down and left as she heard Kiyana’s question. The waitress figured they could wait to eat. 

“Oh god,” Josh whispered, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I don’t know if she told you, but I talked to Samara about this already,” Josh stated to which Kiyana nodded. 

“She told me a little. She also told me to just hear you out.” 

“I- I honestly never meant for anything to go that far. Before this conversation continues, I need you to know that. I need you to know that I will forever beat myself up for doing that to you.” When Kiyana nodded he continued. “I just wanted to vent Key. I just wanted someone to talk to about what I was going through without being told to think about your feelings. And yes it was selfish of me but nobody cared about how I felt. God, it’s so fucking selfish but I just wanted someone to talk to and it went too far.” He finished, not breaking eye contact so she knew how serious he was being. 

“But four months Joshua? You were going on the road fucking her then coming back and fucking me.” 

Joshua looked down, his hands trembling slightly. He knew he had hurt Kiyana deeply, and the guilt weighed heavily on him. “I fucked up Key, I fucked up so damn bad.” He looked back up at her. “But I’m willing to do anything and everything to prove my love and loyalty to you again. I already talked to my boss and a couple of the higher-ups. She been harassing me n’shit and I filed some paperwork against her. She can’t come near me or she’ll be fired.” 

Kiyana felt her face scrunch up at what he said. “So y’all were still messing around?”  

Josh started shaking his head ‘no’ immediately. “Hell no. I stopped messing with her around the time I told you about the affair.” 

Kiyana narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, trying to see how sincere he was being with his words. After knowing him for almost twenty-four years, she knew when he was lying and right now he wasn’t. He was telling her the truth. 

“So what about you telling her that you were gonna divorce me for her.” 

“I never said that.” He answered immediately. “I told you back then that I never said that. That was some dumbshit she said and Joe must’ve overheard her.” 

Kiyana went to ask her next question but was interrupted by the waitress. “Sorry, but um- would y’all like to order now?” Josh and Kiyana broke eye contact to look at the waitress. Josh let out a deep sigh a nodded before ordering a steak meal for himself while Kiyana ordered a pasta dish. The waitress hurried up and scurried away.  Kiyana looked back at Josh and asked her next question. 

“Do you regret it?”  

“Of course I do.” Josh's voice was filled with regret as he met Kiyana's gaze, his eyes reflecting the pain he had caused her. “Do you regret sleeping with Joe?” He asked, just as she took a sip of her wine. Kiyana’s eyes widened as she heard his question. Did she regret sleeping with Joe? 

“I don’t regret it.” She finally said, swallowing a lump in her throat as Josh’s jaw clenched. “You hurt me badly Joshua. Like, I was hurt and confused and he was there. It wasn’t about getting back at you because he’s your cousin. It was,” She paused as she tried to find the right words. “It was you had your fun, so why couldn’t I.”  

Taking a moment to compose himself, Josh locked eyes with Kiyana, his gaze intense yet vulnerable. “I understand” He whispered. He reached across the table grasping her hand in his. “I want us to move past all of this. Do you want there to be an us? Do you want to move past this?” 

Kiyana squeezed Josh's hand tightly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside her. After everything they had been through, the hurt and betrayal, she knew that a decision needed to be made. She took a deep breath and met Josh's gaze. “Yes, I want there to be an us again. I want us to be able to move on from this.” 

Josh's eyes softened, relief washing over his face as he heard Kiyana's words. “Deadass?” 

Kiyana chuckled, nodding her head. “I’m being so deadass right now.” 

“I swear on my life, you won’t regret this Key. Imma do everything I can to prove that I love you and I want you.” 

As they sat there holding hands, a wave of relief washed over both Kiyana and Josh. The weight of their past mistakes and the pain they had caused each other seemed to lighten ever so slightly. They both knew that rebuilding their relationship would not be easy, but they were willing to try. 

“Are you staying here tonight?” Kiyana whispered as she and Josh walked to the front door of her house. 

“If you want me to,” Josh replied and Kiyana nodded, grabbing his hand and leading him into the house. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her ass. Loving the way it swayed as she walked. She kept a firm grasp on his hand as she set the house alarm and walked up the steps. Both of them peeked into their kids' rooms to make sure they were tucking in and sleeping. 

Josh’s heart was beating extremely fast as Kiyana led him into her room.  Kiyana turned to face Josh, her eyes almost black with lust. She closed the distance between them, her body pressing flush against his, and Without a word, she reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his face down to hers and kissing him. Kiyana moaned softly into the kiss, her body trembling with need. She broke away, panting lightly, her eyes locked on Josh's.

“You sure?” He asked and instead of giving him an answer, Kiyana undid the back of her dress and let it fall down her body. Josh watched as the dress fell to her feet, leaving her in just her white lace thong. 

“I’m sure” She whispered before capturing his lips again in a searing kiss. 

KiyanaJackson_

liked by: trinity_fatu, uceyjucey and 3,000 others

view all comments

user: she is 2 fine!

trinity_fatu: girl! 🔥

user: WHO TF WOULD CHEAT ON HER? A DUMBASS THATS WHO!

marrraaa_ : fuckable 🤤

Sorry for any grammar and/ or spelling mistakes. I am dead tired and I wanted to get this chapter out.

Sooo how was this chapter? Give me y'all honest thoughts!...

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

🏷️: @christinabae @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @empressdede @harmshake

@theninthwonder @alyyaanna @nbanenefrmdao @raya-hunter01 @msbigredmachine

@paigereeder @amandairene88 @woahthatshitfat @allmyn1ghts @reignsboy19

@cyberdejos2 @saintaquarius @bebesobrielo @scarlettnoir01 @alichesmi

@xiamentshoneypot @hunnidmilly @jeyusos-girl @li-da-savage @qveenmikaelson

@black-yn @mzv11 @shantinextdoor @sheydnni @zillasvilla

@thatone-girly @xmonetsworld @jeysbae @kill-the-artiste @simpin4pixels

@mindairy @that-one-anxious-mango @mersers-moonypadfoot-prongs @vebner37 @trashbin-nie

@adoreesun @shayaaaaaaa @angiedawn02 @rianasixx @bookuce

@sageispunk @yourbane @yana3sworld @kat3457 @queeny23

@privateeyed95 @melonberry

[diorcities]

an essay on dreams

pairing: haechan (donghyuck) x reader, jeno x reader. genre: angst, smut, fantasy ya. hyudior's halloween stories. content: morally grey characters, slow burn, heavy plot. smut flashes (blowjob, missionary.) riding, fingering (fem receiving), oral sex (fem receiving), mating press, missionary, manhandling, slight handjob. sandman references. prose w poetry. wc: 20k, (but bear w me, it is worth it)

there is a dream you always dream of.

where you fall, infinitely. towards the void, towards space, towards the immensity of the ocean. you don't know. you never know, because you never reach the bottom. that dream you always dream about, about falling without knowing what awaits you is more recurrent than you would like to admit; it scares you more than you'd like to admit. but the most disturbing thing is that the hands that keep you suspended, those who prevent you from falling into the void are the ones that throw you in the first place.

a stranger. a friend. a lover. an enemy.

yet, it was intriguing.

your body shakes off its lethargy and you soon realize that you've been dozing off for a while when you're supposed to study. you find yourself slightly disoriented even though it's still 2 a.m., as if a whole lifetime has passed between the now and a couple of minutes ago; the sensation takes a little bit to wash off when your mouth stretches into an involuntary yawn, too potent to resist your exhaustion. every one of you is in the same dire state.

you embarked on what was meant to be a night of tranquil study, a forlorn endeavor to conquer an all-nighter. yet, at this moment, renjun reclines against jaemin's sturdy shoulder who nods over his notes, struggling to keep his eyes open. chenle has long departed for some ethereal realm where souls find solace while their earthly vessels rest. even there, he's not alone, jisung's always present sporadically responding too fatigued to discern that chenle's not with him, but in the cosmos.

“i was waiting for you” he mumbles at one point, getting no response from his murmuring partner.

and him. why is he here, among all the past nights? scattered on the sofa with no signs of being tired, walks his eyes along the lines of the book before his gaze falls on you and catches you sneaking a glance at him. you clear your throat feeling a rush of energy and turn your attention to the heavy tome on your lap, but the letters change places due to fatigue, and one more second looking at it will cause a migraine. so, you close the heavy book that almost threatens to wake up renjun who startles next to you but remains dreaming peacefully, now with jaemin laying his head on his, as you can no longer hear the meaningless conversation that jisung and chenle are having a few moments ago.

“i think it's just you and me,” you say, seeing how his way of responding to you is by pulling his head to the side, as if he knows something you don’t know yet.

the haze that has fallen on your eyes barely allows you to see his features clearly, but there's no need for that; messy honeycomb hair that he brushes every now and then, delicate hands that surely caress like a lover, brown sugar eyes that now are still on you “why don't you go to sleep?” he asks, and his voice sounds soft and slippery like a warm feeling that drips through your mind. “i can't,” you hear yourself say.

“why?”

he looks really interested. but why does he care so much? it's him who disappears at the moment when everyone else is asleep and appears days later, leaning against the brick wall of the university on any given cold morning, smoking a cigarette with the rest as if he had never left. as if you're the only one who's noticed he wasn't there.

“why don't you go to sleep?” you replicate, and you feel your heart beat slower. “besides, will you be able to study tomorrow with us, anyway?”

he just shrugs his shoulders, “why?”.

where will he go, when he's not around, when you didn't know each other, years ago? will he go to his place? will he tour the city because he has insomnia, like you? because he has nightmares, like you?

“because you'll be behind with us and we'll have to help you keep up.”

“is that so terrible?” he asks now with a composed tone, and due to deprivation, you can't turn back time so you haven't been so insensitive. “sorry,” you apologize, “i'm irritated by this test, that's why i must stay awake,” you finally confess, but is it the truth? doesn't wanting to know if he's going to leave that time have anything to do with the desire of not want to go to bed?

“everyone's asleep,” he points out. but you. the words burn in your tongue when he speaks again, “there's no point in studying while being tired.”

“i'm not tired.” but he knows you're lying, and your cheeks burn at the thought of him knowing that. you are, in the way your eyes stay closed longer than necessary when you blink, startling when an apex of desolate darkness comes and tries to lurks you in., you're too busy trying to soothe the dizzy spell to notice that he has come closer to you.

“go to sleep, star.”

“maybe if you... sleep with me.” donghyuck laughs briefly, shaking his head slightly, and you simply stay there, unable to look away, because one of the strands of his soft hair has moved slightly out of place, and you fight the urge to run your fingers between them. he doesn't lose his composure for a second, even though his cheeks are flushed. “would that be a good dream?”

“ask me tomorrow.”

your eyes close and open heavily, feeling the thick fog of sleep take possession of your mind while his figure seems to change the further you lose the battle. “i'll stay a few more minutes” you grumble in disadvantage of this weird sensation taking over your body, feeling his face being swallowed by the darkness that envelops you, casting shadows over his delicate, angular features. “now, yn.”

“i'm afraid i'll have nightmares about letters changing places if i do,” you say in an exhale.

he raises the corners of his lips, “i'll keep them away.”

his voice vibrates and passes through you in waves, resonating and expanding within you, injecting a silky sedative into your bloodstream. you are not in control of your body. the calming effect that his voice has is hard to battle, letting your head pull back and your arms fall inert on either side of your body, feeling the weight of the book slip like liquid out of your lap, feeling that every second you spend unsuccessfully in regaining control of your body is another second that slips from your fingers until it becomes an unstoppable retreat.

no matter how hard you strive to resist, slumber proves an unyielding force, and gradually, you sink deeper into morpheus domain. your body offers no resistance, your consciousness scatters throughout the boundless universe, wandering towards the endless expanse of the cosmos as the battle, both unfair and treacherous, dissipates.

as the world blurs, he's looking at you. it's his docile and magnanimous voice resounding in every bone that makes your voyage to the gloomy stars less terrible. and as you go there, you were looking at him.

time passes differently on the rem. you don't know how to explain it. it's hard to put into words. there is no activity at instance, only unconsciousness. nothing. and then... the entire universe formed with one pulse. time shrinks and cracks like a wormhole, and you're passing right through it.

your screams are barely a muffled sound in the immense darkness that rushes past you. your lungs fill with frigid air, and each frightened exhalation feels like a stab. fear tightens your stomach as you plummet through the hole. this is the moment when you remember a forgotten detail; it's just a nightmare, despite your emotions being real, despite feeling the terror emanating from your body.

there's always a mist clouding your dreams. something you dread when you close your eyes and find yourself alone for a moment in that darkness. thick, volatile, arcane. a piece of a starless sky, which weaves its own mantle that extinguishes sunlight. it smells like a thunderstorm, like the dark part of the moon. and yet, the terrors that fright the long nights are easily dissolve in liquid twilight when golden threads intervene, transforming the matter into a meteor shower.

and you're falling once again, into the stars. no. you're floating among them.

you are dreaming.

was this a fragment that belonged to the ether before it got lost in the darkness? was it yours? the matter becomes so thin that your unconscious body can pass through it. stranded in the endless void between the stars. but now everything glows.

a cozy bedroom. a café opened at midnight. a party. a city at night. a meadow. a black hole. a beach.

all happening, in the same fraction of time.

the wheat your fingers touch. the rock music that envelops your body not so different from the one that comes out of a jukebox at midnight while you dance slowly. your feet buried in the sand.

your gaze lowers to your feet before looking at the expanse of sea. little by little the sounds come back, and you're listening to the seagulls over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

“are you going to stand there?” chenle startles you as he passes by your side, smiling so openly while he walks away toward the shore, that makes you smile too.

your eyes water from looking straight at him, waiting for an answer, and you find yourself thinking what to say, when someone else does it. “no,” jisung answers with a light laugh.

a sense of unease settles in your stomach. you slice your head for memories of how you ended up in that place when all of a sudden you remember that you haven't woken up yet.

you keep dreaming, but why this dream? where are the others?

why do you seem to be an intruder in your own dream?

“chenle, where are w-…?” your words are cut off. you cut them yourself. your voice…. sounds different; it echoes through space before returning to you in waves, until all that's left is the sound of your pulse pumping behind your ears.

you witness something unusual. jisung and chenle watch you. their faces reveal nothing, frozen in a neutral expression. all of humanity torn from their jovial faces and leaving only a shell that shows no emotion whatsoever.

a thunder strikes the sky, and jisung's face transforms. “what are you doing here?” you hesitate before speaking because you remember how your voice sounded a few moments ago; just like how his sounds like now. “i don't like this dream.” you ask, and everything is unsettling for you. a smile disfigures the boy's pale face, “i do.”

within that inner space, the corner of the universe residing within you, something stirs.

you've never been able to dream. and he often slumbers eternally when you're conscious, only to awaken for fleeting moments, like the ones when you do dream, to play with them. a riddle of ivory and hair as dark as night, celestial as a sculpted statue, perfectly chiseled, with skin as pale as lunar dust, as frigid as thee. you refer to him as nightmare.

nightmare, like the ones that torment you in the long nights. like the monsters that inhabit your head. nightmare, like this one. 

you don't know anything about it, only that it dwells in you. in the immensity of your nightmares. he. who is so wary of the touch of morpheus that takes you out of the rem, where you wake up, breathing erratically.

it's still dark. the room is darkened and you feel that someone is lurking in it. wrap its hands around you, feeling your heart skip a beat as the fear crawls inside, failing to escape the dreaming. “it's me, star. it's donghyuck, it's donghyuck,” his voice tinted with sedative calmness even though you sense your own desperation in it.

you feel his fingers in your hair, as if he can untangle the bad dreams from your head, while his voice continues to feel serene, having an effect on your runaway pulse. you allow yourself to be influenced. it's always this needs to find warmth even in a place on fire. letting your guard down even when your gut says something is wrong, that he feels wrong. “you can't have good dreams.” your breath gets stuck in your throat when you hear his nocturnal voice, “he'll make sure of that.”

your body sits up, and a thud rumble causes jisung to stir in his sleep. the dim light of a forgotten lamp reveals his features in deep sleep. chenle sobs beside you, in trouble. the world becomes silent as his mouth opens but nothing comes out of it, and suddenly his chest becomes still.

jisung mutters something when you're halfway from chenle. you don't hear it until he repeats it, this time more pressing, “wake— up.” your eyes travel to the boy, breathless at jisung's twisted features in a grimace of anguish.

“chenle, wake up.” your hands shake it, but there's no answer. there's nothing.  he's not breathing. “chenle,” you say more urgently, slapping his face a couple of times, “you need to breathe.” your face moves closer to his chest to try to feel his heartbeat; you don't like the revelation at all. “chenle, now!” jisung frets under your attempts to awaken chenle; his murmurs begin to become more frequent and yours more desperate.

“it's just a dream.”

jisung keeps repeating «wake up», and you start to get impatient. in one last attempt, you shift your attention to him. your hands hesitate, suspended in the path it takes you to reach his shoulders, before you do, taking a breath of air. “wake up, now!”

chenle takes a long breath of oxygen behind you, sitting up in the sleeping bag almost as jisung's eyes widen in stupefaction. you feel your head lighter, forcing you to rest your weight on your elbows while catching your breath.

“what the hell was that?” chenle asks in a hoarse voice, casting a glance at jisung before you.

you deny shortly. “you stopped breathing.”

“i know… i was— drowning,” he mentions with a shallow tone.

“what were you dreaming?” you hear yourself asking even though you don't want to know the answer.

his eyes pull away from his friend to answer you. “a beach.”

( ✶ )

donghyuck has disappeared, as usual. and you can't come to the conclusion whether that's bad or good. but it is inevitable to go around the courtyard in search of his presence. try to find him in the cafeteria with the others, or in the library where you thought he would be with jaemin that day. but it is useless, and trying to contact him is even more so. you know you shouldn't worry too much about his absence; donghyuck always comes back. even when it takes days or weeks. and feeling that you would expect it all that time does not end up seeming hopeful or pathetic. because he just doesn't care. he makes no excuses. he gives no explanation. he just appears, as if only one day had passed, as if you had said goodbye yesterday.

and every time, the lapses in which he disappears become larger. at first, it was days; he always came with an excuse about being busy. then weeks. and so on, the lapses will grow wider, until you forget his features. until you forget him.

“don't think too hard, bug.” his voice takes you out of the planet of thoughts, but his eyes remain on the book in his hand, “it's no use.” then his gaze lands on you, and it feels like he can see through you.

“what are we searching for?” jaemin lets you change the subject and focus on the stall. “art project,” he absentmindedly informs, “my teacher wants us to investigate not-so-ordinary things.”

“thats why we're in the fantasy section?” renjun arrives unexpectedly and joins in the casual chat while leaving a pile of books on the shelf where jaemin had left his attention.

“urban fantasy, little bird,” jaemin corrects under the shared chuckles of you and renjun. “troubles with sleeping?” he asks, taking notice of the books renjun had had in his possession just minutes ago.

“per usual. is either i finish my midterms or my midterms finishes me.” he pats his shoulder before taking a seat at the study table designated by the science student committee to chat during breaks.

“nightmares?” jaemin inquires before renjun shakes his head and scares away his words with his hand in a relaxed gesture. “cute, but no.”

your countenance shadows by thoughts entangling as they form, “drowning?” the word escapes from your subconscious before you can stop your mouth and renjun looks at you strangely. “dreaming apnea.”

“you found that in your little search?” jaemin praises with a smug smile that causes renjun to roll his eyes. “are you having dreaming apnea?” he wonders looking at you.

you shake your head. “i—” no. just your taciturn nightmare, until that night. of all of them the one where he was there, and you dreamed. a few seconds of glory before falling down the hole that always waits below, “see you at the red door.” jaemin and renjun say goodbye to you smiling slightly before watching you walk away from the study table towards the exit.

you can't tell them about chenle yet. not without knowing what it means. your mind is fragmented in the fateful night moment when his heart stopped beating and the moment before your nightmare triggered a metamorphosis.

a sharp pain goes through your head just thinking about it. all those dreams, could they be yours? you find yourself trying to calm the drill that slices your brain at the little hint of dreaming when you hear their voices.

“... finds out.”

“... she's not...”

they abruptly shut up as if they feel like you're listening.

jisung's gaze looks sterner than usual when chenle speaks, “d'you think you're safer?”

“no.” his voice is barely a whisper.

chenle sighs audibly, “we can make mistakes, just… don't kill me in one of those.”

jisung laughs.

“it never turned into a nightmare before...”

his words keep echoing in your head for a long time later.

( ✶ )

“an essay on dreams.”

“you must be kidding!” renjun exclaims, throwing his head back to show his annoyance.

“what does that mean anyway?” jisung asks with his mouth full of popcorn, “like, to prove your point you'll fall asleep in front of everyone?” chenle laughs at the other end of the couch.

“hear me out for a second.”

“oh, not again,” replies chenle.

jaemin ignores chenle to answer the confused boy, “i'm doing research about the rem.”

“so dreams and nightmares, then,” mutters renjun.

“the spectrum.”

everyone looks at him, dumbfounded. “how does our brain process dreams? why can't we remember some? is there a fragmented consciousness?...”

you feel donghyuck gaze on you, and when you return it, you discover that he is looking at you strangely. “entertained?”

“very,” you say, feeling the word slide down your tongue and leave a strange aftertaste. you've been feeling weird this week. it's been a few days since you eavesdropped on chenle and jisung, and you don't know how to feel about it. you haven't talked about it; you've kept your distance while the waters calm down. in the meantime, dreaming and having mental lapses in identical proportions are taking your mind lately. dreams that now belong to you. dreams that you can't seem to have enough of. you wake up from them and spend the whole day waiting to go back to bed and dream. this time, what?

a terrace in milan. night walks in new york. a piano in a london theater.

your eyes close under the premise of rem and a thousand and one dreams, but you find yourself unable to fall asleep as you feel commotion in the small living room where everyone is asleep.

but donghyuck.

the bewilderment crawls into your skin, “what…?” but donghyuck presses a finger over his mouth. silence.

your eyes sweep the place, travel to chenle; his chest rises and falls.

another rumble is heard.

“where's renjun?” you question without making a sound.

kitchen.

you get there before him because he has to cross the entire room to catch up with you when you've already changed rooms. the lights are off, and yet the silvery light that trickles through the window is extinguished when it stumbles upon his stretched figure.

even when everything is dark, you can feel his gaze.

“going somewhere?”

you feel him smile. “this late?” your eyes squint to see in more detail. you feel donghyuck get closer. renjun's voice sounds different when he speaks, “i like the night better.”

renjun opens the door, and the light coming in from the moon reveals his closed eyes.

donghyuck gets in the way when you make a pretense of going to renjun. “he's asleep—” you intervene, watching him debate. renjun disappears through the door he has opened before going into the long night “i'll go.”

what he did. what he did to you. the words he said when you thought you were out of the nightmare; you start to think that all of this is happening because of him.

he can see it in the way you look at him.

“i'll bring him back, yn,” he says before letting you go with slight reluctance. his dark eyes are the last thing you see before he disappears in pursuit of renjun.

your breath condenses in your throat as you turn around and hit jisung's sleepy figure squarely. “where are they going?”

you find yourself in the dilemma of whether or not to tell him, when in the end your bad judgment wins out “donghyuck… he, renjun, he's…”

“sleepwalking.” jaemin's yawns as he passes the two of you to close the door. you both stare at him in surprise before he stiffens slightly and speaks, “one of the terrors of the rem spectrum.”

“terrors?”

“nightmares.”

chenle enters the kitchen scratching his stomach, “well, that doesn't sound silly anymore.”

“shouldn't we go after him?” you ask, “what if he gets hurt?” you add after watching jaemin shakes his head.

“donghyuck's with him,” jaemin persuades.

“and magically we should relax?” chenle says incredulously under the eldest's gaze.

after a few long seconds where everyone waits for an elaborate answer, jaemin takes a breath of air and lets out “yes.” with nothing else before heading to the leaving room.

“wait a fucking minute.” chenle goes after him, and consequently, jisung and you too. “that's it? are we leaving the safety of our friend to someone we see every forty days?” he utters without a hint of sleep, watching jaemin shrug his shoulders, “what if he's a werewolf?”

“oh, my god.”

“we're in the middle of halloween, he might as well just be reaching out to us to become one of his kind.”

“okay, kid, enough tv before going to bed.” jaemin lets go, shaking off the chenle's grip, “you too,” he adds, looking at jisung.

due to chenle's heavy gaze, reluctant to give his arm to twist, jaemin snorts, “he's not a fucking werewolf.”

“vampire?”

“no.”

“why do you trust him?” jaemin is surprised at the contrast between his conversation and yours, but when he responds, you feel like he's grateful that you asked.

“i have sleep paralysis.”

“at first i thought it was because of having to work at that bar so i could pay rent and college...” he remains silent and lets himself be swallowed up by his mind going at a thousand revolutions.

“but they turned longer and longer, until i couldn't close my eyes without the fear that i'd be imprisoned in my own body again.”

“he offered to wake me up when that happened. he stayed in my place for a few nights and helped me.”

“did you dream about him?” everyone looks at jisung before jaemin shakes his head.

“why would i dream about him?” chenle adds under his breath before deciding it was good time go back to sleep.

“i mean, has anyone ever?” jisung goes behind him, answering in low volume, leaving you with his words causing swirls in your head.

“have you?” jisung looks over his shoulder at your face, but is only met with a neutral gaze that doesn't reveal the dead-end labyrinths that build up every time you try to reveal a moon phase of donghyuck. “no.” when he's everywhere.

when he knew jaemin for longer and never appeared in his dreams. nor chenle or jisung. no one has ever dreamed of him, and you couldn't dream before that night.

monday comes by, and so tuesday. all at once, the sounds come back to you until they become a swarm from which you have no escape, pulling out of your small universe. the night continues its constant rhythm, forcing you to stay agile, waiting tables in a bar on some forgotten street.

“still don't know why we come here all the time,” chenle says, taking a sip from this beer the moment you left it in front of him as his gaze swept the seedy place where you work half a shift. you smile unapologetically as you leave another one in front of jisung. “cheaper beers,” he answers for you, “and jaemin and yn work here.”

“what's up with the frown?” jaemin's voice blends in with the rest of the chatter, coming in your direction with a sad grimace on his face, mockingly. chenle rolls his eyes, “i'm just saying that we might as well get out of here drunk or dead.”

“it's not that bad, lele,” jisung tries to appease unsuccessfully when chenle scoffs in response. “say that when we get matching stabs in our way out,” he adds with sulkiness.

jaemin clicks his tongue, “stabs are friday's special, don't worry about it today, little prince.”

“ha,ha.”

jaemin stops smiling to adress you, “hey, can you take out the trash?”

your steps guide you towards the door designated for staff, and the voices of the group fade into the distance, swallowed by the sea of souls in that overcrowded establishment. it's quite a challenge to navigate among swaying bodies and avoid the occasional vomit stains; a typical night at the red door. frankly, you have no idea how you ended up there, in that dim corner of the city's harbor, where the majority of the clientele appears to be a curious mix of fishermen and shady characters.

before braving the cold night outside, you cast one final look at the group, attempting to soothe chenle's mood as the icy wind lashes at your face.

a chill envelops the outside, causing the nearest souls to huddle indoors, even though it's bursting at the seams. your breath escapes in ethereal clouds as you step through the door; a single bulb intermittently lights the desolate alley. it flickers in a constant dance of light and darkness, and it's not until the third flicker that you realize you're not alone. three silhouettes wrap themselves in the cold of the night as you put the bags in the bin. it's the midst of october, and the city seems trapped in an endless cycle of rain and snow. the fishermen seek refuge inside that cozy bar before the first light of dawn breaks, prepared for their maritime journey.

they seem to have a pleasant conversation as you redo the march toward the cozy interior of the seedy bar when his laughter reaches you with the wind. 

“tell me, sleepwalker.” his voice, so different from the one he uses with you, is the embodiment of the dark side of the moon, deep as the endless night. “there's a price for our knowledge, my dream,” whispers one of them, his companions barely whisper to each other with a seductive tone, appearing indifferent to the shadowy nuance with which donghyuck addresses them as if they were accustomed to hearing him that way, and you are the only one taken aback by witnessing it for the first time.

the bulb flickers and plunges you into darkness as they continue talking. in one flash, you see his broad back turning towards you. another flicker, and the features of his companions start to emerge as if they are being shaped in the dark time it takes for the bulb to light up the alley once more. your breath freezes in your throat.

“good dreaming, perhaps?” you find yourself considering that the entities he converses with might not be entirely of this world, and that donghyuck is not perturbed, but rather accustomed to their presence.

“doesn't work like that,” he replies with a hint of humor under the fog that causes his voice in you.  “you've done it before,” appeals the other one starting to look more like a woman with each dark flicker. you see donghyuck leaning toward her, and it's impossible to discern when he turns his back to you. you feel the seconds pass with two beats of your heart, as donghyuck regains his composure, and the figure releases a laugh that indicates donghyuck's actions have affected her. your mind undergoes a revolution, not knowing what he has done, filling your head with ideas you don't want to let affect you.

a can blocks your path, disrupting the piercing silence of the alley as you struggle to increase the distance between him and you, while simultaneously shortening the one separating you from the door. suddenly, a dizziness envelops you as his eyes meet yours.

your elusive figure slips back into the bar after having listened to their entire conversation, having gone unnoticed by their radar. donghyuck turns his gaze back to the two women, consumed by dreams, appearing more like specters than humans due to the time they've spent traversing the dream realm. completely stripped of amusement when his eyes lock onto them, one of the women dares to speak, “look at you, so far from home. chasing a myth.”

“what would morpheus think if he sees you?” donghyuck nods in acknowledgment. both figures smile, mirroring each other in a shared consciousness. he remains silent as each passing second takes a toll on the women, now reduced to little more than shadows and uncertainty. their eyes narrow once again as donghyuck addresses them, “ask him yourselves. you're now, awakened.” his voice, brimming with power, issues a gentle reprimand for their roundabout approach. donghyuck watches them dissolve into the cold night, carried away by the wind to their ensnared bodies in the dreaming, before he figures out what to do with you. his eyes trace back to the spot where you vanished before he follows your trail within. 

the darkness envelops the surroundings, weaving a perfect nest for nightmares and terrors. he can hear them, his dreams and nightmares, those dark and eager thoughts yearning to break free from his mind, craving to run wild in the world. his eyes catch the faint golden threads that barely endure; the realm of sweet dreams clings as a fragile inhabitant in that place overrun by nightmares. he sees your figure moving through the crowd, approaching the group of boys who seem to have stepped out of a fairy tale to which you feel you don't quite belong, always yearning to reach the sun and bask in its warmth, despite being destined to settle for shadows and cold. feeling confined and punished by the terrors, yet perceiving a spark in your eyes capable of kindling your own fire if that's what you need to stay warm.

a sturdy arm intercepts the space between your body and that of the group. your eyes follow the limb until they meet a face weathered by the storm, bloodshot eyes, and a repulsive smile. “another round of beer for this table, darling,” he grumbles. his companions cheer as you nod hesitantly, getting ready to go for the drinks, but the arm hasn't budged an inch. “what's wrong? i saw you smiling at that group over there. is there no smile for me?” the beer-stained breath wafts into your nostrils, reminding you to be cautious. the men exchange glances at your lack of reaction, allowing the arm that holds you captive to linger another second with them. you exhale and resume your walk when a jolt rocks your world, and a hand lands on your rear unceremoniously. “give us a smile!” unrestrained chaos erupts due to the man's audacious move, taking you by surprise. laughter erupts at their table as you break free from his grasp with force, the motion propelling you forward until you collide with a solid surface.

you gasp for breath, determined to untangle yourself from the arms that envelop you and keep you captive when your eyes meet donghyuck's gentle gaze before it shifts behind you. you see his eyes cloud over, and you recall the encounter with those specters from a moment ago, prompting you to break free from his grip and put as much distance between him and you as allowed, escaping to the boys who talk about dreams and nightmares.

thanks to jaemin's discoveries from his essay, everyone is more aware of the spectrum, as he often calls it. how nightmares influence sleepers, causing terrors such as apnoea, sleep paralysis, narcolepsy, and sleepwalking; all the things that have been affecting you these past nights.

apnoea. the decease of holding your breath while diving in the ocean of dreaming. sleep paralysis. being conscious while being in the ether. nightmares. darkness that slips into your dreams and turns golden threads into liquid shadows. narcolepsy. the state of the consciousness that gets trapped in the ether. insomnia. inability to enter the dream spectrum, unwelcome.

“...morpheus and the dreamcatcher. how morpheus loved his dreams so much he turned them real.” you hear as you come closer.

“finally,” jaemin greets you before you realize he's talking to someone else. donghyuck has appeared behind you after you left him with those guys; his gaze has darkened. “shall we leave?”

“wait a minute.” chenle's voice interrupts donghyuck's, “is he coming?”

“why wouldn't he?” jaemin replies.

chenle scoffs graceless, “i don't know, jaems, maybe for the fact that all of this is happening when he's around,” he points out, sweeping his glare for approval, “besides, where the fuck is renjun, huh? bet he killed him and…”

“he, what?” renjun arrives without prior notice and places his hand on chenle's shoulder, who startles at the unexpected arrival of the boy. “ren!” jisung hugs the eldest under chenle's gaze.

“oh my god, tell me i'm not the only one who thinks this is a bad idea.”

“you've been thinking bad ideas since we arrived,” mocks jisung.

“whatever.”

your eyes take record of him, as much to everything. how chenle has big blue bags under his eyes, how jisung yawns every now and then, how jaemin seems barely here with you while renjun tries to pretend to be calm while he hasn't stopped fidgeting around.

nothing is said for a long time, but the aura remains the same, kneading the words and connecting them, failing to stay awake in class, being in a complete state of abstinence, being physically but absent. they being unable to sleep without the fear of facing their worst nightmares again, growing with each hopeless exhale, taking more space, becoming more ferocious, annihilating any iota of good dreaming.

“hey.” you blink repeatedly under jaemin's concerned gaze and offer him a reassuring smile before your gaze meets donghyuck's.

and how he looks more tired than ever.

with his bright eyes completely dull, distant expressions and a mind working at high speed behind his gaze lost somewhere in the universe that inhabits his head. he, has been having bad dreams? what will he dream of? what will his taste like? more worrying, how did he do it? making you neglect your duties for the simple fact of making you dream of outer space.

“it's dawning,” you comment, “we should probably get going.”

time fades away as they gather their belongings and venture into the dark night. your mind gets lost in a sea of thoughts before you remember that you've forgotten something, and you quickly retrace your steps back to the bar. you follow your steps automatically to the staff door, and your eyes find the piece of cloth on the coat rack. you take it in your hands, ready to return to your friends, when something catches your attention. the service door is slightly ajar, maybe due to the cold wind, maybe due to unknown hands.

your fingers brush against the doorknob to close it, but in a final breath, you decide to step out into the alley, guided by a hunch.

a thick, dark fog swirls on the wet ground of the alley, while the light bulb in your heart flickers to the rhythm of the sharp whistles in the air. the light reveals their figures, and darkness envelops them as you hear the sounds they make. the light shows the glint of their blades, while the darkness makes you feel more than hear the steel cutting through skin. the light reveals their sinister self-inflicted smiles, and darkness enshrouds them once again.

the dark mist rises and condenses in the spot behind them, taking shape, molding a pair of shoulders draped in black garments, hair as dark as the night, and two eyes that gaze at you with depth. you hear his vicious laughter resonating within you.

( ✶ )

another night descends upon all, and each one tries to find sleep. however, you find yourself willing to stay awake, trying to keep yourself at bay from the clutches of morpheus. you toss and turn on the sofa unable to find rest and choose to remain in the room's dimness.

the memories of that night haunt your thoughts, like persistent shadows refusing to fade. the images of what happened seem to replay in your mind again and again, giving you no respite.

as you're immersed in your thoughts, you sense chenle stirring in his dreams; the dreaming heads of everyone scattered in jaemin's small room like stars, and it all seems to happen again. it feels like an eternity has passed since they were all like this, every laugh, every conversation, every shared look and gesture of camaraderie among them, whose only concern was passing exams. but it's only been two weeks. two weeks without him.

your eyes begin to close unexpectedly. “enough,” you demand from the boy hidden in the shadows. “i'm not doing anything, star.” his eyes look like daydream pools when he looks at you, “you're just tired.”

you struggle against the lethargy that fills your body, reluctant to close your eyes after what you've seen, after witnessing what the darkness conceals. dreams, on the other side of the room, so far out of your reach. nightmares, your recurring companion when you shut your eyes. his tattooed on your subconscious, brimming with ruthless coldness against the specters, ingrained in the alley where the men cut off their own smiles.

“they were evil.” his voice yanks you from your reverie, “they use human bodies to wander through worlds while they sleep,” calm and warm, explains. your gaze darts toward renjun, sleeping. “yes,” he responds as though he'd anticipated your query. “you should’ve come sooner,” you reproach. donghyuck remains reticent as you unload your grievances upon him and allows you to vent until you feel hollow inside, while everything whirls around him. “i couldn't.”

“why?”

the words burn at the tip of your tongue, despite knowing the answer. despite having seen the lines of reality blur and worlds collapse. you can't decide whether to feel fear or relief; you can’t trust him anymore.

you leave donghyuck with the word in his mouth, rolling over on the couch. whatever half-truth he wants to tell you, you don't want to hear it.

it's faster that time. dreams don't put up resistance when you insert yourself into them. and again, you dream the same thing.

the sand you feel between your fingers as real as in the city, with jaemin. in the meadow, with renjun. in a black hole, alone.

you always resort to the same fragment of dream. and even though you stay out of it, the sleep is disturbed. it mutates.

“are you going to stand there?” chenle passes by your side,  smiling so bright, completely ignoring what you see.

your eyes go to the expanse of sea behind them, which now rises in a wave until it blends with the blue of the sky; a sand island caught in the middle. the sounds of seagulls reverberate in the sky until you realize that it is not them but dolphins, using the clouds as waves.

“no,” jisung answers with a light laugh.

“don't make me drown this time,” chenle jokes, and you wonder.

is this chenle's dream or jisung's dream? or perhaps, something in between?

a thunderclap rumbles in every nerve joint at the same time as it does in the ground, forming the wake of the lightning in fingers that protrude from the sand and form rings that touch the sea. your eyes close dejectedly. it's the beginning of the denouement. no matter how you decide to appear, the result is always the same.

“it's a vortex.” you are startled to hear his well-known voice behind you, before you finally see him. his face… almost lights up even though it's shadowed with concern. but there's no doubt he could be containing a sun within. “it's bringing the walls down, so the dream glitches.”

“are you dreaming this too?”

you see the flutter of a strange smile that brightens up his face more, “i'm not dreaming, neither are you.” donghyuck scans the surroundings before taking note of you taking note of him. “this is chenle's dream,” he explains, “and jisung's,” he finally adds.

“they're both dreaming the same dream because of the vortex.”

“what's a vortex?”

“a sleep phenomenon,” he says, meditating. “what happens if it brings the walls down?”

a few seconds pass when your heart stops beating in the wake of his response, “the dreaming will collapse.” and that'll mean there will be no barrier between what is real and what is ethereal, so dreams will run free. and nightmares.

“their whole nature is dangerous. vortex cannot dream so they enters other's people,” donghyuck explains to you, “by doing this, the lines between dreams blurries, and two people dream about each other.” but it's impossible to look at him for long when you have secrets in your eyes. “it must be eradicated.”

“i thought people could dream about other people.”

“chenle is not dreaming about jisung, he is dreaming with jisung,” he remarks, “they're both consciously dreaming together because jisung is causing it.”

your eyes turn to donghyuck. “jisung is the vortex?”

he nods while something heavy settles in your stomach. it all makes sense now. all the inexplicable. everything out of the ordinary. their conversation. the day at the library where chenle was worried that someone would find out. all this time you thought they were talking about you, but they were actually talking about him. they were afraid of him.

what is he?

“what if you're wrong?” you question, wanting to get as far away from him as possible.

“i'm not.” his voice is tinged with regret, as if he were aware that you know he must do something irremediable, at any cost. “i have the entire collective unconscious.”

dreams. conveyed by threads to the planet of dreams, a labyrinth of interwoven strands that shape the entirety of existence, a web spun from something finer than mere dust. exquisitely delicate, suspended in the ethereal air, poised to glide through your fingers and move with the grace of otherworldly tendrils. able to knot and twine, whirl, and stretch, yet they remain unbroken, eternally binding the rem.

some of them are thinner or more delicate. they are malleable. vulnerable. easily influenced if pulled in the right way. they are susceptible to corruption.

sorrow settles on his countenance, “i need to protect the dreaming.”

“by eradicating him. that's your answer for all?”

restlessness. distrust. both emotions intertwine, and you can only sense the unfamiliar essence of something fluttering within you, exploring this place and awakening once more.

“star…,” donghyuck appeals, but you're deep enough. “if he's not dreaming he's not a threat.” you try to convince him back, but his eyes shun yours as if they might cast a spell on him against his will. “don't do this to me.”

“asking you a favor?”

as the sun sinks below the horizon, so does chenle and jisung. a glow casts shadows on his angular features, his eyes encapsulating the sunset as he responds, “because you already know the answer.”

nightmare contorts and twists its form. donghyuck senses that something is amiss when he sees your features contort with what appears to be annoyance and fear. he tries to reach you, but the ground beneath his feet trembles, and before he knows it, the earth beneath your feet splits open, a boulder begins to collapse into the sea that now wets your feet.

his hands reach out to you desperately, you feel them almost touching, keeping you suspended from the abysm.

“let go.” donghyuck's eyes are covered with astonishment, “the dream is collapsing itself.” your voice manages to sound convincing over the sound of the raging sea swallowing the rock. he denies, and you discover that it's not distrust that moves him to keep you in the dream with him, it's panic. “i can protect them, but i can't protect you if you let go.”

for the first time you see hesitation cloud his eyes. uncertainty. wherever you're going, he can't. and it terrifies him.

you were there before. often. “i'll be fine,” you nod, and the movement causes your cheeks to soak wet. “it's just a dream.”

you manage to dispel the uncertainty just a little. enough for him to grant. “you'll have to wake him up,” he informs. his gaze shifts to your clasped hands before you can nod, and your heart prepares under your ribs for the imminent moment of your dream. you see him hesitate. something clouding his mind.

his lips part but you notice the words freeze in his throat; resignation tinges his features as if he is giving up something, before letting you go.

you are reduced to nothing before you expand again and your lungs begin to fill with air. your body only has a few seconds to adjust to the change of states before you go towards the sleeping figure of chenle.

his chest rises and falls, and your pulse resets in relief. wake him up is easier this time. his sleepy eyes open before closing again. the rem state restarting into a new sleep cycle. you're pleased with it before heading to the other dreamer but he's gone.

you look for him in the dark room, before you give up and your body unconsciously heads towards donghyuck's. “donghyuck,” you call him as your hands carefully shake him.

his hair is wet. “hyuck, wake up.” fear grips your insides and begins to climb up your spine when you see him arising.

your face get soaked, feeling his body tense up when you wrap your arms around him, feeling you self-aware of it before you sense his hand resting awkwardly on your back.

your body still has the memory of the night gone by. you must separate yourself from him to make sure that he is the real donghyuck, and not one of the tricks of your mind; when you look at him, his gaze melts into yours. and you have no doubt left.

your close without you being able to help it, “no more nightmares,” he pronounces watching you nod;  the world is already cruel as it is.

you're too tired to fight the tiredness, so you let yourself be deposited on the still warm surface of his sleeping bag. “don’t be afraid of me,” he whispers, and you think he's longing for it.

your hands meet his face blindly. donghyuck holds his breath the moment your fingers brush his lips.

sleep gains more ground, and your hands slide out of his face unwillingly, before he takes them between his.

“star…” he calls, but there's no answer from you.

the seconds go by more slowly, and you have to wait forever to feel his lashes tickling your cheeks. your lips being brushed softly. register in your memory.

you find donghyuck's slightly frozen gaze crumbling when a smile betrays you. “it'd be a good dream,” you say with your voice muffled in his embrace. you sense him nuzzling into you. “if i sleep with you?” he asks, surprising you for even remembering it.

the vortex, the sleepwalkers, his secrets, and your nightmares. all of them can wait, because everything takes a back seat that night. you no longer fear the dark, because you have known his eyes, and you can only feel warmth. an old worship.

“alright, then.”

( ✶ )

renjun plops down on the study table full of papers and coffee, turning cold. jaemin looks away from the book for a few seconds before going back into his reading as chenle is startled by the clatter of the tomes falling against the wood, casting a furtive glance at the boy before continuing to sleep and jisung appears running through the halls as he arrives late for the afternoon of study. everything goes back on track, but something's missing. he's missing.

you navigate oceans of time and hourglasses, listening to conversations that you don't feel like being part of, admiring the perfect picture that makes up their figures trying to solve puzzles and mini-games, once plagued by terrors, forgotten in the back of their minds. because dreams last, nightmares don't.

“what are we looking for, exactly?” a deja vú sentation even though you remember it. back in the library, jaemin is too busy gazing at the bookshelf to pay attention of you staring at him before pronouncing with certain doubt. “the dreamcatcher.”

jaemin looks at you with some amusement, “having bad dreams again?” you shake your head absently under his gaze. “having any.”

where did your nightmares go?

the nightmare sorter possesses a dark and mysterious power. what were once comforting and pleasant dreams for chenle were transformed into terrifying nightmares. for him, his safe haven was always a dream of the infinite sea, where calm waves and the endless horizon filled him with peace. but irony loomed over his mind, as his worst nightmare involved precisely what he loves the most: facing his own death amidst the waters, a victim of the depths that once provided him solace.

in jaemin's dream, his greatest desire has always been to be everywhere, to experience every corner of the world and absorb every possible experience. but the nightmare sorter toyed with his wish and paralysis became his worst enemy, and being trapped in one place tormented him.

after discovering that jisung had been breaking down sleep barriers to dream about his best friend, he barely spends time with any of you. chenle hasn't dreamed of drowning anymore, but the cost of that is mourning jisung's absence. and you can't help but feel responsible for that.

as these dreams turn into nightmares, you realize that space, in its vastness and mystery, has become the recurring theme of your nighttime fears. you didn't know you loved space so much until your nightmares of falling into the void turned into a journey among the stars.

what was his? vanishing? losing track of time? has he ever tell you?

you're afraid to know the answer. you extend the time of acknowledgment and ignore it as you grab your things in a hurry, hearing jaemin's short good luck when you go out in search of him.

you fear that he has vanished again. you fear having to wait another eternity. you fear that everything will go bad. as your pulse ticks an hourglass in countdown, you try to recompose your runaway heart, hoping that so will time, slipping through your fingers. eternity has always been cruel to you, so do knowledge. time is never enough and you've taken so long, so long to realize it, that you're afraid it's too late.

you've always known where to find him.

you lose the memory of how you end up in front of him, and you're aware that the time you've taken hasn't been kind to him.

“you came.” maybe, just maybe you knew all along because he was calling.

“i know.” but not in the sense of always knowing what the other person has said. to recognize a spoken fact. to gain knowledge. no. to know. you now do.

how the cosmos is his most precious asset. the thing for his entire existence.

“let me look out for you.”

“my narcolepsy...,” he appeals. now you can see him. you've always been able to see him for what he really is and that terrifies him.

the night of the vortex, he was afraid of being trapped in the ether. he was afraid you wouldn't wake him up. the nights he refused to sleep because the threat of being trapped in the rem kept him awake. hasn't he had a rest without fear?

“i know, and i still want to.”

he shakes his head. you terrifies him, and the more he immerses himself in you, the harder it will be to do what he has to do. dreams..., dreams are his most precious asset. the cosmos is what he most desires. there are a hundred million dreamers whose dreams he must collect, for they are as fragile as a crystal sphere, and on him depends the balance of the ethereal world, and that balance has been cracking since he began to let his guard down, for you.

yet he's so selfish, that now he sees you barely here with him, inside your head before turning around his bed and landing your eyes on his dark onyx, fixed on you. “go to sleep,” you say to him in a whisper, “i'll keep them away.”

even though it is dark, you see a flash of a smile. “what if i take too long?” he asks, closing his eyes as he faces the ceiling, as if he could see the moon from there. his hand stops feeling his heartbeat under his ribs, dropping it to the side of his body, inches from yours. “i'll bring you back.” to me.

“how will you know where to find me?”

even though it is dark, he can sense your smile.

“i'll always know where to find you.”

he doesn't say anything for a while, and for a moment you think he has already gone. his body suffers a small involuntary spasm as if struggling to stay awake for a few more minutes, before he rolls towards you and his breath combs loose strands of your hair. “come with me,” he says in a sleepy voice. you manage not to look restless when his fingers brush caresses on yours. your senses beat with the same intensity as your heart, and you fear that he can hear them by being so close. “where?” you wonder, stargazing at his eyes, “to my dreams.”

his words remain suspended longer in your head, resonating until they imitate your pulse, until they expand and get under your skin. a mist settles over your mind, and his voice reciting that invitation is diluted as a sedative effect that does not take long to take effect. there is no point in fighting morpheus. it feels like falling down an abyss and your fingers are squeezed harder between donghyuck's by inertia. you're falling, and falling. 

at first, you only feel the beginning of everything. you feel your heartbeats, you feel your fingers, you feel the place where you are; you are aware of yourself. your eyes record the world unfolding before you, evolving as you become more conscious, like a thinking being, and you know you are in the ether. more than knowledge, you can feel it.

and before you can register it, you plunge into the abyss. like layers, you see worlds and spirals passing in a blur before your eyes. your voice sounds strange as an involuntary sound of awe escapes you, gazing at the hundreds of thousands of golden lights adorning the realm. the existence of the whole being a stark contrast to what you usually see when you fall. so many dreams, so many people coexisting in one place, that you'll never manage to grasp or take them all in.

you feel it before you can see it. your body stops falling and remains suspended, and as donghyuck's face shines through the mist, you think: «not a stranger. friend, lover, enemy.» holding your hands, preventing you from continuing to fall. “let me tell you a story,” he finally say, his raspy voice resonating among the realm, “about the great fall.” seconds pass, or maybe an entire eternity, where his gaze reveals nothing, but you fear that yours might show something: betrayal, before his hands release you from yours without reconsideration, and this time you fall...

towards his dreams.

when you find yourself in that place, you feel as ancient as the stars themselves, and a profound comprehension of everything dawns upon you.

in the realm of divinity, there resided a god whose face remained under a veil. you fear that such beauty is only seen by worthy souls. a being so mighty, yet lonely, who found solace amidst the clouds, weaving worlds, weaving dreams. this god had a love for his dreams so profound that he willed them into existence. two catchers, gatherers of the essence, were crafted to shape the rem, threading benevolent dreams into the very fabric of each slumbering mind. and thus, the cosmos came to life.

you watch the universe unfold before your eyes, creating itself, evolving on the fly, revealing a story, and you're almost certain you can hear donghyuck narrating it.

the dreamcatchers executed their duties and responsibilities with unwavering devotion, protecting the dream world of their creator. the very essence of dreaming hinged on their meticulous craftsmanship, with golden dreams as their finest creations. yet, a peculiar injustice prevailed: they could bestow dreams upon others but were forbidden from experiencing their own. this rule kindled a deep dissatisfaction in the elder of the two. it gazed upon the world from its lofty cloud, bestowing dreams with jealousy, and in secret, it harbored a desire to reshape its reality.

its face, beautiful and eternal, reflects discontent. shrouded in jealousy, the dreamcatcher laments feeling such emotions. it senses the injustice every time it's compelled to bestow good dreams and envies the dreamers whose fate is to protect. its visage grows more withered as it lets these emotions swirl within, losing its luster as they grow to poison its soul. its once delicate hands, which once found solace in crafting shimmering desires, now clench into fists when it departs the serene realm and ventures into the unknown, into the vast universe still destined to expand. and it creates.

however, the dreams it planted in their minds transformed into something else, something it couldn't contain within. they turned dark, malevolent and seeped out of its mind into the universe. morpheus soon noticed that something was amiss. the dreamers had been plagued by dreams whose trail was as dark as the nighttime mist. he called them nightmares.

the dreamcatcher pleaded for its forgiveness, but as a great god, mighty and solitary, morpheus could only sympathize with the dreamers. he banished the dreamcatcher from the dream world, the very dream it had once loved with all its heart. thus, unable to create golden conjectures, unable to dream, and forever plagued by its own creations as punishment for what it had done, the dreamcatcher fell, and fell…

towards the void, towards space, towards the immensity of the ocean.

there is a single door in front of you, and behind it, a bright haze seizes your eyes. your fingers brush against the cold knob before you pass through it. covering your eyes in reflex when a bright light scans you before everything returns to normal, and suddenly you are in a café, at night.

the lights are dim and warm, bathing the space where two dancing figures live. it is then that you hear the soft melody; familiar at the behest, as if you had worshipped it in another lifetime. they do not realize that you are there, observing in detail, because the boy looks singularly like someone whose features you never tend to forget.

“that's my favorite song,” you hear your voice say, but your lips remain sealed. “i know,” he answered, his voice muffled by your hair, and you could recognize that voice anywhere, in any version. “it reminds me of you,” you speak again, through the great hall. a version of yourself, close on the spectrum. you watch her look up until she meets donghyuck's and you hear him ask your other version: “what other things remind you of me?” with curiosity. “brown. and chocolate,” you said.

“mhmm...” the scene blurs. it overlaps with another one that occurred later that night. you keep hearing your voice but now you don't see yourself, you're seeing through. he's so close now, you can sense his warmth colliding against your body as colliding stars. “a teddy bear and a museum.” your eyes close when you feel him pushing inside, filling you with him, drinking his moans that he slowly lets out against your lips. “wood and trees. sunsets and sunny days.” your foreheads presses together when he spread your legs and bring them to his waist, rocking in and out in brief strokes, as his features contort into an struggled frown. “fuck... i'm so close,” he whines biting his lips that you kiss right away.

“milk and pearls. a field of grass and sunflowers, and horses running free.”

you sought his gaze, “so am i”.

your whole world shakes and you are short of breath when you are squeezed and spit elsewhere. you're in a cozy hall, but you're not alone. even agitated and dazed, you can hear it. the sounds he accompanies with guttural exhalations that cause your breathing to get stuck in your throat.

it is revealed before you his body scattered on the sofa, with his head pulled back while his wet and swollen mouth lets out gasps that you want to taste on your tongue. completely vulnerable, at the mercy of someone kneeling in front of him, tasting him. “what other things you can do with that mouth?” he whispers to you, now looking at you from above as his cock twitch in your grip. he rolls his eyes and lolls his head back when you bob down to the base of his girth, and back to the tip, circling the sensitive zone with your tongue. he exhales a chuckle, “fu—ck, star.”

star. as in you. this dream, this particular dream doesn't feel like the others. the others looked real, a piece of collective memory of something greater. a collection that crossed barriers and universes to meet in one place: his head. but why don't you have access to it? why is this the first time you have witnessed them? and is this dream his, or is it yours? before you can take registration you are wrapped in an ethereal mantle, turned into nothingness and returning materially elsewhere.

a party.

you see a version of yourself being dragged by donghyuck away from a boy with puppy eyes and someone else whose gaze shine so brightly that he seems to contain the starry night of that evening in his eyes. “i can find my way out on my own, cretin,” you hear you hissed at him, trying to get rid of him to no avail. “you are a jerk. i want you to know that.” you kept ranting as he led you both to the exit, “you bumbling buffoon, always have to mess things up. how i hate you,” you blurted out, seeing that they were past the exit.

“the exit is that…”

“shut the fuck up,” it seems like a deja vú now, when his eyes finally look at you, becoming a witness and not a watcher anymore. “what is going o...?” you say, before he interrupts you, “what were you doing kissing mark?” he asks, fuming.

your laughter fill the air but it doesn't feel like you “you don't tell me what to do, idiot,” you finally say. “do what you want,” he muttered, his face coming dangerously close to yours, a contest of who murdered the other with a stare began. “but do it out of my damn party,” he whispered. his breath tickling your cheeks.

“you're like this because i kissed mark instead of you?” the boy looks at you with surprise and concern in his eyes, staring at you eternally as you're now in control of your body. “w-what?” stutter, before you grab him by the neck and bring him closer to you, joining your lips with his.

the scene evaporates, and their bodies swirl like thick haze spilling into a dark room, where your bodies lay, intertwine. donghyuck's lips devours your mouth fervently with hungry kisses. wanting to appease a long-held desire. wanting to stop a flood of suppressed emotions. his movements becoming erratic, clumsy, desperate. trying to melt into each other, trying to kiss everywhere, touch everywhere. his hips thrusting into your hips in an unexpected movement. feeling his erection against your belly.

your hands run through his chest, shoulders, and neck, until getting into his dark hair, hearing a moan die in your half-open mouth. his body hovers over yours, legs wrapping around his waist as a flame burning in your chest, numbing your common sense, letting yourself be carried away by desire.

“say my name,” you whisper in his ear, “please.”

he towers over you, in all its glory, flexing the muscles that jump under his smooth cinnamon skin. looking at you affectionately with his brown orbs, you can't help but soften you as your hand goes to his cheek, urgent. “yn,” he pronounces.

his voice has always caused you to have mixed feelings, but this time something was missing. it wasn't his voice. it was him. someone else's donghyuck. of some version of you that you wish you could be. better, kinder, less broken.

his lips deposit a kiss on your wrist. brown locks tickling you in instances before wrapping you in his warm gaze, full of cherish that in some inexplicable way has traveled through entire cosmos and has been shared, passed and given to each one of them, to look at you the way they looked at you in every parallels. but you can't stay with him.

“i promised him i'd find him.”

“who?”

“my donghyuck.”

how much time passes, in which you are nothing and everything? in which you see yourself in all your versions, while you vanish like sea foam and slip between his consciousness.

crossing the limbo that inhabits the cosmos in its search, you find the blurred line that separates this world. just a fragile and brittle barrier that houses the dense core of nightmares, containing the thick essence of terrors trapped, far, far away from his dreaming. nightmares from all places, collected from all the sleepers trapped in the one place he thought they'd be out of the reach of the dreamers, in his little ether, having to carry them, for how long?

there is no way to see through it. your breath condenses in the air between as the black mist lashes against the barrier, before stirring until it petrifies again due to the low temperatures. darkness and shadow reigning at the touch of your fingers, its eerie dance a mimicry of something unsettling, moving strangely, as if imitating…

“a black hole.”

your dream. your nightmare. your taciturn lover.

converted in front of you into what you fear most, having self-consciousness to be able to see within, taking your deepest fears and making them its own. the tick essence moves when you touch the barrier. it contracts against itself before evaporating and vanishing into nothing, forming a wormhole where you can see through donghyuck standing on the other side.

your body reacts on its own.

your hands sting when they impact against the cold frozen glass that eats the skin of your palms. “donghyuck.” it's too cold there. your breath condenses in front of you when you call his name, the awakening of knowledge when you notice it comes from the other side. cold, vast, arid. “donghyuck!” the shadow retracts, the haze disperses, and you know it's him. however, it gives in immediately and the dark essence regains strength. it has a will of its own, and you're terrified to know that it has more power than you think. a glorious creation out of control, impossible to contain.

you despair with every passing second and your efforts are futile. breaking the glass is not possible. You're afraid you're not really there. unable to alter the ethereal world, you are just a projection in the space.

your mind races at a thousand revolutions, quickly grasping what that means. you look into the darkness, and the darkness seems to look back at you, before it seems to call you to it, and you respond by becoming more than dust.

your senses stretch and intertwine in a spiral that lulls you into semi-unconsciousness as you stir in your dreams. present, not present. materially, fleetingly. all. nothing. before the icy touch on your arm pulls you out of the planet of dreams. you blink adjusting your sight just to watch a small figure at the foot of your bed.

“mommy.” it takes a while to get used to the environment, completely dizzy and confused, pulling you out of your slumber almost immediately and shooting your body upright the moment you sense him whimpering. “jisoo, sweetheart...” how do you know his name? how are you so certain that you know him, taking him in your arms and comforting him as if you were made created solely for that purpose. to protect him. “i dreamt bad things,” he confesses, rubbing his eyes as you bring him with you under the covers.

you remain silent, stroking his back and hair, lost in your head. with the feeling that you're forgetting something. you look over your shoulder and only find the space next to you empty. your lips leave a small kiss on the crown of his head. “don't worry, love.”

jisoo stands still in your arms as his words linger in your head, echoing in every recessed corner of your soul, gnawing at your insides, and you can't help but feel devastated. you want, you fervently desire to take his nightmares out of him, take them with you, carry them on you. you could use your own soul as a shield, if it meant he never knew that sorrow. “what was your nightmare about, darling?” you whisper in his ear, promising to seek for it in every corner of the cosmos, until it is reduced to little less than nothing.

his little deer eyes glow in the dark like two shiny stars, bright. his sweet little voice speaks, and all your nerve endings tighten so tightly that it hurts when he pronounces, “about you.”

the room fades away, and you're unsure if it's by your will or that of the terrors. someone screams in the distance as your eyes remain closed, reluctant to look further, all the while sensing that your fear is no longer yours but belongs to it. how can it know? how is it so aware? the space grows cold, and you huddle against it to keep its cold fingers at bay, but it envelops you in its arms, and grief and despair settle in your stomach as it takes you with it. it smells of night, of a sky stripped of stars, of endless darkness. you feel a certain comfort, a certain familiarity. the screams cease when you discover it was you in the beginning, now reduced to barely audible sobs that find solace as it shushes you.

the mist solidifies, and you sense the change as your face now presses against a soft yet firm surface, feeling the weight of their arms supporting you. nightmare carries you with it, and your terrors dissipate. you hear a snort followed by a chuckle as you feel your arms wrapping around him, tighter. “tired of screaming, sweetheart? too bad, i'd rather hear them some other time.” their voice is like a liquid storm, like the nocturnal wind. it resembles nothing you've heard before; a night in wakefulness, but above all, it's not like his.

“there's a great feast here, don't you think?” he asks, feeling him permeate everywhere but holding you close to make sure you stay with him.  when you look at him, vague memories start to take shape in your mind, like fragments of a forgotten dream. an uncomfortable feeling envelops you, and recognition grows, crystallizing into a solid image. you've seen this figure before, in the alley, amidst darkness and shadows. you vividly remember what he did to those men, the terror that emanated from him. “time to wake up.”

you're on the verge of letting him take you along, on the verge of allowing yourself to wake up.

“no!” your voice comes out stronger than you expect, causing the nightmare to recoil and look at you with subtle surprise. his hair sways unrealistically like the waves of a sea entirely of the cosmos, and his head tilts back as he listens to you. “he won't mind. he's trapped.” it would be so easy to just leave, to leave him at the mercy of the night terrors. but you can't be surprised when you shake your head, and he shrugs, showing indifference, “your loss.” and vanishes.

the mist stirs as though it greets your return with eager delight. you willingly descend into the unruly tempest, offering yourself as sacrificial allure. donghyuck missed a crucial chapter in the tale. of how the nightmares rebelled against the nightmare sorter, an unceasing thirst for its very essence, an unrelenting, perpetual duty to purvey dreams stolen with a reluctant hand from dreamers, bereft of alternatives. all in the relentless pursuit of quelling its own terrors, to appease its nightmares and prevent them from consuming it.

the swirl of bad dreams roars around you, making your way through the indomitable, self-aware blackness. a creature created out of darkness. no vestiges of giving truce and claiming their new trophy. your trophy. a gold mine compared to the rest. golden dreams as its bearer. you can almost feel the hunger of your peers, awake. you can almost feel your own. the sensations that come back like poison clouding your judgment. it hovers over you almost imposible to see the light, calling you from the depths.

inside the matter is different. your body barely manages to stay on land, even your hair moves like the waves of a dark wave. above, high above your head, you observe his body disturbingly still, and your feet stop skimming the ground to close the space between both.

he casts a golden light almost extinguished. he sleeps where dreams run awake.

“hyuck.” his face seems to have aged a thousand years. your hands brush against his dull and lifeless features, and you are afraid that you are late. “hyuck, wake up.” the dark scenery reveals itself ecstatic, and a tingle rises up your spine as it falls into the realization of what it meant. “no.” it is too late. you've taken too long to find him, and nightmares have claimed him as theirs.

you have broken your promise.

he now belongs to us.

they have overpowered you. they've beaten you in numbers. that being who mocks you cannot be right. it's not; that conscious darkness belongs to you.

“i made you.”

“we are more.”

“no, you're not,” you reply with mockery, “you are what i tell you to be.” the voices fall silent, and the scent they emit clouds your sense of smell. disappointment. sadness. mourning. fear. “you're not here.”

the darkness disperses into a scream that echoes to the ends of the realm as you feel the warm wake of donghyuck's hand perching on yours. his fingers tangle in yours, just as his presence. his breath hits the hidden place on your neck when you hug him for an eternity. inmersed in each other.

“is this where you go, when you're asleep?” you inquire, helping him to get up. “i need to stay here as long as i'm need to,” he explains, too distracted to let go of your hand.

“you shouldn't have entered here,” he adds, reproachfully.

“why did you?”

“i have duties,” he says with an uncommon tone. mortified. hopeless. imprinting a wild emotion, he enunciates every word with them, “i have dreams to take care of.”

“and who takes care of you?”

“i'm fine.” but he's not. when his eyes close to your touch, and his eyebrows gather in a restrained emotion pressing his cheek against your palm for more contact you know he's not. “i made a promise.”

“so did i.” as his gaze spills into yours, his lips burn for saying that he has been looking for you all over the universe. in all parallels. that he would never have dared to enter the tangle of nightmares if he had not believed you were inside it. that you weren't the only one who fell that instance, lost now in the eternal realm, because he followed you. but he keeps it to himself, and instead, he lets himself be carried away by the cooing of your touch, by the softness of your voice, telling him to go home.

as the ethereal shroud unfurls from around you, you're unsure whether mere hours have passed or an entire eternity. you feel the world spin, and it takes a significant effort to pry your eyes open. despite having slept, you're weary as if a thief has stolen your sleep. “the effect will linger for a bit,” you hear his drowsy voice instructing, pulling you from your reverie. how long were you inside his mind? how many days have passed since you went to sleep?

“don't dwell on it too much. it's better not to know.” your eyes open slowly, reinvigorated by his voice rousing you from slumber. it's then that you notice his fingers tracing through the strands of your hair.

the line that once stood wavering is now too blurred to tell when it was crossed, an eternity ago, as you inhale the comforting scent of home that emanates from his body, cradling yours. “how did you do it?” you hear yourself ask, too exhausted to feel intrusive. the dream you now cradle like a relic, forged by his golden threads, turning the darkness into something less than a place where the stars would shine brighter. you sense his chest vibrate as he makes a brief sound in his throat, a sign that he is listening despite being more in the realm of dreams than there with you. “i've known you since i was born.”

he watches you with a multitude of suppressed emotions as you ascend his body and hover above him, your hair cascading like the nightly cloak that always envelops him when he's lost in his dreams. his gaze weaves stars and conjectures as he forms two crescents while smiling with weariness, and longing clouds your judgment.

“how did you know where to find me?” he asks.

as though the constellations themselves had liquefied, trickling into his gaze, your responds “i've known it since i was born.”

your lips spill your essence onto his in a cautious yet passionate encounter. the world recedes, and all at once, the kiss assumes the flavors of countless others, a collective memory. and yet, his lips are the only ones you've been craving all along. your heart beats with a more deliberate cadence, mirroring the unhurried rhythm of the universe as his hands echo the gentle contours of your face feeling his lips parting slightly upon yours, each kiss becoming deeper, each kiss becoming eternal. your mouths unite in the obscurity, an unceasing communion, causing time to unravel and elongate until the boundary between you and him becomes an indistinct, boundless continuum.

donghyuck deposits you back into the comfort of his bed, descending on you until his body is mated to yours. lips and teeth taste your mouth. the elixir of liquid stars savored on your tongue. you cling to his body completely drunk on his longing-flavored kisses. hands tangling in his hair pulling him closer to you, mouths merging in a metamorphosis of tongues and gasps, willing to safeguard each other's sigh rather than break the kiss for air.

his tresses tickle your cheeks, his eyelashes caress your cheekbones and his hands have not left your face. you fear you are being devoured with each kiss deposited on your lips, with the taste of his tongue on yours. you fear that you could become nothing.

you feel his body melt over yours. a gasp leaves his lips extinguished in your mouth as your hands venture down his broad shoulders and arms, firm yet delicate. you hold your breath as his body moves over yours, taking your hands in his above your head as his hips sink against yours. he presses down, rocking against you in an involuntary motion while still kissing you. “star.” his voice wreaks havoc on you, causing a pit to appear in your belly, pushing you down.

clothes begin to get in the way and become scarce. his fingers leave trails wherever he roams, your chest, your belly, until they hover around your legs, touching the inside of your thighs as he drinks your moans from your mouth, bristling your skin. feeling his silky chiseled body move over you, mingling with yours, permeating every corner of you with his presence.

your breath catches as you hear him growl as he rolls onto the bed, pulling away from you. your body burns in the places where he no longer touches you, your lips burn in protest against his.

“what is it?” his shortness of breath mingles with the anguish that assails you when he doesn't speak to you.

meditative, lost, tormented. he's never only in one place. he's everywhere. scattered in other heads, aware of all of them. in vigil. and sometimes, they don't leave him alone, unable to get rid of them, destined always to carry the conscience of dreams, and so, nightmares.

as a struggle takes place in the universe where he's conscious, your hands cradle his face and for an instant, “focus on me.” he hides like a moon phase in the hidden place of your neck, drawing you to him like an anchor that keeps him with you, pulling you onto his lap, you end up sitting in each other's embrace. “hyuck, stay with me.” until his worries become as small as an applesauce that you can push away from his shoulder.

until he finds his way back to you.

and so his mouth.

entangled. a jumble of gasps and glances that seem to repeat each other's name. a religion founded on his lips pressing against your collarbone and his fingers burying themselves in your waist. sucking the bristling skin of his shoulders, the soft skin of his neck, the sweet and comforting scent of his lips, drinking in the other's panting as his length presses against the hot zone of your core. lifting you above him as you feel him venture beneath you, as you feel his fingers wrap around your girth and guide it to brush against you, as you feel yourself spreading up, giving him room as you lower yourself onto it all the way to the base.

both of you furrow your brows at the pleasurable sensation. sensing his member fit snugly wrapped around your silky walls. the hole tingles from you and you bite your lip, feeling full and blissful as donghyuck's hand presses into your belly. you arch involuntarily pushing back your hips. and consequently, moving forth over his lap.

a hiss departs from his lips before his features relax and a pant follows your name that you taste from his mouth open. 

the sounds emerge and fill the room. the touch of your bodies mixes with the gasps. the stars in the sky mingle with the stars in your eyes, and your mouths speak each other's name between kisses until the vast infinity remembers you. little moans and whimpers that you bite from his mouth, that die in yours. precious, like him. tinged with adoration, with need. your body vibrates and enjoys his beneath you, burying itself with each thrust of your hips, stealing your breath as his find yours first, touching the sweet spot inside that give their purpose when your head tilts back and it is impossible to keep your eyes on his daydream eyes.

the firmness of his erection presses against your walls as you rock back and forth, stiff but so soft it slides out before your fingers guide it back into you. you revel in his face fading into the raw pleasure that splices his body. pink lips and bitten a thousand and one times by your mouth. silent guttural sounds you've been deprived of for an eternity.

enernity. eternity.

the world is shrinking. it ends. it resurfaces in the same way that your exhalations soak your mouths. in which your hands are lost in his silky hair and his in your intimacy. suffering a spasm when his graceful fingers begin to trace circles in the swelling of your clitoris, and his warm tongue wraps around one of your erect nipples.

no needs for words. there isn't a language yet invented that can encapsulate the feeling the way your mouths do, nor another way to talk than your eyes, gazing at each other.

you comb his hair, untangling dreams from his head, drugged in the delight of his touch to the beat of your hips riding him. the silky sounds of your dilated pussy coating his cock, ramming completely enraptured by the sensation generated by the liquid sound of your ecstasy sliding and lubricating his length, feeling it hit the soft wall inside you when you go down completely and begin to ride him with short strokes that he controls with his hands on your waist.

you try to suppress the unconscious sounds you let out every time he sinks into you at his pick-up pace accompanied by the liquid splash of your crotch lubricating his cock. donghyuck notices the struggle that blurs your gaze just by looking at you.  “keep doing like that, precious,” he exhales and your hands go to his on your waist, suddenly dazed by his mere voice. “mm-hm, like that.” his voice cuts off at the end of the sentence into a strangled vowel when your insides squeeze around him in a spasm.

you squeal and hold tighter on his hands sensing your whole insides glow. “baby.” the hole in your belly expands and shot euphoria through your bloodstream, and donghyuck holds you closer, til you can hear his heartbeat, or is it yours? a desperate sound leaves your mouth parted open as your legs go numb and your mind spreads in the space. and his grip becomes tighter, “h-hyuck.” your body jolts back and forth along his length buried in your walls and a tingle bathes your limbs. and as the sensation expands towards the edge of the universe, and the stars spills into you as he lets out your name caught between one last exhausted moan, and you fall, asleep.

and it happens. all at once. at the same time.

the memories you've been deprived of as punishment. to be completely alone in the vast infinity, now filled with extracts of essence collected from different places from a shared conscious of you, in all alternate universes with his presence. feeling completely comforted that there are other stories, where everything is simpler, where love prevails in most of them. where there are a thousand and one scenarios where you and donghyuck always manage to find each other.

this piece of consciousness that was long stripped of you, as if morpheus knew that leaving you alone with your own nightmares wouldn't punish enough, he also took away your memories with donghyuck. he let you forget him and distrust him, and you couldn't conceive which part of the punishment was worse: to be the one who forgets, or to be the one who is forgotten.

it takes you a while to get used to the uncovering of memories from a collective memory. as you are now aware of everything around you. and yet, the dilemma of whether it's a dream or a reality still remains.

“dream?” you ask him, so close to his face you can see his moles forming a little constellation. your little constellation.

“dreamlike.”

you bet his dreams taste exquisite but his lips taste more so.

( ✶ )

you feel it before you can hear it. the change in matter that floats around you. join in total alertness, while you continue your work as if you don't notice the way your hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. humming a stray song while trying to sharpen what your subconscious tells you to pay attention to, but only a fraction of a second has passed, and the intruder is gone again.

he's been coming for three nights now. at first, you felt something detach from your chest, the absence where it once was now with a hole that threatened to eat itself. a silky, cold sensation that slips away into the starless night. you can't help but think it's due to a collateral action after donghyuck showed you the dreaming, and stole you from his embrace that never failed to rip you from morpheus, so you could rest on his instead.

your steps take you back to the cozy room and to the tangle of legs and sheets in which you had managed to emerge victorious a few hours ago. something flutters in your chest as you watch him sleep peacefully, oblivious to the anguish that grips your insides as you imagine this same scenario without you. sleeping, trapped in the ether. you're not capable of aging, you doubt that you're not eternal, but time has always been your rival. and while he sleeps, time narrows, expands, moves.

all this time he's been away, he's only been asleep. and you don't find anything sadder than that, you don't find any comfort in knowing it either. because without him, the cosmos protector, dreams run wild. affordable, manipulable, fragile. tender, like the soft skin exposed by his sweatpants, golden as his touch. tempting, like his wet mouth, part open. vulnerable, such as the area behind his ears.

all this time, you were looking out for his dreams.

your lips sit on the warm skin of his stomach and it takes all your willpower not to venture out, just far enough away to go up to his chest and caress his collarbones. kisses deposited in the valley of his neck until you reach his cheeks.

“wake up.” the room stay still. you hold your breath.

before your eyes register the awakening. slowly coming out of the ether, his eyelashes fluttering with the laziness of someone who is still drowsy. you leave a chaste kiss on his cheeks, suddenly pink-tinged and find yourself doubting whether he's able to stay aware of what's going on with his body when he's lost somewhere else.

it takes seconds for him to recover from his trip to the stars, where he receives everything you give him: water, in case he gets thirsty, a half-finished sandwich and headache pills. you look at him with urgency as the sandwich is finished and you can't find his movements so endearing, especially when he grabs you by the cheeks and his lips leave a tender kiss on your mouth.

his body returns to the cozy nest that the sheets form with you. he kisses you urgently, eyes darkening at the sight of you, out of breath because, you had spent so much time fearing darkness when now it only reminds you of him. “how's the dreaming?,” you ask, cradling his face. “so fucking long,” he mutters before you're kissed again.

your body is trapped underneath his and you can't help but melt with every caress his fingers leave as he settles between your legs while slowly kissing you. lips splitting in a moan to make room for his silky tongue sliding into your needy mouth. your senses are wriggled in a bundle of sensations that explode after a long time without him. your skin crawls. and he slides his fingers along your stomach.

you're embarrassed that he knows how much you've missed him. how ecstatic you are just for a few kisses because you've been without them for a fraction of eternity. he suppresses a curse when you feel so silky, “so wet.” fingers smoothly sliding down your folds as his lips drift off to your exposed neck. your mouth opens in a silent gasp as you feel his digits move in circles in the swollen area of your pussy.

a sweet sensation forms there where he touches. you're out of breath. a smile forming in your lips that he tastes later with this mouth. your feelings are wired at the destructive kiss, melting you entirely. you couldn't resist the moans, coming from your mouth as a prayer that only he could fulfill. as your body twirled from his touch, wanting more.

“hyuck.” your stomach feels on fire. your whole body buzzes to his fingers slowly stimulating your clit. “keep saying my name like that.” your body arches involuntarily as you feel the embers come down to your crotch and slide into your legs, completely devastated.

dying moans as dying stars. needy. eager. your hands fisted in his chest while his fingers venture dangerously down before feeling them inserting inside.

his fingers expanding you as he adjusts them within your walls release a pleasant sensation that makes your eyes roll behind your eyelids. “so tight, star.” a hiss assails you when you feel your skin tingling the moment he starts to pump his digits in you, “i can't wait to fuck you.”

he exhales when your fingers travel to your clit. hands now touching while his are inside you. the brief touches of your skins cause a shiver to run through your entire body. his voice is ten times darker than before, deep and filled with raw desire, “feels good?” fingers curling gently while constantly stroking your sensitive wall. “too— good.”

you missed him. you missed him an entire lifetime. as his fingers wreak havoc on you and his voice tells you how pretty you are, your whole body reacts in electricity, shooting on your bloodstream, reaching your belly. “you take my fingers so well, mhm?” donghyuck feels the waves on his fingers still moving inside while you pass your high.

he lets out a hearty laugh when your fingers travel to his body, needily removing his clothes. you don't really care that he knows how much you crave him. how much your body calls his name. how much it hurts you to want him inside. he rejoices to see you undress him and take off your pajamas and panties yourself, how willing you are for him to fuck you.

he spreads your legs and enjoys the sight of your swollen and flushed pussy soaking his fingers.

you hear him moaning under his breath, “i want to taste you, baby. fuck, i need it so bad.” his words wreak havoc on your lower belly, and you find yourself squeezing nothing; you want it too.

he devours you completely, and your breath is choppy only with his mouth working miracles on your already sensitive folds. his breath hits the right area that makes your eyes close tightly, and exhale with difficulty, “you taste so good after i fingered you.” his tongue moves over the hard skin of your clit and you swear you're about to combust.

your hands tangle in his hair as the lashes of his tongue take your breath away. his warm breath flushes all over your skin as he opens his mouth and starts sucking gently. your throat feels pasty when a moan reverberates in your chest as you feel a sharp tingle in your belly. “shit,” you pant, feeling your stomach tighten and your whole body sinking into the mattress. senses going numb to donghyuck humming in delight against your skin before he feels your body convulse slightly, and quickly using his warm palm to keep your legs from closing when a sharp sensation rip you apart. “take it. take me.”

a strangled sound comes out of your mouth before you feel your body sink into violent spasms. the raw desire injected into your bloodstream is too much for you to process in one go, leaving you completely light and inebriated, tense and contorted under his heavy gaze, drinking the sight of your naked body still suffering the aftermath of his acts on you.

something glows behind his dilated pupils when you recover your blurry sight. watching him hovering over you, you looked in his eyes, two dark orbs, consumed entirely by the pupil; a black hole that you wouldn't mind falling into.

a guttural grunt escapes his lips as he feels your fingers curl around his wet girth. you stifle a gasp as you feel it hard. hands moving up and down, stroking his dick as exerting pressure. feeling his delicate cock warm and soft, you gently stimulate it. donghyuck's head falls forward, and you bite your lip, delighting in the sight of his blushing penis, glistening with precum pearls.

“say that you want me,” he utters, “that i'm yours.”

words get stuck in your throat, you feel a rush of ecstasy when you guide him in, watching him being affected by you when he slides fully. “we belong to each other.”

you can only let yourself be carried away by the uncontrolled sensation caused by his cock deliciously entering inside. a sweet burn takes your breath away as you feel him so thick, settling inside you, pressing against your aroused walls. a tremor shakes your legs when he stands still for you to adjust around him; his lips are part open absorbing the way your nerves clenched around him, your fingers squeeze around the tender skin of his arms when you feel him push inward.

you feel so overwhelmed that your legs don't respond to your stimuli, completely, irrevocably, eagerly at his will.

a deep moan escapes from his lips. “you feel good,” he whispers as you feel him starting to thrust you. a hiss assails you, still sore from his fingers, “i'll be gentle.”

his mouth leaves moist kisses on yours half-open, unable to generate a single coherent thought other than the arcane pleasure that welcomes you every time you feel him sliding in and out, steady. sharply. “so good for me.” he adds in a moan, a hidden feeling of belonging while passionately pounding you: «just for me». “soaking my dick so g-good, taking me so good— oh,” he murmurs, twitching his face, “always wet and tight no matter how much i fuck you, huh?” he breathes heavily against you open mouth before he traps your lower lip in his teeth.

his tongue enters your mouth and makes you feel all the voracious desire he has to make you his, imprinted in his kisses, in the way his fingers bury themselves in your soft skin while his girth is buried into you over and over, leaving you breathless.

your voice, clouded by the euphoria that is unleashed in your stomach, can barely hiss with a deep groan “f-feels good.” your cheeks are wet, eyes under the haze of tears of pleasure that involuntarily shake you when he pushes against your intimacy. your eyes open only to take record of him, looking so hauntingly beautiful. holy. eyes clouded by the simmering desire in his dilated pupils as he admires you take his cock, letting out all these emotions he feels at the same time in moans and grunts that delight your ears every time he sinks into you.

“mine.”

“always—, my yn.”

a pride catches you knowing that you are his.

his tongue enters your mouth and makes you feel all the voracious desire he has to make you his, imprinted in his kisses, in the way his fingers bury themselves in your soft skin while his girth is buried into you over and over, leaving you breathless.

a demolished feeling shaking your body under his heavy gaze when he wraps his arm under your thighs and brings them to your ribs. your whole self fixed in the way he fucks you deeper. “o-oh shit,” you shudder. “you're d-doing so good.” he hovers over you with an exhale, “soaking wet for me,” pressing you against the mattress, his dick hammers your cunt sharply, causing your eyes to slam shut. your drenched pussy accompanies his thrusts with the lascivious sound of your arousal coating his girth every time it goes in and out. feeling his warm breath in your ear as he slams his pelvis rhythmically into you, taking exhales with each thrust. “oh— fuck.” it feels so good. he feels so good. you're a whole mess of thoughts, speechless. a jumble of gasping and sobbing and yet the only thing that comes from your mouth is his name in your shaky voice.

“you're making me feel so— good calling my name.” donghyuck opens his mouth to let out a wild growl that causes your legs to tremble. his eyes are two pools that take you to the abyss. blushing with labored breathing, your neck burns when you are aware that it is because of you. feeling your swollen pussy throbbing with sharp pleasure, which tears your belly at him constantly hitting every nerve in you.

his expert moves shift your body with ease. he puts you in different positions that cause screams in you. completely carried away by the crushing of his pelvis pounding you, rough and raw. “hyuck!” a pant of surprise assails you at the simple thought of him shifting you in a heartbeat before your thoughts get messy and lose the thread when you sense the warm feeling of him inside you again, stretching you with smoothness every time. arching your back as a silent moan burns in your throat.

you want him closer. you want him to shatter you.

your fingers tangle in his hair as you feel his hands hug your waist. your legs roll up slightly at his hips, pelvis suspended inches from the mattress.  you roll your eyes when you feel him still erect slipping inside you and pressing his tip against a weird but delicious angle. you're completely numb. your fingers go to the base of his penis, wetting your fingers with the creamy ring that formed the constant hammering on you. staying in the same position when you feel him insert it all the way in, the rubbing of your fingers sending shivers down your spine.

“just like that, baby,” you whisper under your breath as donghyuck penetrates you again and again, slowly, passionately, hissing under the pressure of your fingers wrapped around his circumference. “fucking me so g-good.” you feel his body buzz with each powerful stroke. every second he takes between thrusts, feeling it the pleasure runs through his length.

his mouth lets out a beautiful strangled growl. so possessed, so bewitched. the purest ecstasy fluttering in his eyes as he sees the point where your bodies meet. you're imprisoned under his heavy gaze drinking the sight of your naked body still suffering the aftermath of his actions on you while sharply stroking his dick in and out, watching your tits bouncing with each move.

“so gorgeous. you're so gorgeous.”

moans died and were reborn into stars twinkling in your vision, leaving in their wake your broken body as donghyuck turned up the intensity. his movements rougher by having more stability, bending you until your thighs touch his hips and your head lolls back into the mattress.

“let me fuck you right, star” his unwrapping thrusts drove you to edge of your sanity. a silky-smooth feeling filling your mind, the melody of your voices, a feeling of delight took root in your abdomen, tightening, wanting to be released from you.

you clenched and grithe your teeth. your walls pulsating each time he comes in and out, steady, consistent while you're a mess of tears and sighs. “hold it, love,” he coaxes, and no matter how tired you were, it wouldn't be enough. there was no end to your satisfaction when it comes to him. you'd burn your body to keep him warm if he asks you to.

his deep thrusts feel delicious. a tingling runs through you and embalms your body with a numbing sensation. the space absorbed your essence as your stomach tightened and your back arched into a frenzy. flushed, he rocks his cock back and forth into you as he puts pressure on the grip that holds your legs spread when you try to pull away because you feel a lot, everything, like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. letting out a whimper when you're overpowered by him.

“h-hyuck, p-please. i'm cumming.”

you're so close, a thousand emotions going through your mind. feeling him reaching out your spot, over and over, causing an explosion of suppressed pleasure. feeling the mixture of both arousal causing damp sounds every time he hammers you, joining your breathy moans in the steamy air between your bodies. “i want to cum with you.” his body tenses and your body shake, “tell me when, love.” you make a fist the sheets in your hands, arching your back closer to him. “f-fuck!” your eyes close tightly and your pasty throat let out a scream, legs closing around his hips as his thick grith grinds inside you until he brakes suddenly and his cock twitch wrapped by your walls before it starts to pulsate erratically along your nerves.

his mouth leaves a trail of bites and kisses down your stomach until it goes up your chest. he stays still inside you until you stop pulsating around his cock coated in your arousal, and then, he slides out before he pumps it back and forth a few times more. your body jolts and vibrates as he finishes covering your body with marks from his lips. his hands tangle behind your waist, drawing you towards him, leaving your legs to fall sore around his waist.

you feel his cum slide along to his cock when he pulls it out. breath bathing your face when you join your foreheads and catch your breath. delighting in the full sensation left by your bodies together, intertwined, merged into each other. a gentle caress brushes your tummy when he draws circles with his thumb. pressing a kiss on your shoulder as he drift down. mouth replacing hands, caresses turning into kisses. you sense him fixed on your intimacy before he lifts from the bed.

“hyuck.”

“right here, star.” you feel coming back again, a slight touch in your body, and him disappearing again. you don't know how much time has passed till you come back to your senses, in a bathtub, drunk and sleepy. “tired?” he says, suddenly blushing. “mhm.” your eyes close involuntarily, but you open them again when you feel his mouth pressing against yours. “sorry,” you say hesitantly, taking notice of his messy hair traced by your fingers and his neck marked by your mouth. he kisses you softly, exhaling when he feels your hands on his nape, bringing him closer. “aren't you coming?”

“i wish i could…” but he's been asleep for so long. his life paused while he was away. you can't expect him to leave his life aside just so you can have waking moments with him. “don't think that.”

you laugh.

“think, what?”

“that i want to be somewhere else but with you when i'm awake.” you deny.

“i love being with you while you sleep,” you assure him, “you don't owe me anything.”

“jisung is out there.” he murmurs. “would you be okay for a few hours?” he wants to know.

you don't know if you have to tell him about nightmare. he's never posed a real threat, but not having him with you can't mean anything good. you've been cautious, hoping that next time he'll stay longer, allow you to put him back in the empty place of the small cosmos where he belongs, but he remains just as cautious, and his ephemeral visits only bring with them the promise of being able to consume golden dreams.

golden dreams that you've been watching while their wearer is vulnerable.

your fingers run their moles over the golden skin of his face, gliding down to his neck where the constellation continues. you nod absentmindedly, soothing yourself with his now bright eyes.  “something's wrong?”

his eyes are worried, and you see him watching you more closely to find out what's troubling you. “it's just... it must be tiring. lonely,” you correct later, “i wish i could give you dreams like you do with me because... it must feel lonely.”

his lips curl up with fondness. “it doesn't.” he muses. “i get to see the dreams of other dreamers, i can see the dreams of every version of me, and when i do, i don't feel so alone, because you are always there, with me.”

where you put this grief, this guilt, where there is a room to contain it.

you can't. there isn't.

“be careful.”

you watch him disappear through the bathroom door, his essence slowly fading into the light air as you sink your head under the water to chase away the evil thoughts swirling around your head.

warm water numbs your muscles stiff with worry. everything becomes silent underwater. even your head. as the seconds of oxygen run out, your mind clears.

jaemin has been studying rem for months now, if there's anyone who knows about this besides donghyuck it's him. you'll ask him about nightmare. there won't be need to involve donghyuck into this.

there a shift in the water, you sense a subtle change in the warm water wrapping you. your hands take a foothold on the slippery ceramic of the tub to get out underwater. eyes opening in a strange instinct, encountering nothing but darkness staying still above you, before it attacks you. panic takes hold as a viscous substance infiltrates your nostrils, constricting your airways in a suffocating grip. a coiling serpent of fear, constricting your muscles as it winds its way down your throat.

but just as it seems that darkness might claim you, the sensation of drowning vanishes. you burst forth from beneath the water's surface, gasping for breath, your chest heaving with the urgency of survival. your wide eyes search the water's depths, yet all you find is the undisturbed and tranquil surface, bearing no trace of the harrowing struggle that unfolded below.

you feel trapped in a whirlwind of emotions as you watch everything unfold automatically. your body moves on its own, as if it's disconnected from your consciousness. consternation consumes you from within, and you know jisung must be dreaming again, blurring the lines between reality and nightmares. and now donghyuck goes straight to it. your steps quicken, resonating like the racing pulse under your ribs as you glide through the bookstore's corridors.

no one pays attention to you; they’re either asleep in their table or too busy to watch the girl almost running as she turns in a corner. you come across jaemin standing in front of chenle’s sleeping figure at the table. his eyes dart away as if they've detected your presence, and a smile forms on his face. however, your eyes fail to see it because they travel towards the creature beside him, eclipsing the dim light of the bookstore with its smile. you feel ancestral panic inject into your bloodstream when you realize jaemin can see it too, “oh, this is jeno.” all the blood migrates from your face, and his smile widens further.

you see him take a few steps, closing the gap between you without being able to do anything about it, frozen in anticipation. his hand reaches out to you. “a pleasure,” he says in a husky voice. he's here. really, physically. “you shouldn't be here...” you whisper, causing his eyebrows to shoot up, showing his surprise. his hand rests on his chest, “i'm just helping a friend with his nightmare problem.”

his countenance exudes a sense of contentment, while yours surrenders abruptly to the bitter taste of defeat. you watch as he takes his place, engaged in casual conversation with jaemin, a scenario that strains your credulity. jeno assumes the mantle of an ordinary young man, laughter and jests flowing freely, a potent elixir of mirth that might, under different circumstances, have coaxed laughter from your lips if it weren't for the incessant pounding of your heart, staying alert to his movements. when his hands move suddenly, but only to pick up a pencil. when his body makes an unexpected movement, but only to settle into his seat. your breath oscillates in agony, measured in agonizing intervals just before jaemin goes for a book and leave you both alone.

a chuckle ripples through his chest as you guide him toward a desolate corner. “one of my dreams,” you hear him jest.

“stay away from him.”

“don't let jealousy cloud your judgment, my dearest,” he coos, his hand daring to cradle his chin, only to meet your swift rebuff and unyielding gaze. “i'm deadly serious, you... should not be here,” you insist, observing as he takes a contemplative pause, morphing his countenance into an unsettling neutrality that sends involuntary shivers down your spine. yet, the sight of his sardonic grin strangely lulls your unease.

“i've missed you as well... drinking dreams together…, being inside you.”

he takes your silence as embarrassment. fangs peeking through his lips, yet a hint of annoyance flickers in his nighttime eyes when he discerns the truth behind your silence. “doesn't work that way, mastermind," he intones, emphasizing each syllable as he gently taps his index finger against your forehead.

“what are you?”

“a thought, an invention, a dream.” he recites, coming closer. your steps take you away from him, a shadow stirs in his gaze, like a crow's wings, sending shivers down your spine. “are you afraid of me now, after all i've done?”

your brow furrows and his wicked grin widens even more. “why?” you ask confused by his intentions. you can't believe that someone wickedly evil has been saving you on several occasions.

“i owe you,” he simply say, “thanks to you, i exist. and... thanks to you, i am free.”

“i can do whatever i want,” he says with sly enthusiasm.

“you killed those men.” your voice sounds raspy and pasty when you speak. and he finds it, delightful.

he spills joy tinted in every word when he pronounces, “you did.”

the ground beneath you quivers beneath the gravity of his revelation, an undeniable truth crashing over you. “of course not.” but a sliver of doubt lingers in your mind. could you? would you? his enigmatic gaze descends to floor as if he could feel it too.

when his eyes find yours again, a fierce struggle unfolds within their depths. “or maybe someone else did.”

you get his implication,“he wouldn’t do something like that.”

a smile as sharp as a knife. “oh, you have no idea what things he’d willing to do to protect his little dreams.”

the ground quakes once more, and this time, you're certain it's not your doing.

“enough,” you declare, although you can't decide what you mean.

“i'm not doing anything, darling,” the subtle roll of his eyes doesn't escape your notice, yet your attention remains firmly planted on the floor. confusion knits your brow as you observe a puddle encroaching on the soles of your shoes.

your gaze traces the meandering path, eventually leading to the study table. chenle’s name becomes lodged in your throat as a deafening shatter assaults your ears; the shelves flanking both jeno and you teeter precariously. the library is about to collapse.

jeno's hands spring out toward you reflexively, but you deftly evade them and instead utter, “chenle.” there's a hint of reluctance in jeno's response before he resigns himself to approach the slumbering boy.

books start to tumble to the floor as the crowd erupts into collective hysteria. this isn't a dream. it's happening again. water splashes as you approach the table where jeno is trying to wake chenle with limited success. “this doesn't look good at all.”

another crash rends the air as the earth cracks, and the world shudders when a rocky spire erupts from the ground, puncturing the vaulted library ceiling. debris begins to rain down. “you don't expect me to carry him, do you?” he asks rhetorically.  “never, you're not strong enough.” a few seconds pass before your words have an impact. “okay, fine. mastermind.”

the water begins to rise, creeping up their knees and weaving its way through the books, meandering around the crystal spires jutting from all sides. the place starts to fold in on itself, morphing as it seeks an escape amidst the chaos and hysteria. the water climbs higher and higher along their limbs as the ceiling crumbles, revealing a sky filled with meteorites.

“keep moving, darling.” you hear jeno’s voice under your bewilderment. “this is…” not chenle’s dream. something morphed. this is his dream, but also yours.

not dreams. nightmares. they are taking possession while people dream.

“jeno.” your voice trembles more than you'd like. all those people, in the same state as chenle despite making a thousand attempts to wake him, remain ensnared in the realm as their dreams turn to nightmares and escape from the ether into reality.

your eyes dart to him when you receive no response, but you're met with the cruel revelation that he's gone. you sweep hastily in all directions in his search as you call his name, almost in desperation, too absorbed in the panic that paralyzes you that you barely register the marble figure sinking into the depths. the water reaches your chest, and it's only now that you came across the fact that you've long since ceased to touch solid ground.

you take a breath before submerging yourself, swimming down as the ever-widening expanse separates you further. his frozen, pale hand stretches toward yours, unable to make contact, sinking alongside chenle. a sharp pain explodes in your chest as you look at each other, his face trapped in eternal agony, as he vanishes into the depths, until only chenle and you remain, drifting in the endless expanse of the cerulean sea.

your lungs rebel, their desperate gasps clinging to the dwindling reserves of oxygen, while your outstretched fingers ache as if they could grasp the very essence of chenle. fiercely holding onto that lifeline, you initiate your ascent as your body falters beneath the relentless depths.

the world swirls in a dizzying frenzy. first, the embrace of the ocean's frigid depths envelopes you while your outstretched fingers ache as they grasp chenle, then the warmth of another's taking hold of you. in this tumultuous surge, you sense your very being's resistance against the relentless sea, as it compels you to expel the intruding water, your throat erupting in a violent symphony of coughs.

gradually, your ears resurface, attuned to the cacophony of a world that had been submerged in silence. amidst the crackling sounds of your awakening senses, chenle's cough reaches you.

you're too catatonic to initially register his presence, warming your insides, but once your being recognizes his, you wrap your arms around him and meld into him. donghyuck embraces you, and you blur your own fear of losing him with his. after an eternity passes during which it seems like you both don’t want to break each other's embrace, you become aware of the world falling apart.

“i thought i'd lost you,” you sob. your hands cradle his warm face, and his eyes tightly shut. you see his celestial countenance marred by fears as the stone where he placed your bodies begins to tremble. “jisung... what happened with him?” you ask.

his eyes finally open, wet with lament. “he's not doing this, star.” confusion roots itself in your stomach as a sensation tightens in your chest. “it's you.”

“the nightmares…,” he mentions while you find yourself slowly denying. an unwanted feeling winds through you, a presence you refuse to acknowledge. as he talks, as he accuses you for actions you cannot truly comprehend, delving into your consciousness that unravels your misguided decisions, compelling you to confront the uncomfortable truth unfolding before you. “you took them from me.”

despair creeps in, “so you could sleep.”

“so you could free them.”

you couldn't carry out such an act. it wasn't for that reason that you did it, yet you’re the only one who refuses to believe it. his shoulders slump under the weight of defeat, and you, you've lost your voice; all the things you’ve done, all the things you could’ve done, dancing in the space.

he seizes your daze to hold you tighter, and you feel it. every sensation that assails him with each rapid heartbeat. reluctance. fear. love. resignation. “i've been searching for you since you fell, my star,” his voice is tinged with sorrow, and you hear him sob. “i fell for you.”

boulders start to tumble into the deluge. the ground beneath you quakes as it crumbles away. “he vanished me from the dreaming until i was worthy once more. until i found the nightmare sorter.” your arms hang limp, feeling defeat coursing through your veins. every part of you burning. your heart breaking in tandem with the world while his arms continue to embrace you.

a sob overtakes you, “sorry for taking too long, my star. i would have loved to spend an eternity with you.”

“we're bond forever. our souls come from the same star. i'll find you again, in another universe, in other lifetime. and i promise i'll find you sooner next time.”

you look at him with nothing left inside you, consumed by betrayal, unwilling to do anything because your heart is broken. his dreams are his most precious possession, and he would do anything for them, just as you would do anything for him. “i love you.” he shatters when you shake your head. no, you don't.

you feel your body move under his influence, his eyes closing, unwilling to look. “look at me.” his face contorts in agony as he does as you ask.

the words burn on your tongue, “i would never have done this to you.” your feet slip off the ledge, and you make no attempt to hold onto anything.

the voracious pain in your chest tightens as you fall, numbed by the spreading malaise within you. not sensing at first the shift in the substance around you; how it becomes denser. your body shivers from the cold touch, so different from his warm hands. this time, he doesn't laugh, but you know it's him, enveloping you in his midnight cloak. you've been descending for a time without end with the ocean as your downfall.

but you never reach the bottom. he transforms your being like his, nighttime mist that dissipates into the darkness.

you are startled awake from your reverie. it feels like you've been dozing for a lifetime. in a dream you always dream of.

where you fall, infinitely. towards the void, towards space, towards the immensity of the ocean. you don't know. you never know, because you never reach the bottom. pushed by a stranger. a friend. a lover. an enemy. a lost boy.

his gaze falls on you and catches you sneaking a glance at him; a lot of time has passed. “i think it's just you and me,” you say, his eyes as dark as two black holes capable of devouring entire stars, with secrets yearning to escape as if he knows something you don’t know yet.

[coochiequeens]

There's something satisfying about when an abusive man is called out by other men. Or at least one man.

Rest In Infamy, You Haunted Castle

Why I believe the Neil Gaiman accusations

By GRAHAM LINEHAN JUL 19, 2024

I only met Neil Gaiman once, at an upscale dinner party where Derren Brown had been hired to do magic tricks like in the old-timey days. Between astonishments, Gaiman and I withdrew to a quiet corner where I pretended to be pleased that he was giving me a signed copy of ‘Sandman’. One of the unexpected advantages of being cancelled is telling people who took part in my harassment what I really think about their work, but this was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, so I said the right things and we went back to being bamboozled by Brown’s invisible craft.

To give credit where it’s due, I later read Gaiman’s ‘Coraline’ to my kids which had them simultaneously terrified and hooked, and thanked him for it. Whatever my feelings about his earlier work, he was a real writer, practising his own invisible craft. From the evidence of that book, I thought he was probably a decent person too, an impression that continued until 2022, when we started to get into it over The Issue.

I may have asked why he wasn’t speaking out on behalf of JK Rowling, who was undergoing one of her regular cancellations for refusing to pander to the spoilt brats who loved her books but missed their meaning. A big name like his might have shifted the conversation and given her some much-needed support. He might perhaps have persuaded some of his fans to give the matter another look. This was when I assumed people like him acknowledged biological reality but worried about ‘coming out of the closet’, as it were. It took me years to realise that almost every celebrity mate of mine believed, or was pretending to believe, in the fashionable, American mind-cancer of ’gender’.

But back then, I was still astonished to find that he was a carrier of the virus, the mass delusion that by sheer coincidence, turned up after the arrival of the Internet. Whether it was Bill Bailey or Neil Hannon, Robin Ince or Matt Lucas, Arthur Mathews or Jimmy Mulville, it was always the same story. A sudden cloud of amnesia would form around my celebrity mates, a real peasouper, from which they suddenly could not see why we need female-only spaces, or why unhappy teenage girls will not find a miraculous cure for their woes in a double mastectomy. Far from sharing any of my urgency in the need to stop children from being irreversibly harmed in gender clinics, they instead downplayed, deflected and dismissed. “I never ask you to join in with my animal activism” grumbled Neil Hannon on one of the occasions I begged for his support.

“Couldn’t you pretend women and children are animals?” I thought.

My usual trajectory during these conversations saw me shifting from gobsmacked disbelief to fury and despair. The disloyalty made me angry, but knowing my friends did not care about their own daughters, wives, sisters and mothers was, and continues to be, destabilising in the extreme.

Gaiman went one step further. I can’t find the tweet, so I may be paraphrasing, but he said

"I hope you're kinder if your daughter ever hopes to transition."

I can think of no uglier thing to say to a parent. For girls, ‘transition’ means double mastectomies in their teens, hysterectomies in their mid-twenties, early menopause and a four times greater chance of having a heart attack than males of the same age. To have this decaying goth wish that horror on my daughter was more than I could bear. I wanted to rip his throat out.

Like a pair of grappling cowboys falling off a rooftop, our fight spilled into email. I sent Gaiman this article about the Tavistock. It was clear when he wrote back that he hadn’t absorbed it Like most celebrities in this fight, he appeared to have lost the ability to read.

“As I said before Graham, I hope that you'd be kinder if it was one of your kids who wanted to transition. “

He actually said it again. The piece was right there, detailing exactly what was happening to the children unlucky enough to wander through the Tavistock’s doors, and he chose to repeat that disgusting thing. Why?

That same year, just months before Gaiman was advising me on the value of kindness, a 22-year-old woman (‘Scarlett’ in the podcast) arrived at his Waiheke Island home in New Zealand for a babysitting job. Upon her arrival, she discovered that Gaiman’s wife of the time, Amanda Palmer, had suddenly remembered a sleepover, an appointment the child was apparently eager to attend.

So she and junior drove out of view, leaving the 23 -year-old Scarlett alone with Gaiman for the night. Within a few hours the 61-year-old man, without warning or invitation, appeared fully naked and slipped into the other end of her bath. Scarlett alleges that over the next three weeks, they embarked on a semi-consensual relationship, where Gaiman routinely ignored the boundaries she set. She alleges that he became angry when she would refuse these demands, used a belt to beat her, insisted she call him ‘Master’ and once sexually assaulted her so violently that she lost consciousness.

“… (the sex) was so painful and so violent that I fainted. I passed out, lost consciousness, ringing in the ears, black vision, the pain was celestial, you know, which is a strange word to use, but I couldn't even describe it in language. And when I regained consciousness and I was on the ground, I looked up and he was watching the rehearsals from Scotland of whatever they were filming, I don't fucking know. And he didn't even notice that I was passed out. And you know…there was blood. It was so so, so traumatic, and I asked him to stop. I said it was too much.”

Scarlett is a compelling witness despite, or because of, her contradictions. Certain things paint a picture of consent—she sexted Gaiman, to which he would send careful replies—and she laughs nervously when she talks about the alleged abuse. But when Gaiman’s side of the story is put to her, she turns cold as a knife and shows flashes of fury that she—in her telling—young, inexperienced and dazzled by Palmer and Gaiman’s fame and lifestyle, was used so casually and so brutally.

A few years back, I wrote about becoming a sort of Jessica Fletcher figure on Twitter. ‘Murder, She Wrote” but with paedophiles and predators. “Just as murderers seemed drawn to any location Jessica presented herself, “ I said. “My opining about women's rights and safety on Twitter appeared to attract the kind of men who can't sit still during a spelling bee.”

Among my adversaries was Peter Bright, the Ars Technica writer now doing twelve years for trying to buy two children to abuse. Luckily the children didn’t exist and the parents were actually FBI agents. Our exchange was brief and concerned safeguarding. I’m sure you’re all astonished to discover that he was against it.

Then there was ex-Labour MP Eric Joyce, who argued with me about the safety of mixed-sex loos in schools and was done for possessing the worst kind of child abuse images. More recently, I tangled with ‘Lexi’, who is now serving time for rape.

They all had one thing in common. They couldn’t leave alone those of us who were actively opposing the trans movement's assault on safeguarding, an assault that chimed nicely with their plans for the future. Each was returning to the scene of a crime not yet committed, each picking at a scab on their own character.

In 2018, at the height of #MeToo, Gaiman tweeted “On a day like today it’s worth saying, I believe survivors. Men must not close their eyes and minds to what happens to women in this world. We must fight, alongside them, for them to be believed, at the ballot box, and with art, and by listening, and change this world for the better.”

Well said. I certainly believe the women in ‘Master’. During my Jessica Fletcher period (a period which continues) no-one except Gaiman ever mentioned my kids. I think he knew it would cause me distress, and the second time he said it was just a twisting of the knife. Many of my colleagues in the media joined in with the trashing of my reputation, but Gaiman went that extra mile. I believe this is because he is a sadist. I think he is a man who finds pleasure in the suffering of others, and a man who does not see women and girls as fully human.

This was my final letter to him.

Dear Neil

I notice you’re still pretending you can’t read the Tavistock story. If you ever try and lay that curse on my kids again I will certainly share our exchange. Your privileged beliefs are harming children so to paraphrase Will Smith, keep their names out of your fucking mouth.

Thank you for giving me one last chance to say that JK Rowling will be remembered as a hero and you as a traitor to the kids who loved your books.

Rest in infamy, you haunted castle.

All the best,

Graham.

[storiesfromafan]

Mr Sandman - Benny Cross x Reader

A/N: another Benny Cross one-shot to go with, I guess, I am dubbing the music series? Or something as such, as I am using song lyric's before or in the one-shot haha.

Previous: Part One, Part Two

Friday, the end of the work week for you! The joy it brought you was relief, to know two days away from this lousy grocery store. And its shitty manager, who enjoys making shifts Hell. But it was Friday, his power ends after you bundy-off for the day!

Two hours and thirty-five minutes left, not that you were counting down. But you had past the clock as you walked from the back room, and brought out a box with different candy and gum to stock at the registers. While it wasn’t busy you thought you’d get a head on replenishment. And it would – hopefully – kill more time.

The stores radio was on a not so popular station, which played mostly 50s music, and you didn’t mind it. You quite enjoyed it really. Mr Sandman by The Chordettes had started playing. And, funny enough, you moved back to your register with smooth steps, almost gliding to the music. While humming along to the catchy tune. You smiled as you turned around, your dress swishing about.

“Mr Sandman, bring me a dream

Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen

Give him two lips like roses and clover

Then tell him his lonesome nights are over

Sandman, I’m so alone-“

You had been singing, your back to the store and any customers. Though the store had been dead when you went out the back. In that time a customer had entered, moving around. They had came in for one reason, and unfortunately, that reason wasn’t in sight. Until you had come out from the back. They had taken a moment to notice how focused you were on the music playing, how you seemed to glide back to the registers. And began to sing. They found it all so amusing, and adorable.

Your singing died – and you wish you could have died on the spot – when you turned around, coming face to face with Benny Cross. You jumped, hand flying over your chest in fright, and a touch of mortification. Your cheeks heating up, eyes wide. After the diner incident a few days ago, you had been mindful to avoid Benny. But it looks like he wasn’t avoiding you.

Slowly your senses came back, and with it your brain function. “C-can I h-help you?” you stuttered, wishing to kick yourself. And moving back behind your register, trying to put distance between you as you awaited his reply.

Benny suddenly questioned why he had come in. Sure, he had noticed you working and finally wanted to talk to you. But what for? It was as if his body had acted before his brain could come up with a plan. So here he stood, before you, unsure of how to answer you. How could you help him?

His baby blues darted from you and around the register, before landing on a pack of gum. Reaching out, he grabbed a packet and placed it on the counter. “Gum" was his response. Which he cursed himself for.

Really? All you could say was gum!? He mentally chastised himself.

Slowly you nodded, hand shakily picking up the packet and running it through for him. Softly you told him what he owed, and Benny pocketed his hand in his jeans in a hurry. Fishing out the money, he placed it in your open palm. For the briefest of moments the rough pads on his finger tips touched your skin. The feel caused a chill to run down your spine, before you finished the transaction by putting the money in the register.

Benny picked up the gum, neither of you speaking. His eyes watching you, as you tried to remain calm. Which was hard to do under your crushes gaze. This was his moment, so what was happening? It was like he was a teenager again, and had trouble talking to a girl.

Benny cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologise for the guys the other day" he babbled out. “They shouldn’t have said that...”

You blinked, taking in his words. “A-ah, it’s f-fine. No real harm done...”

He nodded. “Ah...what’s ya name?”

Your eyes widened at Benny’s question. “I-I'm (Y/N)...” you replied softly.

Benny slowly nodded, a small smile on his full lips. “That’s a pretty name, it suits ya...”

You blushed, yet remained quiet. How do you reply to that? And without sounding like an idiot? You can’t, not for you anyways. You both stood there, watching the other while remaining quiet. Benny was having trouble coming up with something else to say, wanting to keep this interaction going. But he was dying, no words coming to mind. And in that moment the silence was broken, but not by either of you.

“Mr Cross" came an all too familiar stern voice, you both turned and saw an older woman you knew all too well.

“Mrs Martin” Benny stiffly greeted.

The old woman was actually a former high school teacher, which you both had encountered years prior. The old gargoyle looked to you, her gaze soft, before her stern gaze was back on Benny. She was known to be a hard ass, unless you had been a good and hard working students. Which you had been. As you can guess, Benny hadn’t been such a student. And that meant many of the teachers looked down their noses at him.

She huffed. “I hope you aren’t bothering this nice young woman" her voice was sharp, and had almost a warning to it.

Benny stood up tall, head held high. “Of course not Mrs Martin, just makin' a purchase and small talk".

Mrs Martin nod firmly, “good. Then you can move on".

Benny sighed, not wanting to cause a scene. “Yeah” – he turned to you with a lopsided grin and a wink – “see ya around (Y/N)”.

Benny then headed out, you watched him walk across the road to his bike via the window in the front of the shop. You stared at him, getting on his bike and starting it up, until you heard Mrs Martin clear her voice. Turning back to the old woman, who was giving you a pointed look, her basket sitting on the counter awaiting you. So you began to ring up her items and bag them, before taking her money and returning her change and receipt.

She collected her bags and was about to leave, before pausing. She looked to you with a concerned look. “Look (Y/N), a man like Benny Cross isn’t right for you. You’re a good girl, who deserves a good man. You understand?”

You didn’t like how she assumed Benny wasn’t a good man. Sure, he was a Vandal and they are questionable. But part of you believed there was good in the young Vandal, and saw it first hand when he stuck up for you. Benny was good in his own way. Plus, there’s good and bad in everyone.

Not trusting your tongue, you just nodded to her. And she seemed pleased, taking her leave. Yet that small interaction with your old teacher left a bad taste in your mouth. In your fantasies Benny was sweet and kind, but in reality, he wasn’t as such. You’d heard the gossip of what he gets up too or has done.

Then you realised you had spoken to Benny. He had come in to your work and spoken to you. Your face felt hot from the blush that washed over your face. No doubt your face was bright red. Placing your hands on your cheeks, you couldn’t help but smile a little. Than that voice in the back of your head came forth, putting doubt in your mind. Maybe he was just apologising and that was it. No way he would be interested in you...

[just-some-random-blogger]

You know that trend ( it's not really new or anything) When a girl would ask her boyfriend/husband " do you remember what day it is." Just to get them to freak out and think they forgot an anniversary or something. Because people were saying that if you ask a man that he will automatically think he forgot something. What about Dream with something like that?

I Know All

"Do you remember what day it is?" "Day is a mortal concept," he blurts a bit too instantly. "... so you don't remember?"

Dream of the Endless x Reader | >600 | cw: gender neutral!reader, sulky!dream, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: hi nonnie! i do know this trend. the first one i saw of it was so funny HAHAHAHA. i hope you enjoy what i whipped up <3 :D

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @sloanexx @shadow-pancake9

"Hi, love!" I beam, hugging him from behind.

Dream, who had just finished doing his round of tasks, tenses before he relaxes. I feel him release a sigh as his palms rest on my arms, "hello, my dreamer."

When he moves to turn, he, at first, tries to hold me back from pulling away. He is pacified upon realizing I meant to take only a few steps back. His otherwise blank expression cracks when he notices I was dressed up more than usual. His hands slip into mine.

"Don't I look extra cute today?" I give a Cheshire cat grin.

His lips curve upward. He pulls me forward and nods, "you are an exquisite creature."

I chuckle and cup his cheeks with my hand, "thank you, Mr. Sandman."

I watch him hold back an eyeroll as he releases a breath.

I laugh once more and rub down his arm, "right, we should get going."

Dream doesn't move a fraction from where he stood even though I pull him by the arm. Instead, topple all the way back into his chest and grunt.

He and I lock eyes. He furrows his brows, "are we going somewhere?"

I shoot him a confused look.

He outdoes my expression with his own.

I cannot mask my chuckle, but I play it off, "of course we're going somewhere! Don't tell me you forgot."

He does not respond for a moment, then betrays himself by clearing his throat too loudly, "remind me again where we are going, my dear?"

My dear. I hold back a laugh by biting my lip. I up the theatrics with a pout, "Dream..."

He is immediately on the defensive. He places his hands on my shoulders and shakes his head, "I had much to do. I merely need to jog my memory."

I start feeling bad because of how his teary blue eyes look.

"Do you remember what day it is?"

"Day is a mortal concept," he blurts a bit too instantly.

"... so you don't remember?"

Dream doesn't put up much of a fight after. He flakes the instant a sigh leaves his lips, "no. I do not remember what day it is, nor making any plans with you this day. I apologise, my love."

He defeatedly hangs his head and leans his forehead against mine. When his arms snake around me, it feels as though a dark cloud forms overhead. I pout through a chuckle and embrace him right back. I feel absolutely dreadful, "baby boy, I-"

"I swear to you, it is not my intention to-"

"Honey, no-" I pull away.

He repels me, "no, don't."

"Lovie!" I whisper, pulling back to caress his cheeks, "it's ok!" I pout, "it's all good. It's fine."

Dream is visibly dejected.

"Baby, don't worry. It was a joke. A really bad one at that, but I didn't mean it to be!"

His brows knit, "what?"

I purse my lips and brush his black hair back, "it was meant to be a funny-ha-ha prank..." I swipe his lips with my thumb before kissing them. I make a guilty expression, "I didn't think you'd be so... distraught about it."

Dream soaks in these works before cautiously wording, "does... this mean I did not... forget any engagement with you?"

I titter, "no, my lord. I was just trying to be funny."

He releases a breath of relief. His shoulders release its tension, "I could inspire your jokes, if you'd like."

I break into a laugh and shake my head, "no. I think I'm-"

"So," he furrows his brows in sudden realization, "you tricked me for your amusement?"

I open my mouth but find myself stuttering when he appears more sullen than he was moments ago, "it was meant to be a jo-"

"Well, I find no amusement in it," he frowns then pulls away.

"N- now, hold on. Dream. Don't be like that. Dream. Don't walk away! Honey! Please."

[cissyenthusiast010155]

The First Corruption Pt. 3 ~Lucifer Morningstar (sandman) xFem Eve!reader

Here’s part 3 to The First Corruption! Thank you for everyone’s patience! This took a while, and I hope you all enjoy 🥰

Link to Part 1 & Part 2

Mommy…Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, age gap (all legal), innocence kink, praise kink, degrading kink, use of vibrator, thigh riding, happy resolutions, etc.

Enjoy (;

You stomache was getting that same knotting sensation like it did all those years ago, as Lucifer led you to their chambers. They opened the door for you and your breath fled your body. The room was gorgeous and screamed Luci…

It had dark, lavish accents with a large black canopy bed in the middle. The ceiling was high and mighty and there was a large window with long, black, sleek curtains, which looked out to the Lightbringer’s domain. Lucifer chuckled dryly at your astonishment, as they moved with elegance to the window, and closing the curtains.

“Sit on the bed, my pretty…” they instructed you.

Full of nerves, while not out of fear, you scrambled to sit on the bed as you had been told. Lucifer then made their way to the edge of the bed, and they patted the edge in request that you come forward.

“good girl…” they purred, at your immediate obedience, making you blush and heat travel to your core.

They continued, “Now… before anything else… I believe you need a name, little one…”

While saying this, Lucifer cupped your cheek, bringing it up to meet their tilted head with a smirk on their face. Their face was soft and caring in this moment. It was what you had waited your whole life for. You simply smiled innocently back at the Lightbringer, leaning into their touch. Lucifer laughed lightly at your reaction and need for physical affection.

“Miss me that much did we…?” They caringly teased you.

“So much, Luci… Missed you so so much…” you sighed deeply into their hand, which was now tracing and caressing your face.

Lucifer hummed in delight, “I missed you too, little one… How about I show you just how much I missed you…?” they purred, with a different glint now capturing their eyes.

Your eyes eagerly met Luci’s and the knot in your stomache ached at their words. You nodded vigorously, which elicited a light chuckle from the Lightbringer’s throat. They then crawled onto the bed, guiding you underneath them, and dragging you easily against the head board. And with a simple snap of their fingers, all their garments disappeared, making you gasp with wide eyes, drinking in their goddess body. Your eyes were glued to their dips and curves.

“Like what you see, little one…?” they teased you by the shell of your ear.

You gulped and nodded with a flushed face. From your peripheral, you caught their long arms reaching to grab something. Luci then slowly and teasingly opened your legs to give them the required access.

“Oh poor thing…” they feigned innocence, “Little one, your absolutely dripping…”

You whimpered in response and bucked your hips up to Luci’s frame in desperate need.

“Let’s fix that, shall we…?” they purred, now with a dark and lustful tone, while holding a vibrator.

You looked at Luci and then the odd toy in confussion. They lightly chuckled yet again at your purity. Luci placed the toy on your clit and then turned the device on. You yelped at the new sensation, but your gasps turned quickly into moans as the toy worked your aching heat with ease.

You hands found stability with Lucifer’s frame, as you jerked your hips up to meet the vibrating patterns of the toy, at which Luci captured your lips. They swallowed your moans with delight, as the toy pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You had to pull away from the kiss when it all became too much. You were a puddle of mewls and cries underneath Luci.

“You wanna cum, little one…?” Luci purred, while drinking in every little reaction your body had to the toy.

“Yes please… wanna cum for you Luci please…!!” you breathlessly mewled, tightening your hold on their arms.

“Go ahead little one, cum for me…” Luci purred into your ear.

You came with strangled cries of pleasure, your body spasming from the vibrator not letting up as you toppled over the edge. When you opened your eyes again, you were panting heavily and you looked up to find Luci, who couldn’t get enough of you.

“It’s too much please Luci too much…” you whimpered, as the vibrator continued relentlessly.

Lucifer removed the toy and looked at you caringly. At that, they they swiftly swapped positions with you, holding you to straddle their lap. You instantly found a home on Luci’s thigh and you instinctually bucked against it for friction. This caused a breathy moan to escape your lips.

“Does my pretty want to ride my thigh…?” Lucifer purred.

You eagerly nodded, your mind already taken and in a sex fog. Lucifer smirked and nodded in response, adjusting you to properly straddle her thigh, and their lips finding a home on and around your neck. They then tensed their thigh, making you yet again breathily moan out.

“Grind against my thigh, sweet slut…” Luci purred into your ear, while going to nibble and mark your neck.

You happily obliged, rutting against the Lightbringer’s milky, tensed thigh. Your eyes immediately rolled back in pleasure. Wanton and leud moans flowed from your lips as you brought yourself closer to the edge.

“Such a needy slut…” they husked in your ear, “Hasn’t been fucked properly in decades…”

You whined in response to their words, busking your hips erratically in a desperate frenzy to cum.

“That’s it, little one…” they purred, in between their kisses and markings to your exposed neck, “Rutt against my thigh like a bitch in heat…”

At their words, Luci brought their hands to your thighs in order to help get you off, as your grindings were getting sloppier as your brain became more and more fuzzy.

Your mouth dropped in a silent scream as Luci brought you over the edge of their thigh. You gripped their shoulders tightly as they helped you ride out your high. Your head nuzzled in their neck, as you collapsed onto the fallen angels form, your mind and body fucked through.

Luci caringly tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, as they gazed at you with gentle care. You slid into their form, snuggling into the Lightbringer’s side.

“How about Y/N…?” Luci spoke.

“Hmmm…?” You mumbled.

“For your name.” They clarified.

“I love it…” you mumbled into the blondes side.

Luci chuckled at your tired state. You were starting to fall asleep.

“When you awake, I have a world of new things to show you…” Luci whispered, gazing at your beautiful, sleeping form.

~~~

Tag list: @snakeskins-world @crystalarnold @enchantressb @moodreaderlesbian @unmeisenpai @justcallmelittleone @wierdpersonononelikes @mitzkychan @principal-weems09 @wintervenom @yourfavoriteweirdo19 @ness029 @cyphermosherz @thenazwife @lady-darkswan3 @marilynthornhilllover @crimsonwidow666 @ccinnamongrl @bobia13 @ilovehotactresses @gwendolinechristieiscute @ara-a-bird @lucky1fancy4wolf @cherieesplain @sinostixs @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @sunnyanon @reariy @throwawaydontfollow @wh4tmouth @proud-ship-shipper @yanehv @jlsvr

[jinnie-ret]

oddinary house pt 3

sandman!changbin x reader

genre: horror, fluff

content warnings: child abuse, allusions to su!c!de

word count: 1.3k

summary: after a cryptic message from the werewolf, y/n goes to sleep, only to get all the answers she needs

Take care of yourself reading this, don't read on if the things mentioned in the content warnings will trigger you.

ODDINARY HOUSE MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The man approached the figure in her bed who was falling asleep, and sprinkled a fine amount of sand like dust across her eyelids. He crept around one side of her bed and blew softly onto her neck, causing her head to lull to the side and for the girl to fall into a dream filled sleep.

"Give her two lips, like roses and clover

And tell her that her lonely nights are over."

That same hauntingly beautiful voice she had heard before echoed before Y/N startled in her unconscious state. She appeared to be walking down a hallway in the mansion, yet it was one on a floor she hadn't yet explored. There were flashes of red lights, and she gasped as a figure lurked at the bottom of the corridor.

"W-who are you?" Y/N whispered, wondering who the man was as she braced herself.

But he did not respond. Instead, his body projected itself forward, the flashing red lights creating an ominous atmosphere. However, he looked completely innocent, the way he tilted his head as he held onto a sign that read 'hug me'.

"Hello, Y/N, I am Changbin," he grinned, the lights becoming static and shining down on the two of them. He stood a few feet away from her, casually leaning against the wall, a smirk rising on his face.

"You know who I am?" Y/N was confused. She looked around for a way out yet she was trapped in what felt like a long stretched out room, no more doors to be seen. At least in the real world she could run away, but she couldn't do so with the demons that haunted her dreams. She just hadn't met this one before, and hadn't expected to see him where she was currently residing.

"Of course I do, Y/Nnie," his husky voice drawled out. "How else would you have known to come here?"

"You sent me that letter? How? You're just in my dream," Y/N shook her head, not understanding how this was possible.

"Oh, but how else would I be in your dream, if I wasn't real? I mean, I don't normally appear in your dreams but I make them happen," he purred, taking a step forward.

"What?" Y/N tried to take a step back but she couldn't move.

"And you think that letter was real? Did you not ever wonder why you couldn't remember where you left it?" Changbin rolled his eyes, arms folded as he sighed.

"I just thought I had misplaced it," Y/N shrugged, fiddling with her hands as she couldn't look at the man, being, thing, in the eyes.

"I planted that seed. And I watched it grow. Now you're here," Changbin chuckled like it was obvious.

"Wait, you... planted it in my dreams? In my mind?" Y/N couldn't quite comprehend what he was saying.

"Well, I sort of figured that you wouldn't just turn up to a place like this on your own accord. But I saw something in you, Y/N. You're hurting, and so are we, but together, we can heal," Changbin's tone becomes more gentle.

"You know nothing!" Y/N defended herself. She felt distraught. Who was he to say what she had been through?

"Who do you think chased away your nightmares, huh? I make it all better, just for you, so now you need to help us," Changbin stood up straight, his broad shoulders becoming more visible.

"I don't owe you anything!" Y/N shook her head. She was beginning to feel trapped. Was this really better than being at home?

"I suppose I better remind you, that you do owe us, dear," Changbin huffed, before rushing towards you and a clap of dark glittery dust engulfed you.

She was falling, her breath caught in her throat as her head felt this dragging feeling, pulling her whole body down.

"No! No, no!" Y/N screamed, and suddenly she landed on a squeaky mattress. The scene of pastel pink walls, decorated with fairy stickers developed in front of her. Yet, there was clearly mould growing in the far side of the room, where the wood aligning the windowsill was rotting.

When she looked down at her hands, she saw smaller ones than normal, and she scanned her clothes to see it was the old pyjamas she used to wear, a Mickey Mouse t-shirt and shorts, holes seem on both of them.

"What the-?" she whispered to herself, and felt on edge as she felt the stomps up the stairs, and the angry mutterings of who was her father.

"Y/N! WHAT DID I TELL YOU HUH?" her dad shouted at her ferociously, yet the scene became more exaggerated and he turned into a beast, clambering his way towards her.

"Dad?!" Y/N whimpered, backing up into her bedframe as the giant like man picked her up and squeezed her in his hands, and threw her across the room.

"YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE GIRL!" he roared, fists pummeling into her body.

Even in her dream, Y/N could feel the pain she felt as a child. And now she was being forced to relive it, until she was falling once more, this time into a brighter room, landing onto a soft fluffy cloud. It was a world she always imagined, one she always escaped to when she was scared. A world she escaped to when she wanted to leave the one she was forced to live in.

"You see now?" Changbin raised an eyebrow, floating along on a cloud next to Y/N as she curled up on herself and groaned in pain.

"Why would you do that to me?!" Y/N cried, even in her dreams, even in the world where she was meant to feel safe, there were flashes of her past.

"You needed to see, Y/N," Changbin muttered, no sympathy in his voice.

"Make it stop! Please!" Y/N whimpered, hands desperately grasping and reaching for something but the clouds didn't allow her to do so.

"Do you understand now? Do you know why you are here? I can easily take this pain away from you, Y/N," Changbin casually threw a small pouch up and down in his right hand.

"Please, just make it stop! I get it now, I get it!" Y/N sobbed, and just like that, the flashes of her past abuse fading away.

"There there, I just had to help you see where you are needed. You understand now, that's good, dear," Changbin gathered you in his arms, soothing your shaking body with his magical aura, one that felt healing.

"I know you need me to help, but, why me, exactly?" Y/N whispered, Changbin's strong arms supporting her and helping her feel grounded.

"I sensed an aching heart. I found you one night on my travels. I told the rest of the boys about you and well, they all suggested you come and stay here with us, at Oddinary House," Changbin explained, petting your head gently.

"But here? And why did all of you want me to stay?" Y/N shook her head, still feeling bewildered at how she was meant to stay here.

"We've faced a lot of turmoil here. You can bring us back together, I just know it," Changbin vaguely explains, yet that explanation was what helped the most I'm everything he had said.

"Ok, I'll try to help you guys," Y/N nodded, feeling so light, floaty and comfortable.

"That's good, well done, dear. Give us a chance, and it'll all work out fine," Changbin soothingly rubbed his fingers into her temples, before he faded away, and Y/N had a peaceful sleep. Flashes of a future with the three residents of Oddinary House, that she had met so far, were subconsciously absorbed into her memories.

Changbin wanted her to see that this is where she belonged, where she was meant to be. Hopefully, Y/N would recognise that too, maybe even if it took meeting everyone else that lived there.

taglist: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @backintomykpopphaseagain @sakufilms @hanjiquokkaaa @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @amararosesblog

[undiscovered-horizon]

Since we all know Morpheus is a proud touch-starved being who doesn't want to admit he needs attentions and cuddles, what about a fic where he uses his cat-form to get his s/o attention, and then he reappears in his normal form once he's got it? or maybe reader is sad and he doesn't know how to comfort her, so he just does it as a cat, making her company until she feels better, or they just go for a trip in the dreaming (of course reader knows it's him)

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

The bedsheets dip under the new weight. Curled on the far too big bed, you don't bother turning around to see the trespasser simply because you're perfectly aware of his identity. Or, perhaps, you are too exhausted to show interest.

It's one of those days when nothing feels quite right for seemingly no reason like a shoe that uncomfortably grazes your heel each time you take a step - not enough to make you bleed but just right to make your foot sore. Today everything felt heavy and weary, the lack of an obvious rationale making your state all the more frustrating. Can’t you just pull yourself together?

The feeling of slightly cool fur brushing against your skin deviates your attention from your own thoughts. Looking no different than a regular black cat, Morpheus lays in the narrow space between your knees and chest. Without much thought, your hand sinks in his fur. His yellow irises stare at you intensely, clearly anticipating some kind of closure. But there was nothing you could tell him - like a common cold, this strange state of mind took you over suddenly but silently as though one night you had just forgotten to close the window before going to bed and woke up with a sore throat and a runny nose. Those symptoms, however, can be cured with some ibuprofen or aspirin but how does one cure a cold that their soul caught? For now, you let out a sad sigh and look away from Morpheus. 

"I know you're worried about me." Your quiet voice disturbs the intimate silence. His raven-like fur feels sleek against your hand as you mindlessly pet his back. "But there’s nothing I can tell you. I don’t know why I feel this way or how to make it stop but I know one thing: just having you here makes it all a little bit better. I don't think I say this often enough but I love you and I'm really grateful to have you in my life."

The black cat purrs pleasantly as he nuzzles further into you.

[ichorai]

wasteland, baby! ; morpheus.

track fourteen of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; morpheus x bast!reader (gender neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; morpheus followed you as if he were your shadow—silent, yet ever so loyal.

words ; 6.3k

themes ; angst, fluff, egyptian mythology, bast au

warnings / includes ; reader is based on the egyptian goddess bastet, starts before the events of the show but ends right at the beginning, heavy angst, death of an unborn baby (not reader's), blood/injury/pregnancy (again, not reader), allusions to sex, mentions of the other sandman characters, mentions of other egyptian gods, khonshu is your half-brother, dream is the epitome of (-_-), they love each other lots <3 perhaps i'll write a part two to this !!

main masterlist.

She was dying. 

There was raw terror within her eyes—uncertain of what was happening to her. She was young—far too young to die, but it seemed that Destiny had other plans for her beyond life.

With gentle movements, you shifted into view, greeting her with a soft beam and kind eyes. 

“Do not be afraid. I’ll protect you,” you whispered in their plucking human language. One of your hands extended towards hers, slick with her own blood. “It’s time, darling.”

The faded blue of her eyes warbled. A hot tear meandered down her grimy cheek. 

“Can I say goodbye? I… my children…” The words caught in her throat upon seeing your apologetic expression. With a resolute nod, she took your hand, and you helped her spirit onto her feet. 

Once she was up, she glanced at her physical body on the ground. “Can you keep my children away from the body? I don’t… I don’t want them to see me like that.”

A protest was on the tip of your tongue, but upon seeing her pleading expression, you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. Your expression faltered, softening. “I’ll do what I can,” you reassured her, offering a small smile.

And as you guided the petrified woman’s spirit across the threshold between the realm of the living and the Sunless Lands, you let go of her hand, and she began walking into the next part of her journey. You observed for a minute longer, brow creased with worry. That had always been a weakness of yours—you cared too much for the mortals and often found yourself attached. Though, perhaps, affection was not a weakness, but a defining trait of who you were. It was what made you their protector, after all. 

The feeling of an unfamiliar presence appearing beside you jarred you out of your thoughts. You turned to see one of Death’s siblings staring straight at you, eyes boring into your very soul. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, rather bluntly. His voice was deep and honeyed, soaked in sea water and nestled within the richest of soils. You found yourself blanching at his sudden question, unsure if you’d done something to offend him. He certainly looked offended. Or perhaps that was just the way he always was. “This is Death’s job,” said Dream.

After a considerably long pause, you tilted your head at him. “Death is busy at the moment. I am merely helping her guide souls into the afterlife. I’m a God to them—a protector—the humans, they call me Bast. But my friends call me Y/N.”

Morpheus’ expression remained ever unchanging. He dipped his head, suddenly all the closer to you. You blinked at him with wide eyes—eyes that Morpheus refused to meet. Stoic, he spoke once more, “Do you know where my older sister is?”

“She’s dealing with affairs in Hell. Lucifer has stirred up quite a bit of trouble, I’ve heard,” you told him, pursing your lips at the thought of the devil wreaking havoc in the underworld. “What do you need her for? Perhaps I could help—?”

With naught a sound, Dream brandished a pouch from his dark, draping coat, and disappeared in a flurry of sand and dust. You stepped away with a grimace, waving the particulates away from your face.

“Rude,” you huffed as you brushed sand off your shoulder.

She was hurt. 

There was a long, jagged gash splitting her shin open. A pool of dark ichor formed around her leg and soaked into the hardened earth. You stood over her, your chest constricting.

She couldn’t see you, but you knelt down beside her anyways, murmuring a protective incantation, gently running your fingers over her wound. A soft golden glow appeared over the cut, before slowly disappearing. The injury wasn’t completely healed, but you’d made sure it wouldn’t get infected by warding away any diseases and bacteria. 

The woman wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and found a cloth to bind the gash shut.

You tilted your head, smiling down at her, before stepping away. 

This time, the presence of the Dream Lord wasn’t as much of a shock to you, but still a surprise nonetheless.

“Dream,” you greeted, eyes brightening when you turned to see him. He looked just the same, though not nearly as sour as last time. “What brings you here?”

“The girl you were helping,” he said, slow and cautious, “she’s been dreaming of you.”

Warmth seeped through your form at his words. A grin etched itself beautifully across your lips. “I’ve been watching over her since she was a young child. Her name is Nubia—gold in their language. She saved a family of kittens from drowning in a river when she was merely nine years of age. And me being a God of cats and all—she’s earned herself a special place in my heart. I don’t often show myself to mortals, but I have with her, on occasion.”

Morpheus regarded you with a shielded expression, but it was evident that he was curious in you and your endeavors.

“What do I do in her dreams?” you asked, stepping closer to him. Morpheus seemed unbothered by this, slowly tilting his head to sweep his gaze anywhere but you. 

Perhaps it was a trick of the hot Egyptian sunlight, but you could’ve sworn the beginnings of a smile traced over the corner of Morpheus’ mouth. “You do the very same in her dreams as you do in the living world. You help people. You are kind to them.”

Stunned, you let your eyes travel back to the sweet girl you’ve grown so fond of, who was rinsing the blood away from her leg. 

“Why?” asked the Dream Lord. It was a tentative question, so simple yet would never have a clear answer. 

You glanced back to him, finding his piercing blue irises fixed on you, hardened and stormy as the sea. 

“Why what?” you replied, knowing full and well what he was asking, but wanting to goad him on. You rather enjoyed speaking to him. He was a mystery to you—and you loved mysteries.

Dream was silent for a long moment. It had you briefly wondering if he’d just chosen to completely ignore your retaliating question.

Finally, he asked his in return, voice thick and viscous, as if his throat were laced with honey. “Why do you show the mortals such kindness?”

“Because I love them,” you told him simply, an elegant smile gracing your features. “They are beautiful beings, and I wish them nothing but happiness and peace. It brings me joy to be their protector.”

Morpheus didn’t seem too satisfied with your answer, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what you said. How could one as eternal and powerful as you love such simple and fleeting life? Despite his evident turmoil, he remained silent. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” you said, brushing past him with a hand on his shoulder. Morpheus stiffened beneath your touch, and you were quick to draw yourself away from him, not wanting to anger one of the Endless. Desire had once gotten angry with you centuries ago, and that hadn’t gone down well. The last thing you wanted was a repeat of such events. “I have other duties to attend to. I hope to see you again, Dream.”

Morpheus dipped his head in farewell. From your peripheral vision, you saw him disappear in another whirl of sand. You shook your head in amusement, before heading off to help another precious soul in need.

She was heartbroken. 

There were scalding tears dripping down her sunken cheeks, following the curve of her jaw, and falling from her chin onto her blanket. Sobs wracked her skeletal form, and there was a pallid color to her skin, as if completely drained of energy. You watched from beside her bed, feeling thorns crowd about your heart at the sight. You sensed great despair rolling off of her in large tidal waves, nearly overwhelming you into the same feeling. 

Morpheus was there, you knew, but you had yet to speak to him. He’d been following you for a while, silent as the night, merely watching as you went about your day helping women, children, and people alike. It seemed that he’d taken a keen interest in you and your duties as a protector of the mortals. 

“This is the doing of a man,” you said to him without turning around, anger clouding your expression. “She professed her love to him and he did nothing but scoff. He scoffed at her, Dream. I mean, look at her—she’s beautiful and she’s kind and she’s so very intelligent. Men certainly are the bane of my existence.”

When you finally turned your head, you were surprised to see Morpheus right beside you, not having registered him stepping closer. 

He had his eyes trained on the weeping woman. “She is tired,” he observed calmly. 

A soft sigh fell from your lips. “She hasn’t slept a wink in three days. The poor thing has been doing nothing but lament over this buffoon of a man. I’ve tried consoling her in many ways, but her grief is strong. She loved him very much—though I can’t quite understand why.”

“Perhaps,” said Morpheus, pulling out a pouch that you were now well acquainted with, “all she needs is a bit of rest. Three days is far too long for a mortal to go without slumber.”

With that, he blew a fistful of sand into the crying woman’s face, and her raucous sobs began to subside, and eventually slowed down to deep, rhythmic breathing. 

You looked to the Dream Lord, a grateful smile to your eyes. “Thank you.” As ever, he stared ahead and nodded, avoiding looking at you. 

With fleeting, soft touches, you gently shifted the woman so she wasn’t curled in an awkward position and wouldn’t wake up with aches all over. You laid her back against the bed’s springy mattress and adjusted her head onto the feather pillow. The pads of your thumbs gently wiped her tears away, and you murmured a quiet protective enchantment to keep her safe through the night.

“Come along now,” you told Morpheus, getting up and striding out the door.

He looked at you, finally, mild confusion painting over his features. 

“You’ve been following me all day,” you said, a laugh caught in the back of your throat. “I have much to show you.”

There was a twitch to his jaw, as if he wanted to say something. But still, he remained mute, before striding forward to join you by your side.

She was sick. 

There was an unusual murmur to her heart, disrupting an otherwise perfect beat. It broke your own to realize that Death would be coming to visit her soon. You could only hope that the journey to the Sunless Lands would be kind to her.

With little else you could do for the beautiful, sickly girl, you leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, brushing a stray, wiry curl of hair away from her face, softened with sleep. Your kiss made her stop twitching and sweating so badly, and you were glad you could lessen her suffering in some way, even if it was minute.

You weren’t at all shocked to see Morpheus behind you when you turned, and you crossed your arms with a teasing grin. It’d been several decades—nearly a century—of constant visits from him, and you weren’t ashamed to say that you’d grown very fond of him. 

“Why, if it isn’t Dream of the Endless,” you greeted, taking a step closer to him, so that he was forced to look at you, and no longer avoid eye contact. The blue of his irises seemed even sharper up close. “Is there something you need this time, or are you here to follow me again?”

There was a crack to his stoic facade, a small smile whittling into his expression. A thrill spidered up your spine. 

“I’m intrigued by you,” he finally professed, albeit still guarded and wary, even after all this time.

Much to his surprise, you reacted fairly lightly to his statement, throwing your head back as peals of laughter fell from your lips, the corners of your eyes crinkling with mirth. “Dream of the Endless, intrigued in me? It’s truly an honor,” you said, slightly breathless. Morpheus carefully watched the way you beamed so wide it was a wonder your face didn’t split into two.

Dream hesitated for a moment before saying his next words. “Come with me.”

You faltered for a moment. “What? Where?”

“The Dreaming,” he said simply, as if it were obvious.

You blinked at him owlishly. “Your kingdom?”

“Yes,” he said, already drawing out his pouch of sand. “I’ve seen what you do on Earth. Now I want you to see what I do in my realm.”

“They’re beautiful,” you said, watching in awe as Morpheus fashioned dreams and nightmares out of thin air, brow creased ever so slightly in concentration. Bits of earth and bone and something far more ethereal floated around him as he assembled the pieces—creating an entirely new being. 

Dipping his head graciously, Morpheus stepped away from his craft, still in progress. 

“Come,” he said, without a glance to you. “I shall finish this later. I have much else to show you.”

He took you to see the House of Mystery, also known as Cain’s home. There was a sweet gargoyle there—Gregory, his name was, and he seemed rather fond of you, constantly nipping at your ankles and grunting in delight when you tossed a ball over for him to catch. Morpheus watched from afar, with only but a shadow of a fond smile gracing his face. He took you to the House of Secrets as well, and introduced you to Abel, who was ever so kind and refused to allow you to leave without drinking a fruity, nectarous tea first. 

The two of you strolled through the Dreaming for a while after that, discussing everything and anything that came to mind. More accurately, you’d be the one animatedly telling stories and Dream would listen with a fond glint to his gaze. Dreams and nightmares alike stared at the two of you, partially because they’d rarely ever seen their King out and about, much less with somebody, and also because they were merely curious to know who you were. 

After, he brought you to the library and introduced you to Lucienne and Mervyn—the former a spectacled librarian and the latter a pumpkin-headed janitor with a cigar wedged within his mouth, who both seemed pleasantly surprised to see Morpheus bring in a guest. 

“There will be a celebration in the Dreaming tonight,” said Dream, quiet and contemplative. Then, he looked at you, and this time, you were sure it wasn’t a trick of light—he smiled at you. It was small and fleeting, but you’d caught it nonetheless. “Seeing as Y/N is a God of celebration, joy, fire, and music—have all those ready for our guest, Mervyn.”

“Yessir,” the pumpkin coughed out a plume of smoke, before saluting with two gloved fingers, and strode away with his hands shoved into his overalls. 

Once Mervyn left in a hurry, you turned to Morpheus, eyes wide. “Dream, really, you don’t have to throw a party or anything for me, you’ve been more than kind enough—”

“I am merely repaying you for all you’ve done for mankind,” said the Endless, which made you step back just a bit in shock. “I must deal with some private matters—feel free to stay as long as you want—you are now a welcome guest in the Dreaming.”

“I… okay, thanks, Dream,” you said, trying your hardest to contain your excitement. 

He nodded, before turning on his heel and marching out of the library.

Shelving the books in her arms, Lucienne interrupted the silence with, “There hasn’t been a celebration in the Dreaming in centuries.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“None at all. In fact, this is the happiest I’ve seen him in quite a long time. You’ve really done a number on him,” said the librarian, regarding you with a curious look. 

“This is him happy?” you gasped, feeling bad for laughing slightly. “I wouldn’t want to see him angry, then.”

Lucienne scoffed at the thought. “Oh, I doubt it. He’s taken quite a liking to you.”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to reply with a coherent response, but found your tongue void of one. Morpheus liked you? All this time, you were only assuming that he was just tolerating you—interested, perhaps, at the very most. 

“Well, I’ll see you at the party, then,” said Lucienne, finding your stunned expression mildly amusing. She sent you a kind smile. “Let me know if you need assistance with anything.”

Not even three hours later, the castle was brilliantly lit with floating candles and dewy bubbles that emitted hazy, multi-hued light. There was upbeat music echoing throughout the expansive chambers, a rich accompaniment of wind instruments and chiming bells and thrumming beats of drums—though none of said instruments were anywhere to be found. Along with that, there was a large variety of snacks and nibbles arranged on a long, intricately designed table, including dates, cheese, and buttery pastries that practically melted in your mouth. Golden chalices overflowing with wines and honeyed ales alike were passed around like a contagious flu. The castle was packed, dreams and nightmares and gods (yes, even some that you recognized—Dionysus drunkenly greeted you with a hug and a slap to the back) were milling here and there chattering excitedly. From what you gathered whilst mingling with everybody else at the party, the entire ordeal was huge—evidently, Morpheus wasn’t quite the partying type. It came as a shock to everybody when they received prompt invitations to the castle. 

Speaking of which, you hadn’t seen him at all since the celebration commenced. Which was strange, considering he was the one that set it all up in the first place. 

“My, my, my, aren’t you a beauty? Have we not crossed paths just hours before, Lord Bastet?” a nightmare purred into your ear, roping you out of your thoughts. His name was Corinthian, one of the many that Morpheus had introduced to you on your little tour through his realm. You turned around, a flirtatious grin to your lips, hooded eyes flickering over to meet a pair of black shades. You were well aware that Morpheus would most definitely not be pleased with you seducing one of his nightmares, but he wasn’t even here at his own party, so you didn’t quite see a problem. “No wonder the Dream Lord’s gone full out—he’s aiming to win somebody over, ain’t he?”

A hum fell from you, and you stepped forward, cocking your head. “Do you always speak in questions, my sweet Nightmare?”

“Only works if you answer them, doesn't it?” he retorted, a handsome grin to his features. Corinthian was well aware that you were flirting around with him and had no issues with reciprocating the energy, but he also knew that it was all fun and games—nothing serious. Besides, he wasn’t particularly keen on getting in between whatever it is that Morpheus and you had going on. 

Rolling your eyes, you huffed, “Speaking of—do you know where he is? Don’t get me wrong, he’s thrown a splendid celebration—and this is coming from the God of celebrations—but I do have to admit that it puts a damper on the mood if the host himself doesn’t make an appearance.”

A laugh rolled off of Corinthian’s tongue. “Why don’t you turn around, darlin’?”

When you did, you were met with the sight of the Dream King, draped in his long coat, hair as scraggly as ever. He was watching the two of you with a sharp gaze, jaw squared. Though he let little slip past his guarded features, you were beginning to read him very well. He wasn’t angry, no—in fact, he was amused, but was furiously trying to hide it. “I’m pleased my presence matters so much to you, Y/N.”

You bit down on your lip to stave away your growing grin. “You’re late to the party.”

“I wanted to allow you space to enjoy it,” he graciously said. “The rest of my subjects would hardly speak to you freely if I was glued by your side.”

“True,” you admitted. “Though, I wouldn’t really mind being stuck to you.” 

Morpheus offered no reaction to your words, save for a glimmer of mirth behind the blue of his honed irises. 

“Were you waiting for me?” he asked quietly, barely audible over the raucous upswing of the celebration. 

Feeling bold tonight, you could only sidle closer to him, the cold golden jewelry of your party attire brushing against the very front lapels of his dark coat. Morpheus’ gaze flitted downward, soaking you in your entirety, before returning back to your face just as quickly. “You threw a party in my name and disappeared without a trace! Of course I was waiting for you, Dream.” 

For a moment, Dream had the gall to appear mildly apologetic. He didn’t seem to mind that you were much closer now, watching the way your searching eyes reflected the fires of the floating candles, like burning stars within the vast galaxy. “I am sorry for keeping you waiting, then.”

“Nothing a couple drinks can’t remedy,” you assured him, about to reach out to grasp his hand and pull him to a table of self-refilling refreshments, before hesitating and pulling your hand back.

Whistling loudly, Corinthian suddenly pulled both of your attentions away from each other. If you had to be completely honest, you’d nearly forgotten that he was there. In fact, you’d nearly forgotten there were hundreds of other beings in the room. He was grinning wolfishly, hands propped on his hips. “Well, aren’t you two a swell pair of lovebirds? It was lovely meeting you, eh, Bast? Take care of dear old Dream, will you?”

You waved him away with a grin before he sauntered off into the crowd, disappearing amongst a throng of boisterous dreams. 

The party had waned away to a couple of drunken gods (which took about a pond’s worth of fluid to get them to such a state) stumbling about in the halls, and a few straggling nightmares still trying to squeeze out the last remnants of the party. Everybody else had gone back to their respective homes or realms, exhausted and in need of a long rest. 

Much to your delight, Morpheus hadn’t left your side once the entire night. He stuck by you as if he were your shadow—silent, yet ever so loyal. However, you found that he’d been right—nearly all of his subjects that had initially been so friendly to you were now intimidated by their creator stonily staring them down. It was worth it, though. You liked Morpheus’ company, even if it was mostly silent and warded people away. Lucienne, however, practically immune to Morpheus’ temperament, spoke to you for a lengthy amount of time about the most interesting books she’s come across in her library, and you made her promise to lend copies to you whenever you returned for your next visit. Morpheus seemed to just barely smile when you mentioned that you were keen on returning to his realm.

You’ve spent far too much time away from the living realm, and you wanted to return back to your duties, you really did—but you were finding it hard to say goodbye to Dream. Especially when he was watching you with such attractive, hooded eyes. 

Had his eyes been like that the entire time, or was he just looking at you like that now that the two of you were alone, in front of his bedroom? How in the world did you get up here without realizing?

“What is it like? To have your subjects love you?” asked Morpheus, nearly startling you out of your dazed reverie. 

The question was an unexpected one, but you were quick to respond nonetheless. “It is perhaps the best part of serving them. I do not exist without them. I am nothing without them—and for that, I am grateful.”

Morpheus dipped his head, as if in thought.

“The humans have named you a God of many things, because they love you so,” he said. “Is it not tiring to juggle so many conflicting duties at once?”

“It’s not tiring at all. I like a bit of variety in my work. And I love them just as much for it, if not more—after all, I am a God of infatuation,” you replied, lips slanting up at him. 

Something changed within his scrutiny. It was minute, but you still noticed it. His jaw relaxed just a bit, and he angled his face to better look at you. Suddenly, your first few meetings where he had completely refused to meet your gaze whatsoever felt so very long ago. Not at all subtly, Morpheus’ stormy eyes glossed down to your lips, which were just slightly parted with want. 

Your breath hitched within your throat. 

Emboldened, you spoke again, voice an octave lower. “I am also a God of pleasure.” Ever so slowly, you reached out to graze your hand over his. His eyes remained on you, unblinking. When he didn’t jerk away, you threaded your warm fingers through his frigid ones. “Perhaps I can show you?”

There was a stormy grumble to Morpheus’ chest when his arm darted out to snake over your waist, pulling you close. He swallowed your pleased gasp when he sealed his lips over yours, noses bumping against one another amidst your vigor. Finally, finally, your hands reached up to bury within his unruly dark hair, sighing into him. There was a furiously desperate nature behind his touches, and you were nothing if not a match to his intensity. When you softly bit down on the bottom of his lip, a dangerous color melded over his features, and he made a suppressed noise of torment in the back of his throat, before kissing you again—harder this time. You most certainly didn’t mind. 

In tandem, you stepped back into his bedroom, and he kicked the door shut behind him. It closed so loudly, the very walls rattled—no doubt the entire castle had heard it. Neither of you seemed to care. 

She was screaming.

There was a long litany of crying pleas falling from her lips, hair plastered to her quickly paling skin with sweat. Tears rolled down her plump cheeks as she cradled her swollen stomach, where her unborn child was slowly dying within her.

She was losing her baby.

You were standing beside her, casting as many protective healing enchantments as fast as you possibly could, breathing labored. The very beginnings of panic seized your heart when none of it was enough. You weren’t enough.

“PLEASE!” she screamed her voice raw to any God that would listen to her. “PLEASE, HELP ME! I BEG YOU! I BEG YOU, PLEASE! I can’t lose them, I can’t lose my baby!”

“I’m trying,” you croaked, strained, even though she couldn’t hear or see you. You were trying—but it was too late. 

Death appeared in front of the bed, serenely calm, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You only shrugged her off, hurriedly casting more enchantments, more incantations, more protective shielding. You were a God of fertility, a protector of women and children—how could you let this happen?

“Y/N,” your old friend said, not unkindly. 

You ignored her.

“Y/N,” she repeated, a touch firmer. “You cannot bring back the dead.”

Another enchantment. Another incantation. Another spell. A scalding tear fell down your cheek. Your hands began to shake.

The child was still dead. The mother’s wails echoed shrill in your head.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccupped, your vision obscured with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

You didn’t even register when Dream gently pulled you away from the woman, so his sister had some space to properly do her job. Because you had failed at yours.

A sob thundered through you, shaking you to your very core. “I’m sorry,” you cried, turning away from the body. This wasn’t the first time you’d gone through this, but it only seemed to get more and more painful each time. 

Morpheus, grim-faced and solemn, brought you closer to him with soft touches, guiding your head to rest into the crook of his neck. You cried against his skin, fistfuls of his coat gathered tightly within your palms. He murmured a short sentence of comfort into your ear, but you didn’t quite catch what he was saying, ears filled with static. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated over and over again. Morpheus tenderly stroked the back of your head, falling silent, and tugged you all the closer to him. 

She was asleep. 

A man laid naked beside her, his arm thrown loosely over her waist as he snored so loud it was a wonder she didn’t jolt awake. 

With a beguiling smile, you looked over your shoulder to Morpheus expectantly. A miniscule glimmer of amusement warbled within his eyes, and with a flick of his fingers, the slumbering man’s arm fell away from the woman, and he turned over with a grumble, falling deeper into a dreamful sleep.

“Thank you,” you told him, affectionately grazing the tip of your nose to his cheek. “You should come along with me more often—it’s fun having an assistant to help me with my duties.”

“I’m only but a call away, my love,” replied the Endless, an unmistakably doting edge to his words. 

Your grin grew double its size. Morpheus slowly gestured to the sleeping couple with his head, reminding you of your duties.

“They’ve been trying to conceive for months,” you told him, waving your hand over the woman’s belly. A soft aureate glow touched the ends of your fingers, and fell to her in periodic droplets. “Today’s their lucky day.”

With a final protective casting, you stepped back, satisfied. 

“She won’t know she’s pregnant until two or three weeks’ time,” you said, making your way back to him across the room. “I’ll be back by then to make sure she’s doing alright—will you come with me, Morpheus?”

The Endless regarded you with a soft, fond gaze, one that was reserved for you, and only you. He gathered your hands within his.

You arched a brow when he didn’t answer your question. “Morpheus—?”

“Marry me,” he cut you off quietly, voice saturated with feather-silken endearment. 

There was a beat of shocked silence, and you had to pause for another two to make sure that he wasn’t jesting with you. Then again, Morpheus was never the kind to jest in the first place.

Then, your expression cracked into one of joy, positively radiant. The moonlight streaming through the window cast mellow shadows over the slopes of your features, shifting as you smiled ever so brilliantly. 

“On one condition,” you murmured, drawing yourself closer to him and dragging a glowing finger down his jaw. 

“Anything, my love,” whispered Morpheus, his lips but a hair’s breadth from yours.

“You must know that my duties to the mortals will always come first and foremost.”

The Endless dipped his head in understanding. “Every passing moment with you is only something to be all the more grateful for.”

“You certainly have a way with words, don’t you?” you whispered, amused. Morpheus stole your smile away with a kiss, indulgent in nature and devastatingly gentle.

Khonshu thought you were a fool. A mindless, bumbling fool. 

“You married Dream of the Endless?” your half-brother harrumphed. “What of your courtship with Ptah? He is in love with you, sibling-mine.”

At the mention of your previous lover, you bristled, glaring witheringly at his bird-skulled form. “That was centuries ago, Khonshu. Perhaps if you’d bothered to keep in touch, you would know that. Besides, Ptah is madly in love with Sekhmet, and she with him. I have no interest in rekindling whatever it is we had in the past. I love Morpheus, and that is that. Now I’m very much glad you didn’t bother showing up to our wedding.”

“There was a wedding?” he snarked, which made you square your jaw. 

The two of you had always had a love-hate relationship, as most siblings often did. 

“Even Anubis showed up,” you retorted, mind wandering back to your first love from long ago, and the awkward introduction between him and your husband. “Though, Morpheus wasn’t particularly happy about that.”

“Anubis has always been a sniveling, groveling simpleton,” your brother snidely remarked. “I am ever so busy, as you can see—I have no time for frivolous events such as weddings.”

Knowing it was pointless arguing with him, you simply blew out a sigh, and watched as he carefully shifted the moon into appearance amongst the stars of the night sky. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a sharp, searing pain tore through your chest, and you let out a choked groan, falling to your knees at the sudden sensation. Khonshu’s large head rounded to look at you, a litany of sharp, berating words on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back upon seeing you on the ground. 

“Y/N?” he asked, deep voice bellowing. 

It felt as if a dozen knives were plunged within you, twisting, twisting, twisting—

Morpheus. 

You didn’t know what was going on, but something was happening to him. You could feel it. He was in danger. Panicked, you called for him in your thoughts, and received no response. With a trembling voice, you called for him out loud.

Nothing.

Khonshu was beside you by then, helping you up, asking you about a dozen impatient questions at once, but you had no time to answer any of them.

“I have to go,” you told him, before stepping away, determined to get back to the Dreaming to find your husband.

“Lucienne!” you called, running into the library after scouring the castle, finding it completely empty. The librarian looked up from her book, a smile on her face upon seeing you. It was quick to melt away when she noticed your terrified expression. “Where’s Morpheus? Where is he?”

She looked taken aback by your frantic nature, before she calmly replied, “I’m not quite sure, he was here recently—I thought he was with you?”

“So he’s not here?” you asked, breath hitching. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Lucienne, I have to find him. I’m afraid something’s happened to my husband!”

Concerned, she tilted her head. “What makes you think so?”

“I just—I felt this searing pain within me, and for a moment I could feel him, like I… I could feel his pain, as if it were mine—I felt his anguish. And then it was just gone.” 

“Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I’m certain he’s perfectly fine,” Lucienne placated, a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We can wait until nightfall—Morpheus is sure to return from wherever he is by then.”

He didn’t return. 

Not at nightfall. 

Not the next day. Nor the next week, nor the month after that.

Not for years, not for decades.

The living realm was in shambles without him. Some went for days without sleep, collapsing only out of pure exhaustion, and others slept in a comatose state for weeks on end. 

Dreams and nightmares looked to you for guidance at first—but you weren’t equipped to rule an entire realm on your own, much less one that wasn’t yours to begin with. 

And not long after Dream’s disappearance, they began to leave the Dreaming, in search of something else. 

The kingdom was crumbling apart, and you tried your best to keep it together at first, you really did. But with so much of your time devoted to the living realm, you began to weaken, and you couldn’t uphold both strenuous duties at once. With time, the Dreaming began decaying and breaking down, until all that was left was ash and rubble.

Lucienne was one of the only ones that stayed in the broken realm, and it shattered your heart to see her so dejected, living amongst the ruins that she once called a home.

And what made it all worse was that you missed him. You missed your husband. His comforting presence, his smooth, melodic voice, his muted kindness, despite his cold exterior. You missed him, terribly so, and to see his world crumbling away filled the cracks within your chest with a thick, tar-like despair.

During your time in the living realm, when you weren’t helping out the frantic mortals, you spent your time scouring city to city, country to country, tribe to tribe—and nowhere was Morpheus to be found. You’d even gotten so desperate to ask your brother, Khonshu, to help, and he’d reluctantly agreed, using his poor sleep-deprived avatars to help search for him. Perhaps you didn’t search hard enough.

Or perhaps… perhaps he was simply gone. 

No. No, it just couldn’t be.

Morpheus wouldn’t up and disappear like that—he loved his subjects, his dreams, his nightmares, all of them—and he loved you, more than anything else. 

He wouldn’t do this to you on purpose, you knew that. He was somewhere out there, in the vast cosmos. 

And he needed your help. 

“I’ll find you, my dearest Dream,” you whispered, still trying ever so desperately to reach him through thought. “Wherever you are… wherever you’ve gone…”

I’ll find you.

[samsalami66]

Early Ball For My Goalie

Look at that, another part of the soccer au! This time, a little glimpse into my new favourite rarepair, Construction (if you have wondered who the mother of little Lily is... you will find out now !)

This was written for the wonderful @sandman-rarepair-fest, which gave me the motivation to write this thing in the first place!

Prompt: Strangers to Lovers

Rating: Teen and Up

Status: Complete

Words: 1,138

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: First Meetings, Crush at First Sight, Dominant Johanna, Destruction is so gone for her

Summary: John surprises the team during their usual Saturday Drink Night by introducing his cousin Johanna. Clearly, he has an ulterior motive to sitting her directly next to Olethros... and he rather quickly finds out just what exactly that motive is.

Read below or on AO3!

Some music, a good beer and even better company were all the things Olethros needed to enjoy a Saturday evening. And between the 80s’ rock, the New Inn’s craft beer, and his team, there really was no better way to spend a weekend night. 

Though this particular Saturday might have the potential to be the best in a row of great ones, all thanks to a new addition to their weekly meet-ups. When John had arrived with a mischievous smile on his face and a beautiful woman on his arm, all silky brown hair and eyes shining with joy, Olethros had simply raised an eyebrow at him. John was really the furthest thing from straight, probably only topped by their resident manwhore himself, Corin Thian. But once he introduced the woman as his cousin, Johanna, things came into perspective. 

The guy was up to something. 

Not that Olethros had the time to think about that particular fact for much longer, as John ushered her into the booth right next to him, so that they were pressed together from shoulder to thigh. Everywhere they touched, Olethros felt warmth bloom, racing up his body and into his chest so it might send his heart into overdrive. 

God, but it had been so long since he had felt this way after a mere glance and touch from a woman, like the blush on his cheeks might go up in flames if she so much as dared to speak to him. 

“So, you’re the goalie, then?”

Olethros knew the tips of his ears were growing hot, and he could practically feel the team’s amused eyes staring him down. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he cleared his throat and turned more towards Johanna, giving her his full attention. “The name’s Olethros, but my friends call me Olly.”

As was customary for an introduction, Olethros held out his hand towards her, which Johanna took with a firmer grip than he would have expected from a woman so slight. The look in her eyes spoke of challenge and mischief, a competitive fire that Olethros wanted to meet all too readily. He was a player at heart, after all. 

“Olethros,” Johanna repeated, slowly, as if rolling the name around in her mouth. It sounded good in her voice, in her accent. “Eccentric parents?”

A laugh escaped him before he could even try to keep himself back. 

“You could say that. Though I think compared to some of my siblings, I got off lightly.” Johanna prompted him to elaborate with a raised eyebrow, and Olethros continued with a smile underlying his words that he couldn’t quite seem to shake. “Alright, from oldest to youngest, there are Potmos, Teleute, Morpheus, myself, Epithumia, Aponoia and Delilah.”

Beside him, Johanna snorted inelegantly, and Olethros almost didn’t feel the pang of hurt at speaking Del’s name over the warmth that rose in his chest. 

“Seems like your parents had a bit of a change of mind between child six and seven… But, really mate, seven children? Bet your childhood was a real treat.” 

Olethros’ answering smile was weak but genuine, a sad thing that he tried to hide behind a sip of his beer. 

“You could say that… What about you? Any siblings to speak of?”

“Nah,” Johanna nodded in John’s direction, who was basically sitting in Cori’s lap with how he was draped over him, deep in conversation. “That disaster of a man is as close to a brother as I’ll get.”

“John’s a good guy. Though he never mentioned you before, which is a true tragedy.” 

Johanna tsked at that and threw her cousin a disappointed glare, which the man probably didn’t notice, with how far down Corin’s throat his tongue was now. It would have been impressive, if Olethros didn’t have to deal with them every single day during training. 

“Bet he hasn’t, the little shite. I’ve been out of the UK for a while, only came back this weekend. So I’m not too surprised he forgot to mention his favourite cousin before.”

For a moment, Olethros bit his tongue in order to keep in the words which were threatening to spill. But Johanna’s open smile and imploring eyes were all that he needed to let loose what he usually wouldn’t, the words he knew were too much and too soon. 

“I don’t know how anyone could forget you,” the words came out stumbling, which made Olethros feel like an inexperienced teenager talking to his first crush, but Johanna’s eyes still seemed to darken at his words, emboldening him to go on. “I know I certainly won’t, after tonight.” 

Quite suddenly, Olethros felt a hand on his thigh, lithe and hot and strong as it gave the muscle a firm squeeze, and it took everything in him not to whimper at the touch. God, but he loved himself a woman that took charge. 

“Actually, Olethros, I’m currently looking for a place to stay, here in London.” Johanna drawled, her nails scraping along the inside of his thigh, and Olethros was a very weak man if the groan he let out at this teasing touch was any indication. 

“You barely know me,” he answered, slightly breathless, and choked at the smirk Johanna threw at him, the way she licked her lips while staring into his very soul. 

“Think I’d like to, though.”

Her words were followed  by a pinch so high up his thigh it was surely deemed inappropriate in public, which had Olethros gasp a desperate breath and nod, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, alright. I, I have a couch-” 

That sentence was interrupted by a thumb on his lower lip, pressing slightly into his mouth. Olethros felt his knees going weak. 

“I think I’d prefer a bed, for the first time.” 

Right, he could be so normal about that. No need to whine or moan like a needy lapdog. Except he did both, loud enough that at least six heads turned towards him, and Olethros could feel John’s stupid grin from across the table. 

“And we should leave, I think.” she added with a glare towards her cousin, before grabbing Olethros’ hand and pulling him upright. Despite her lesser height it didn’t seem like much of a problem to her, and for a brief moment Olethros wondered if she could throw him around if he let her, once they got home. In the next moment, Olethros realised that the idea sent a small thrill up his spine, and he scrambled to get out of the booth and into his jacket, which Johanna straightened for him with a small grin. 

“Have fun, you two!” John called after them as they hurried out of the New Inn, and when Johanna interlaced their fingers with a laugh, Olethros got the feeling that this was the beginning of something truly wonderful.

[skzinka]

“ A STORY TOLD BY THE STARS ” ft. lee minho

timeline : september, 2020

summary : inka wants to escape reality and find the other one she has dreamed of so much.

word count : 1.2k>

« what are you doing here? it's late. »

the dark night sky was probably decorated with its millions of stars.. in a less polluted city. a sigh left inka's cold lips, who was previously lying in the false grass of her dorm building's rooftop. slowly straightening up to turn on herself, resting her tired gaze on the face of the person who dared to disturb her, inka finally smiled mischievously at minho.

« i'm not tired. plus, i like the weather these days. the nights are made of a gentle warmth. » not waiting for a further answer, she let herself fall backwards again, to regain her initial position. minho who was watching her with his hands in his pockets, finally decided to join her.

lying down next to her to observe an almost completely dark sky, with only passenger planes and the moon as light, he wondered what she could observe spending two o'clock in the morning : « what grabs your attention this much? i'm curious. »

a sigh of exasperation and despair escaped involuntarily from inka's throat : the thing was, she didn't know exactly what she was looking for here. maybe she was fleeing some feelings that were a little too overwhelming, or maybe she was looking for a way to dream among the stars, maybe she was just looking for a sandman who would give her access to sleep. infinite possibilities were offered to her.

« i like to come here and imagine the stars in the sky, » she began to explain, causing minho to leave the vastness of the sky to focus on the movements of her talking lips, « i feel like.. that sometimes, they tell me stories that allow me to escape from reality for a few moments, » a naive smile joined her lips, as she suddenly shook her head, « i'm weird, right? »

« i like weird people. » answered minho, a few long seconds later. he was sure she wasn't weird — it was totally normal to want to escape reality in one way or another, from time to time. he sometimes found himself wanting to do it too, allowing himself to dream even for a few moments, to model another reality with the touch of his imagination. after his words, inka slowly and carefully turned her face towards the boy's, drowning herself in the depth of his dreamy eyes.

she stared at him for a moment, letting her pupils frolic freely over his face, tracing with her loving and delicate gaze every curve, every mole, every imperfection of it. she seemed to get lost in an another world, touching the imagination of a dream that minho, unknowingly, controlled. she could spend hours dreaming of him, his deep gaze allowing her to escape her reality.

but she couldn't fight the temptation to shift her gaze to something that suddenly seemed more interesting. it was something she had often thought about : why were minho's lips so perfect? they had a delicate shape with a big sunny smile that could undoubtedly melt anyone. there was nothing to complain about the beauty of minho, to her dreamy eyes, everything was absolutely perfect about him.

« why are you looking at me like that? » he asked her in a barely audible whisper, which inka thought she had imagined it. she slowly averted her eyes, to plunge her gaze back into the ones of the boy who hadn't left hers for a single second. he was hypnotized by her, and she was bewitched by him.

« i think you look like my escape. » she whispered softly, bringing her body close to minho's, who was watching her without saying a word — he was way too preoccupied with all the crazy emotions in his body, in his heart and in his head. something had changed, but he couldn't tell what. maybe it was the way their fingers brushed, the latter who usually clung to each others all the time, suddenly seemed more shy. maybe it was their hearts, beating in unison, creating a ringing melody in their chests. or maybe it was the gleam in their eyes, which didn't seem to be what it once was.

« i think you are mine. » — after these almost phantom words, inka felt her cheeks blush furiously and her heart race awkwardly. it all seemed far too real for her to imagine. was she still listening to the stories counted by the stars? but usually there was no delicate hand brushing her cheek, nor a deep gaze inquiring into the depths of her soul, there was no minho so close to her that his hot breath could settle on her face.

her delicate hands clung, in spite of themselves, to the collar of the sweatshirt he was wearing, maintaining her balance so as not to risk crashing into him — providing a perfect opportunity for the brunet to fully lay his palm against her cheek, coaxing her tenderly. he hovered in another world, as if nothing could reach him, nothing but inka. it was just him and her, stuck in a dream they both secretly cherished, unconsciously creating a second reality of their own.

« i dream of you. all i do, is dream of you, minho. » she finally admitted, daring to say these words while looking at him straight in the eyes. his thumb suddenly brushed her lower lip, causing the girl to tighten the grip of her fingers around the fabric of minho's top. she could barely hold still, her heart was ready to explode, and she didn't know what to do to stop it.

but one thing managed to stop it.

some hot lips suddenly placed on hers.

hands on her cheeks, lips delicately placed on hers, eyes mechanically closed — everything felt like a sweet dream. minho was kissing her, and he did it divinely, impeccably, as if he had dreamed of it every nights. minho guided inka's body even closer to his own, almost enveloping her in a bubble of love, he dared not leave her lips for a second, by fear that this moment cannot happen again.

minho suddenly felt inka's cold hands cling desperately to the collar of his sweatshirt, innocently touching his skin, sending shivers down his spine. their kiss seemed much more desperate and envious than before — as if they had been waiting for this moment for a long time, as if the slightest gust of wind could break their moment of intimacy.

it's been a while since inka felt like this : her heart pounding in her chest, her cheeks warming in spite of the cold, a strange euphoria growing in the pit of her stomach. she didn't want to think about the consequences of it all, all that mattered to her at the moment was minho' soft hands touching her skin and the beats of his heart echoing against hers.

after long minutes that seemed so short, minho moved his face away from that of the youngest, caressing her cheek tenderly with his fingertips. staring into his eyes, inka couldn't help but hold on tightly to the boy, placing a butterfly kiss on his lips before snuggling up to him. « i wish we could be like this forever.. » she softly whispered, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

a soft sigh left the lips of the boy in love, hooking his arms around the waist of the girl of his dreams — he had never agreed with her so much as actually.

✧⠁taglist : @writerblock-sucks

[goferwashere]

Bull & Don’s Night Out (Punch-Out!! Monster Hunter AU Oneshot)

WHATTTTTTT WE’RE SO BACK? LETS FUCKING GOOOOO

2.4K words and the idea is finally out in the world. I can rest now

I actually like tumblr’s format and options for coloured text so I think I’ll stay posting stories on here

@oohbuggypie DINNER’S HERE!! I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT POOKIE (THAT GOES FOR THE REST OF YOU TOO!)

——————

Being turned down by all of the members of the world circuit was a bit embarrassing for Don. There was a WVBA hosted event for world circuit members only; plenty of investors and other boxers would be there, and Don had wanted to go as someone’s plus one.

Unfortunately, it seems that everyone had their own plans already. Aran didn’t pick up his call and always avoided him like the plague so he already knew the answer to that. Soda turned him down outright, and tried to punch Don when he tried to say anything more. Super Macho Man was already taking his ‘boyfriend’ to the event, and decided not to press further. Sandman was a no. He wasn’t even going to try with him.

But, Don had someone he knew he could convince.

Bull was just trying to enjoy a nice cup of tea. He sat at a boba shop far off in the outskirts of the city, and enjoyed the peace and quiet that it offered. He loved the way they prepared all of their drinks, and came there quite often, though nobody knew it.

Something of an odd sight, a pastel shop decked out in pink and white— and you see a hulking 6’2 boxer walking through the door. Bull was quiet though, and that’s all that mattered to the employees.

He swirled his drink around with his straw, looking at the cat pattern adoring the lid. He always found it cute. This was his private spot, and was glad that he wouldn’t be bothered here.

“Bald Bull! I’ve been looking all over for you, you sneaky man.”

The door flung open, and in sauntered Don Flamenco. All heads turned to him as he walked across the shop and sat down at Bull’s table. Bull sat up straight, now embarrassed that all eyes were on him. Don seemed to enjoy it though, judging by the smirk on his face. Bull wanted to say something, but he felt his throat getting a bit dry. So he just stared at him. Don pretended not to notice the uncomfortable silence and pressed on.

“I’m curious, what is it that you’re drinking? It looks delicious.”

“What do you want, Don?”

Bull knew that Don didn’t do small talk. He pushed his drink to the middle of the table and turned to get out of the booth. Don put a hand on his, and he stopped.

“Oh, please don’t go.” He traced a finger down until he reached his fingertips. “I should know by now that I can’t fool you.”

Bull’s cheeks were heating up slightly, and he gritted his teeth before begrudgingly sitting back down. Don’s smile widened and took a sip of Bull’s drink.

“Hm. Peach.”

He wasn’t getting that drink back. Sighing, he waved Don on to continue.

“Ah yes. Are you planning on going to that WVBA event?” He said, motioning with the drink. Bull rolled his eyes.

“No.”

Don pouted. “Oh, Bull… Can’t you do me a favor? Just this once?” He tried to get handsy again, but Bull pulled back, placing his arms firmly in his lap.

“I don’t like being in crowded places.”

Don sighed, looking out into the street. “I don’t know where you came from Bull— but here, if you want to keep your job you need to have connections.”

Bull began to grind his teeth together, fiddling with his drink receipt in his pocket.

“I know that.”

“So why don’t you take me? We can go together. I can do the talking for both of us, yes?” He extended a hand to Bull. He had to admit, it was a bit of a tempting offer. Don had always been charismatic. If it hadn’t been for him, he wouldn’t have met any of the other monsters. They were… certainly something, but it was better than being alone. Anything was better than being alone.

But such a big place, with so many people. All of them talking about money and investing, and so much that he knew nothing about. Even if Don were there, it would be too much for him.

“Not this time.”

Bull pushed himself out of the booth, and began to put on his coat.

“Bull, don’t do this.” Don clicked his tongue, and Bull knew what that meant. He only had a small window to get out of Don’s vocal range. He picked up everything and shoved on his thick hat, but it was pointless.

“Sit back down Bull.”

Bull could feel the comfort and warmth spreading throughout his body. He prepared to drift off and wake up when it was all over, but instead he just sat. He was still fully awake.

“Don. Please.”

Don’s eyes widened a bit, before he grimaced and turned his eyes down to his drink. He was silent for an uncomfortably long time. Bull was about to speak up again, but Don was quicker.

“Just let me go with you, Bull. It doesn’t need to be like this.” He didn’t raise his eyes to meet Bull. Bull was starting to get angry.

“I said that I don’t want to go.” He tried to get up again, but to no avail. “I’m not-” Don held out a hand to stop him.

“We’re not talking about this anymore.”

Bull felt his lips close, and he could no longer open them. He let out heavy puffs, mentally struggling as he tried to command his body to do something.

“You are inviting me to this event. You’ll be with me for the day, and you’ll do everything I say. Got it?”

There it was. Bull felt his consciousness fading into the back of his mind as his body nodded slowly. The last image in his mind was Don’s face, with a hint of guilt plastered across it.

——————

The next night, Don pulled up outside of Bull’s house. He got out of his car to go get him. He knocked on the door, and Bull came out wearing a suit and bow tie.

Don had to admit that he was a bit taken aback. This must’ve been a new suit, because he’d never worn anything like this before. He reeled his head back a bit as Bull stepped out onto the porch, and Don jumped at the chance to inspect him. He dusted him off, fixed his collar, straightening his bow tie, and all manner of other small things, but he looked dashing. Bull should wear suits more often.

Don was a bit more casual in his outfit, a simple button-down with dress pants and a suit vest. He was a bit jealous now, feeling that Bull might actually look nicer than he did. He scoffed and led him back to the car. He contemplated for a moment, before handing the keys to Bull.

“Since you look like such a gentleman today, why don’t you drive us there?”

Bull blankly followed the order, starting the car as Don got in the passenger seat. He put his feet up on the dash, and Bull mumbled something about it not being safe. Don whipped his head over to him, but he still seemed under his command. Even in this state, he managed to be concerned about something. He slowly put his feet back down, and kept a tense eye on him the rest of the way there.

Bull got them there without issue, and after parking the car he rounded to the passenger side to let Don out. Taking his hand, Don stepped out and his chest puffed up when they approached the doors. They checked the invitation and just like that they’d made it.

Don had to stop his jaw from dropping once they’d entered. This banquet hall was massive, and incredibly fancy. His mind immediately went to all of the other boxers, and how they’d be dressed up for the occasion. He could never see any of them in formal attire.

Dull conversation after dull conversation was had between Don and many of the other people at the hall. ‘Networking was necessary’, he kept saying to himself. But eventually food was brought out, and he was more than ready to eat.

“Bull, grab me a plate will you?” He waved Bull away as he found a table for the two of them. He returned swiftly, with all manner of delectable sweets on the plate. He placed it in front of him, and noticed that Bull had snuck a few foods that he would’ve liked on the plate. Again, this perturbed Don, but Bull still seemed docile. He’d only gotten Don a plate, and nothing for himself. He sighed and pushed the plate between them.

“Take what you want.”

Bull lunged at the food like an animal, eating with his hands. Don pushed himself back into his chair, and whispered harshly.

“Use cutlery! Eat slowly!” He couldn’t believe that Bull needed to be told this. Bull stopped, wiping his hands on his napkin before again doing as he was told. After making sure that Bull was behaving himself, he picked up a fork and began to peck away at the various fruits and other things that Bull had stacked on the plate.

Then out of nowhere, Bull reached across the table with his napkin. Don leaned back cautiously, but his shoulder was being gripped by him. Not hard, but enough to stop him from moving. Don’s heart started to beat faster, but Bull just wiped at the corner of his mouth. He’d removed a chocolate stain, staring at Don for another moment before going back to eating. Don reached up slowly, touching where Bull had wiped his napkin.

He hadn’t told him to do that.

Why did he do that?

“Bull.”

He looked up, saying nothing.

His eyes weren’t focused. They looked normal enough, but upon inspecting them— you couldn’t fake that look.

“Nevermind. Carry on.”

~

“Nevermind. Carry on.” Don’s voice boomed, reverberating through whatever… this place was. Bull covered his ears, and realized that he’d transformed back into his original form. He freaked out, looking around, believing he’d just exposed himself to a café full of people.

But the only thing around him were large stone walls. He only needed a second to instantly recognize where he was.

It was a maze.

He looked up, and saw a foggy, murky blue color clouding the sky above. Below his hooves he felt gravel. He snorted, before looking ahead and seeing a path being illuminated ahead. There was only one way for Bull to go, so he followed.

~

Bull sat quietly, watching Don eat. They were having something of a staring contest, but unfortunately Don couldn’t compare to the eyes of a glazed over zombie. Don was getting antsy. He finished the last of the food, and told Bull to go dispose of it.

~

“Go throw this out.” Bull winced at the loud command. He was starting to get an idea of where he was. The maze was large, but with a clear path being illuminated to him, he could travel much faster. He knew that he was reaching the end of the maze.

He could hear vaguely what was going on outside, where his body was following Don’s orders. He was going to make Don pay for making him do this.

~

After returning, Bull sat down quietly. Don looked around, before standing and wrapping his arms around one of Bull’s. He led him to the bathroom, and took him into the big stall— after checking that the bathroom was empty, obviously.

He looked a bit frazzled from the event so far, with his suit and bow tie starting to slip out of their perfect position. He also seemed a bit sweaty. Don stared at him for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh and grabbing a bit of toilet paper and dabbing at the sweat to clean him up. He then adjusted his tie and suit, since he couldn’t do it himself.

“There. Good as new.” Don said, stepping back to admire his work. He looked him up and down, but something caught his eye.

Bull’s hand was twitching.

Don’s brow furrowed, and he reached out for it. He held it in his and watched as it continued to do so. Bull had been acting strange all night. What was going on?

~

Bull could see it now. A straight shot to the exit. He was running for it, and now he was going to get Don back.

~

Don clicked his tongue, and reached up with his free hand to touch Bull’s face. He inspected it, adjusting his jaw to get different angles. Bull seemed fine, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

~

Then Bull was back. He sucked in a breath and took in surroundings. He was in a bathroom stall, and looked down to see Don holding his face tenderly, with their hands interlocked.

He pulled back, and Don’s eyes widened.

“Bull?”

Don let out a sputtered gasp as Bull slammed him into the wall, holding him by the collar. Bull was seeing red now.

“You.”

Don put his hands up, frantically trying to break Bull’s grip.

“Please, Bull, it wasn’t like that— agh!” Bull put an arm against his windpipe, and Don’s eyes widened even more. He croaked, trying to get any words out, but Bull wasn’t going to let him. He watched as Don’s eyes began to flutter, and his breathing started to get shallow.

Right before Don was about to pass out, Bull dropped him on the tile floor. Don scrambled back and pressed himself against the wall, taking in deep breaths.

Bull stood over him, and he’d never seen Don so scared. His mouth moved, but nothing came out aside from quiet wheezing.

Bull stepped back, and he saw Don’s head loll to the side. He was trying to say something, but Bull wasn’t going to hear it.

“You’re a monster.”

Don let out a wry chuckle, hiding his expression from Bull.

“T-takes one.. to know one.”

Bull looked at the state he’d left the matador in. Guilt was beginning to creep in the back of his mind, but he shook it off. He was just trying to hurt Bull’s feelings.

He unlocked the door to the stall, and walked out of the bathroom. He thought he could hear something else from Don, but he didn’t want to hear anything else that snake might say.

~

“Wait… Bull.. C-come back…” Don wheezed. “I’m.. I’m sorry.. please don’t— leave me here…” He took in a sharp breath, pushing himself off the wall onto the floor. But Bull was already gone. He didn’t mean what he said. He just—

Just what?

You just wanted to hurt him. You deserve this.

Don’s inner monologue taunted him as he lay there, disheveled and out of breath. He didn’t mean it.

But it was too late.

——————

gofer try to write fun and wholesome fiction challenge (impossible)

I HOPE Y’ALL ENJOYED!!! ouuu lordddd this one was so much fun to write so I hope you had just as much fun as I did 😋

[nocturneindream]

Gallows of the Dreaming

~ Chapter two: The Exorcist ~

~ 18+ | Minors DNI | AFAB Reader | No Y/N ~

AO3 | Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any characters from The Sandman comics or Netflix series. This is purely creative writing.

Word Count: 8.5k

Chapter warnings: Violence, graphic depictions of gore, religious themes (exorcisms & demons), relived trauma (childhood memories of abuse), foul language, Dream unintentionally being a bit of an ass.

If you might be triggered by any of the above, I'd recommend skipping this chapter entirely (especially the gore TW). There will be enough context in the following chapters to understand what happened.

A/N: Strap in, this chapter’s a long one. Could it have been split up into multiple? Probably. But I like my fics long & wordy. I know this took a while (and that’s an understatement) & hope it was worth the wait for those of you who read the first chapter. If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me a DM. They will be listed in the comments just to keep the actual post length manageable.

As always, feel free to comment, send in any questions, and like/re-blog this post. Enjoy!

- Kathryn ;)

Do NOT re-write, translate, copy, re-post, or claim my writing as your own. Thanks!

“It’s a bit late for a cup of coffee.” You remark tiredly, flopping into the opposite end of the small booth. The brunette’s eyes don’t meet yours as you settle into your seat, too engrossed in people-watching through the dew-drenched café window. She rests her head in one hand whilst the other mindlessly sirs her drink. 

“I could do without sleep for a while.” She says, bringing the plain mug to her lips, face scrunching at the bitter taste. You make note of the light purple rings beneath her eyes as she reaches for a miniature cup of half-and-half between you, wondering how long she’s been awake and what’s kept her up. “Besides, I’ve got a job after this.” 

“Well,” You sigh. “Then I won’t keep you for long. Did you find anything?” You hope she did, hope you’ll finally have something - anything - to point you in the right direction. Wordlessly, she snakes a hand into the tote bag at her side, retrieving a manilla envelope and sliding it across the sleek table.

“What’s this?” You question,  pinching open the prongs and pulling out the scraggly piece of yellowed parchment inside. 

“A family heirloom.” A small smile graces her lips as her eyes glaze with memories. “My Gran used to tell me stories all the time. Fairytales, really.” 

You scan over the drawing in your hands: Two men seated at opposite ends of a tavern table, dressed in period clothing. Late eighteen-hundreds if you had to guess. Beneath the sketch, the parchment reads: ‘The Devil and the Wandering Jew.’ 

“What’s the fairytale behind this?” 

“According to my Gran, an ancestor of mine hunted him down.” She pauses to peel open and stir the creamer into her coffee. “She was shit with managing her money. Nearly lost it all to god knows what, and with creditors pounding at the door she was starting to run out of options. By some miracle, she found that drawing stitched inside a dead man’s pocket and figured anything would be worth the gamble to save her from losing her status and being forced to beg on the streets - or worse.” She sips from her mug, a hum of approval sounding in her throat. “So she hunted him down, and when she found him, demanded riches and immortality.”

“What happened then?” You press, and her brown eyes finally meet yours. “Well, obviously he didn’t grant her immortality, or else she’d be the one having this conversation with you. But, he did offer her a few odd jobs. She earned his respect, and his money.” Respect and money from the Devil. An interesting story, but not what you’d asked for. Perceptive eyes catch your disappointment from beyond the rim of her mug as she takes a long swig.

“What’s the matter? You seem a bit edgy.” You fight against the knit of your brows, the disheartened frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. Her mug gently clangs against the table as she sets it down and leans over her elbows into your line of sight, redirecting your attention from the page.

“I appreciate you digging this up but,” You shake your head, slipping the drawing back into its envelope. “I didn’t need information on the Devil. I needed information on the Sandman.” Your former classmate nods in understanding.

“It wasn’t the Devil she’d tracked.” She reaches across the table, swiftly pulling the envelope from under your fingers and back toward her. “Dream, she called him. Dream of the Endless.” Dream. It’s no lead, but it’s certainly more than you’d managed to find out for yourself over the last three weeks, and you’re grateful for her effort.

“Thank you, Johanna.” She waves away your earnest gratitude, pinning you with an inquisitive glare. 

“Tell me why you’re digging about the business of an Endless.” Her demand catches you off guard, though it shouldn’t. She’s always been quick and to the point, never missing a single piece of the puzzle. If there’s information to be gained, she’ll find a way to get it. No matter the cost. Precisely why you’d enlisted her help.

“It’s a long story.” 

“Then make it short.” Frankly, you’re not sure you should tell her. She might think you’ve gone mad. What should it matter to her? But, the truth - with a mind of its own - erupts under her intimidating stare. 

“Roderick and Alexander Burgess are why” You admit, fidgeting with the tag of your coat. “Had him locked in their basement for almost a century, naked and alone in a glass cage.” 

“Jesus fuck.” She hisses, eyes wide. “So you’ve met him?”

“I freed him.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat, eyes cast down toward your twiddling thumbs. If you thought long enough about it, you could still feel the grains of sand against your cheeks - in your eyes, his chilled hand against yours as you tugged him loose. Your palm tingles with remembrance, and you clench your fist. A poor attempt at replacing the sensation. Johanna spots the movement. Nothing gets past her. 

“If you’re as smart as you were back in school, you’ll move on.” She speaks truthfully, as though that’s the obvious - sane -  answer to your situation.

“Why would I do that? I’ve already put so much time and-” “Move on.” She urges, placing a warm hand atop yours. 

“I need to make sure he’s ok.” 

“You want to make sure the immortal personification of nightmares is ‘okay’?” She chides,  eyes rolling at your sentiment. “You’ve lost the plot, mate.” Ouch. 

You yank your hands from under hers, grabbing at the coat in your lap, muttering, “I should go.” You wiggle out of the booth, ready to leave, but nimble fingers catch your arm. 

 “I don’t work for free. You still owe me for getting you that interview,” She takes the envelope between her fingers, waving it near her face. “And for this.”

“How much?” You watch the cogs turn in her mind as she eyes you up and down, determining her price. No doubt expensive.

“Nothing you can’t work off.” Headlights flash through the window, sharpening the shadows of her cheekbones and jaw as she slides out from her seat, gathering her things. “Let’s go. Cab meter’s ticking.”

The London street lights gleam like a beacon off the silver circle on Johanna’s belt as she steps out of the cab, popping the collar of her pristine, white coat. Her sleek hair whips against her cheeks as she turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“If you’re going to be messing about with primordial entities, then it’s time you learn what I do for a living.” She rotates on the heel of her boot, long strides swiftly carrying her up the concrete steps ahead. “Maybe that’ll change your mind.” 

“It won’t.” You stubbornly assert. Her pace slows to a stop as she throws a patronizing glance at you over her shoulder. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but believe me. I already know the risks.” You don’t need a lesson in the dangers of magic. The aftermath of the Sandman’s release had been enough of an example. 

You’d awoken the following morning tucked neatly between your soft sheets, unusually well-rested. The memories of the night before were so…hazy, as though they’d been no more than another nightmare. Until you heard them, the muffled sobs that floated down the hall and into your groggy ears. Only then had you realized the severity of the matter - the countless, horrible possibilities.

Though you shouldn’t have cared - not after all you’d seen and discovered, you shot toward the shared bedroom of your bosses, your heart a lump in your throat. The cries grew louder and louder, and as you flung open the door, you realized they’d been coming from Paul. His shoulders shook as he clung to the clammy hand of his partner, pleading into deaf ears, “Come back to me, Alex.”

Alexander Burgess laid before him, cold sweat dripping from his brows, head thrashing against his damp pillow. Continuous, frightened whimpers fell from his open mouth, as though he’d been trapped within his worst nightmare. A fitting fate, you thought as you stared at him, somehow knowing - sensing - the Sandman had delivered his due punishment. You couldn’t help the guilty satisfaction the sight brought you.

Paul hadn’t noticed your presence at first, not until you’d placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, as he had done for you many times before. For his role in releasing their captive, he’d been granted the small mercy of being spared. Though as you watched the tears cascade down his red, swollen face, you wondered if it could be considered mercy at all. He was utterly powerless, forced to watch as his lover suffered a fate worse than death.

“Do something!” He pleaded. Despite knowing there was likely nothing you could do, you stepped around the bed and peeled back Mr. Burgess’ eyelids. His pupils shifted, dilating and constricting rapidly. Heavy, panted breaths heaved from his chest as his body struggled to adjust to his affliction. 

You shook your head, softly confirming, “There’s nothing I can do, Paul.”

There was no cure for this. Not even trained, award-winning doctors had been able to wake patients with the Sleepy Sickness. Nearly one hundred years had passed and patients still suffered, trapped within their dreams and nightmares. Some never slept at all. No cure, no known recoveries, no miracles. In one night, Mr. Burgess was lost to the world. A resentful, nasty piece of you silently thought, good riddance. 

“What do you mean?” He scoffed. For the first time since you’d met the man, his usual pleasant tone was nowhere to be found. “Aren’t you his caretaker?! Fix this!” He demanded. Your eyes searched his twisted expression for some sense of reason, finding nothing but seething, misplaced rage.

“This is your fault, you know! I’d still have my Alex if it weren’t for you!” Snot dripped from his nose, mixing with the avalanche of tears free-falling from his bleary eyes. “Get out!” He bellowed, voice reverberating throughout the room - rattling your chest. He had never raised his voice at you.

Though the words had been born from grief, you couldn’t shake your outrage. How dare he? You wanted to yell, to stoop to his level and throw his actions back in his sniveling face, but part of you understood his perspective. While he had finally pushed himself to right the wrongs of his past, you had been the catalyst. Had you not snooped through the library, Paul would have lived out the rest of his life with the person he loved most, complacent - happy. You bit your cheek, closed your eyes, and held your tongue as he continued his fit.

“I want you out of this house by nightfall or so help me-” He wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his robe, eyes dulling as he turned back to his lost lover.

You weren’t naive. It had been apparent from the moment you laid eyes on the man in the glass that your time at the mansion would soon run out. Though you’d grown fond of Paul, you knew there was no coming back from what had happened, from the knowledge of what he’d allowed. You blinked away your tears, grabbed your things, and haven’t looked back since. You’d done the right thing, even if the fallout had been difficult to witness. 

“Constantine.” You’re torn from your memories by the familiar depth of the voice that calls, breath catching in your throat at the sight of your stranger. 

He’s clothed this time, clad in an all-black ensemble. Your eyes trail down the buttons of his knee-length coat to his slender hands as he tucks them inside his pockets. He’s focused solely on the woman in front of you, and you’re unsure whether he’s unaware of your presence or has purely chosen not to acknowledge it. Does he even remember you? How could he not? Three weeks. Three weeks of searching tirelessly only for him to stumble upon you. 

“We have business, you and I.” He speaks confidently, demanding her immediate attention. She scoffs, squinting at him as though she can’t decide if they’ve met before. 

“Get in line.” Her shoulder knocks against his as she pushes past him, unaware of who he is and the power he holds. “Can’t keep God waiting.” You remain frozen in place, baffled by the coincidence at hand. 

His eyes settle on your figure, a dazzling shade of light blue, far from the feral, black celestial portals you’d seen behind the glass. The arrogant confusion from his interaction with Johanna ebbs away, replaced with recognition. Though wrapped tight within his gaze, you’re faintly aware of the fact that Johanna’s left you behind, entering the church to attend to her work for the night.

“Hi.” You exhale, forcing yourself to remember how to breathe as butterflies swarm in your stomach. Nearly a month had gone by since his release, and seeing him now - outside the glass - floods you with a sense of victory and relief. 

“We meet again.” He offers a slight tilt of his head toward you in greeting before going after Johanna. The butterflies wither, dropping dead in the pit of your stomach as he nears the church behind her. You’d risked your job - your life - to free him and the most he had to say was ‘We meet again’? 

“Hey!” You call, hot on his heels. “Wait up!” His figure slips through the slim opening of the large doors, and as you catch up, pushing them open further, he’s seemingly vanished. The only beings occupying the room are Johanna and another woman who, based upon the white collar around her neck, you presume works within the church. They speak in hushed tones, Johanna visibly wound up by their conversation as the other woman tries to state her case. 

“No! It’s too risky with the royals. I already told the queen.”

“But-” 

“If this goes sideways we’ll have a dead princess on our hands, a demon on the loose, and I’ll have no one to pay my fee.” You softly clear your throat and their heads whip in your direction. 

“There you are!” Johanna waves you over. “Ric, this is an old university mate of mine. She’ll be assisting tonight.” Ric’s wary eyes skim you from head-to-toe.

“Brave soul you are, working with Johanna. You’d probably be better off with the demon.” She laughs, nudging your arm with her elbow in a failed attempt at lightening the palpable tension. Her joke falls flat, smile dropping as Johanna shoots daggers in her direction. 

“What if I triple your fee?” Ric offers, hands wringing the spines of the leather-bound books she holds as distant screams echo from the far end of the church. The scent of rotten eggs permeates the room and you gag, pulling the collar of your shirt over your nose to block out the stench. 

“What the hell is that?”  You ask, disgusted.

“Sulfur.” The women confirm simultaneously. 

“You’re an exorcist?” You question, remembering a Demonology class you two had shared as part of your undergraduate degrees. You never thought she’d make anything of it beyond research. The unbridled shock on your face doesn’t go unnoticed by Ric. 

“You didn’t tell her?” The older woman’s worry-filled eyes flit between the two of you. Johanna simply shrugs. 

“Well,” Ric sighs. “You’ll be needing these.” She hands a book to you both with a tight-lipped smile and offers - mostly to you, “Good luck.”

The church is nearly empty as you step atop the altar platform, illuminated by the golden glow of the few remaining candle stands. The room had been cleared, pews moved out of sight - out of the path of destruction, as though Ric knew things would get messy. You admire the painted figures within the grand mural, heart thumping to the rhythm of the growing footsteps outside. 

An exorcism. You assumed these were rare occurrences in modern times. But according to Johanna, they’re far more frequent than she’d like. You fiddle apprehensively with the book Ric had given you - the Rītuāle Rōmānum, spine straightening as the doors creak open.

Johanna and the Princess enter with another, unexpected figure lagging behind, his fingers entwined with the Princess’. Her immaculate, white smile matches the sleek, floor-length gown she wears, not one blonde hair out of place on her head. Her partner - you presume - appears less than enthusiastic. He forces a small smile as she turns to share her excitement with him, his face falling as soon as it’s out of her sight. It dawns on you at this moment that you and Johanna are about to ruin what should be the happiest day of their lives. Or at least the happiest day of the Princess’ life. Johanna slips around your side, a white collar now tucked into her black shirt, and lightly grips your arm. 

“Just go along with it.” She speaks to you through pearly, clenched teeth as she grins happily at the couple, stepping forward to begin the ceremony.

“It’s a pleasure to be your officiant tonight, Princess. This,” She waves her hand fluidly in your general direction. “Is my assistant and your legal witness. Any questions before we begin?”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” The question comes from the Princess’ fiancé, followed by cold, calculating silence. 

“Of course I do, Kevin.” She tongues her cheek, a poor attempt to push back her anger. “Why else would we be here?” Her fixed glare pins him in place, a warning that should he press further, there will be hell to pay. 

“I just meant like-” He gulps. “Don’t you want all your family and photographers and stuff and-” 

“No!” She snaps, startling herself and her jumpy partner. She quickly softens her expression and voice, reeling in her irritation. “I just want you.” She nods to Johanna, beckoning her to continue the ceremony.

“Do you, Princess, take-”

“I do.” Johanna’s brow raises at the interruption, but she continues. “Do you, Kevin, take the Princess to be your-” An audible crunch echoes through the room as the Princess’ hand bears down on Kevin’s. You hold in a surprised gasp, feeling awful for the young man before you. He has no idea that he’s hitching himself to a demon.

“Then repeat after me,” Johanna begins, flipping her book open. “Dā locum, dīrissime,” Your mixed voices fill the empty space as the words are recited. 

 “Dā locum, impiissime.” Kevin’s stomach releases a loud gurgle, discomfort overtaking his expression. 

“Sorry,” He grunts out. “Probably just hungry. Y’know how it is before a big game-”

“Kevin!” The Princess whispers sharply. “It doesn’t matter.” She gestures for Johanna to continue. “Keep going.”

“Dā locum, Chrīstō.” Kevin doubles over, coughing and gagging as his hands claw at his throat. The princess is beside herself, scoffing and rolling her eyes at her partners’ obstructive behavior. 

“Kevin, seriously? At our wedding?” Johanna ignores the woman, a lioness targeting her prey as she stalks toward the man, continuing to read from her book. 

“Quī tē spoliāvit, quī rēgnum tuum dē strūxit!” Two large, meaty fingers emerge from Kevin’s mouth. He chokes on them as they slither out, veins protruding from his forehead and neck, eyes beginning to bulge from their sockets as the hands become wrists. 

"Quī tē victum ligāvit, et vāsa tua dīripuit!” The sickening crack of Kevin's jaw echoes throughout the room, his body jerking backward as two full, muscular arms emerge from his mouth. His flesh rips and squelches around them, blood oozing down his neck from every facial orifice. The hands reach around to grip the back of Kevin's head, claws sinking into his scalp as they pull from either side. A loud roar bellows from the Demon inside Kevin as his body shreds in half, leaving the Demon standing amidst a gooey puddle of flesh and shattered bone. 

Intricate, runic scars line its abdomen, spine visible outside its back and pierced between each vertebra with large silver hoops. Blood splatters stain the Princess's white gown, her eyes wide with shock, mouth agape as she stares in horror at the remnants of her fiancé. Pushing your own terror aside, you rush for the Princess, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her out of harm's way. 

"Come with me." You direct her. "It'll be alright, Ric will get you out and safe." You call out for the older woman, guiding the princess toward the nearest exit. Ric promptly takes her from you, stumbling back a step as she fleetingly takes in the gruesome scene. 

"Fucking hell." She gasps, steering the Princess out of your grasp.

"It was Kevin, not the Princess." 

"You don't say." She sarcastically intones, swiftly guiding the Princess out the door. As much as you want to follow them, you - perhaps idiotically -  can't bring yourself to leave Johanna behind.

"Tell me your name!" Johanna demands, Holding a crucifix up to the Demon as it towers over her. The Demon merely laughs, lurching forward and striking Johanna with the back of its massive fist. The impact sends her flying across the room, her back slamming into the mural. She groans as her body drags down the wall and hits the floor, but quickly regains her senses. She rolls over, pushing past the pain to search for her book through blurred vision. Without hesitation, you crack open your copy, hell-bent on finishing what you and Johanna had started, shaking hands making the small text difficult to read.

"Vīsitā, quaesumus," Enraged, the Demon whirls, its long, hoofed legs carrying it in three mere strides across the room. Your knees buckle as it launches toward you. "Domine, habitātiōnem istam et omnis-” 

“Silence!” It snarls at you, surging forward with its giant arm raised like a club, ready to strike again. You shield your head with your arms and squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the impact that never comes. 

“Agilieth!” You risk a peak, eyes cracking open to find the Demon’s arm halted just before the top of your head. A wicked, sharp-toothed grin splits across its face as it turns to address its caller - the Sandman. He stands in front of the altar and Johanna, hands casually tucked into his coat, undaunted by the sheer size and strength of the Demon.

"Lord Morpheus," It growls. "You're almost unrecognizable without your helm." It mocks, tone dripping with disdain.

"It was traded to a Demon."

"Yes, but which demon?" Its grin stretches as the Sandman's eyes gleam with hope. In your peripheral vision, you catch Johanna pulling herself upright against the altar. Rītuale Rōmānum back in hand, she cracks open the book, resuming her recitation of the Latin prayer and interrupting whatever business the Sandman seeks with the Demon. Her face is that of the cat that caught the canary. Knowing the Demon's name, she holds the power to condemn it straight back to Hell.

“Constantine, stop this at once!" The Sandman shouts as the ground below Agilieth twists into an open pit of bright-orange fire and smoke. With eyes even more desperate than the night of his escape, he stretches his arm toward Johanna, begging her to stop. Why would he have her free the Demon? What could be worth the risk?

“Dream of the Endless commands you!” Agilieth roars, cursing at her as she ignores their pleas. Tendrils of smoke form into hands that scrape and pull at the Demon's mountainous figure, hauling it inch-by-inch into the pit. “I’ll tell you everything I know, my lord!" Its claws leave tracks on the ground as it sinks deeper, only its head remaining above ground level. "Don't let her send me back!” Ash and embers whirl through the hot air, stinging your cheeks. You hold your breath as Johanna fearlessly stands over the Demon, the reflection of hellfire flaring in her eyes.

“Exī, ergō, Agilieth!” With her final words, the Demon slips into the pit, and the ground seals over. The silence deafens you as you watch the Sandman’s shoulders slump, his face turned solemn, staring at the claw marks left across the wooden flooring.

"You have no idea what you’ve cost me." He speaks softly - defeatedly, and the words are a boulder of guilt crashing into you. You did the right thing. Didn’t you? You couldn’t have let the Demon roam free, free to find its next victim, free to create a larger mess than any mortal could be capable of cleaning up.

"I'm sorry," You stutter, apologizing nonetheless. "I thought-"

"Don't apologize, mate," Johanna winks at you, entirely satisfied with herself as she snaps the book closed and tosses an arm around your shoulders. "We've just tripled our fee." You're reluctant to follow as she guides you out of the church, your eyes still locked with the Sandman’s, but her grip is firm and commanding. 

Thunder rumbles above as you step outside, Johanna pausing in the doorway of the church to converse with Ric, likely discussing payment. You step aside to grant them some privacy, leaning against one of the giant stone columns that uphold the awning, and watch as the lightning within the clouds reveals various shades of lavender and coal.

 You’re lucky, you realize. Lucky to have come out unharmed. Johanna will be lucky if she isn’t as bruised as tonight’s sky tomorrow morning. You wonder how she could willingly subject herself to this on a regular basis. The money must be phenomenal, you think, hands still trembling from the commotion - the rush.

"Why are you here?" Your ears tingle at the pleasant depth of the Sandman’s voice, the whisper of pleasant chills rolling across the top of your skull and down your spine. He’s closer than expected, his shoulder brushing yours as he eases into the open space beside you. Icy, piercing blue eyes shimmer beneath the gloomy night lighting, studying - questioning. 

"Why are you?" You counter, residual adrenaline governing your words. “Dream of the Endless.” A faint smirk curls the corner of his mouth at your boldness, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and that guilt… it gnaws at the last remaining sliver of your confidence.

"Something of mine came into Constantine's possession." He divulges, watching you - reading you.

"What could she possibly have of yours?" 

"I answered your question, you will answer mine." A give and take, so be it. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch on the nervous knot forming in your throat. Your feet shift in place, crunching against the cobblestone as you attempt to clear it away. 

“After everything that happened with Mr. Burgess,” You swallow. “I wondered where you went, what you’d done to him,” His eyes implore you to continue, but you can’t seem to produce another coherent thought under their intensity. So you avert yours, once again finding the colors in the flashing clouds.

 “I-” You take a deep breath, rubbing your arms to settle the goosebumps. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” You admit, embarrassment tingeing your cheeks. You know how silly it sounds given the danger involved in pursuing him, but you had questions that needed answers, and - much like your former classmate - you’ve always been relentless in your quest for knowledge. 

When you find the courage to meet his unwavering gaze, you find him scanning your features. Your reddened cheeks, the tense pull of your brow, your lips as you nip uneasily at the chapped skin. For a moment, he seems as though he may apologize, his small smirk and studious stare softening into concern. But, you’d made your choice. He’s no need to apologize when seeing him outside the glass - free - is enough to resolve any lingering guilt over what happened to Alex and Paul - to you.

“My sand.” He answers your earlier question. 

“The Sandman without his sand.” You find yourself giggling, hardly noticing how close he’d stepped until you could feel the comforting heat radiating from his body, shielding you from the harsh wind like a fluffed blanket, pulled fresh from the dryer. It’s dizzying - distracting.

"Morpheus." He corrects.

"Hm?" You hum, mouth disconnected from your mind as it scrambles to process what he’d said and the sudden, intoxicating warmth. He’d been so cold when you’d first met, when you’d pulled him from the glass, when he’d held and guarded you against the nightmare smoke.

"My name." 

"Hate to interrupt your little chat,” Johanna begins, approaching the two of you. She shoots a cagey glance toward Morpheus before opting to ignore his presence entirely, aiming her words at you. “But it’s about time I bugger off.” Her fingertips tap the back of your arm gently. “I’ll be in touch.” Her eyes speak without words, questioning your safety - your comfortability -  with the Sandman’s proximity. You offer a small nod, simultaneously confirming your security and acknowledging what she’d said.

"Constantine." Her name rumbles from his chest as she moves to scurry away, more of a demand than a request. She begrudgingly turns, hands smacking against her sides as she confronts him.

“What do you want with me?” She sneers, arms crossing over her ribs. “I don’t have time for this.”

"You have something of mine.” His expression hardens. “I'd like it returned." 

“What could I possibly have of yours?" 

“His sand.” You chime, watching in amusement as two of the most strong-willed individuals you’ve ever come across continue their stare-down, wondering who will be the first to concede. You’d never known Johanna to back down for anyone, and Morpheus, well, you’d witnessed his endurance firsthand. 

"That was yours?” Her brows raise. “Couldn't even get the damned drawstrings open." Her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek as she ruminates on where she left the sand. “I've no idea where it's at. It's been missing for ages." She concludes.

"We must find it." He asserts, towering over the woman as he emphasizes its importance. "Without it, my realm - humanity - will cease to exist." She rolls her eyes, considering his words far too dramatic for the circumstance.

"Alright,”  She tilts her head to look up at him, a playful smirk sliding up her cheeks as she realizes how vital her compliance is. “I'll help you find it first thing tomorrow-"

"No-"

"Tomorrow." She reiterates firmly. "I'll help you. Trust me, I wouldn't want you and your little friend following me all over the place." You and Morpheus share a look of confusion, focusing your attention in the direction Johanna points. A raven, perched on the edge of the base of another nearby column squirms under each of your stares.

"My friend?" He squints at the bird, stepping closer to investigate. Its eyes quickly shift over Morpheus before scooting aside a few inches to gain some space, head twitching side to side, up and down. Morpheus raises his chin, shoulders squaring as he looks down his nose at the raven. “Tell me your name.” He orders.

"Matthew, Sir." This night is full of surprises, you think, delighted by the nasally voice that comes from the talking bird. Morpheus, however, appears rather indifferent - displeased, even.

"Matthew,” He scowls. “Tell Lucienne that I have no need for a raven-" You turn, ready to share your bewilderment with Johanna, searching your surroundings for a glimpse of her dark hair, only to find that she’s disappeared into the night.

"Morpheus." You call. He ignores you - or maybe doesn’t hear you - as he continues lecturing the raven. 

"If I require assistance, I shall ask-" 

"Uh, y-you do, actually, Sir." Matthew stutters, catching on to your distress and Johanna’s absence. 

“Morpheus!” You shout. Tired and frustrated by his blatant disregard, you tug harshly on the sleeve of his coat. His head whips toward you, initial fury at your action quieting as he notices the absence of your friend - his only chance at reclaiming his sand. 

"She's gone." You sigh. He draws his gaze from over your shoulder, down to your fingers, still curled around the soft fabric of his coat, and back to your eyes. You release him immediately, mumbling a curt apology.  

“Go back to the dreaming, Matthew." Morpheus dismisses. 

“With all due respect, sir. The boss lady sent me here to help you because, like it or not, you need me.” Matthew declares, hopping closer to Morpheus. “Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had thumbs, lived my whole life here. I know how to navigate this world.”

"My last raven was sent to help me too." Morpheus’ cold gaze has the bird’s feet shuffling again, his tone low - warning, rumbling in tune with the rolling thunder.

"Yeah, and what happened to them?” Matthew sasses. “You fire them too? Send them back to the dreaming?" You’re amazed - jealous, even - by Matthew’s confidence as he stands up for himself. 

"She died while trying to save me." You wince as images of the white-bellied raven from your nightmare flicker in your mind's eye. The splattered blood across her bright feathers, her desperate caws as she beat herself against the glass. You doubt you’ll ever be able to rid yourself of the haunting memory. 

"What was her name?" You dare to ask.

"Jessamy." As he meets your pitying gaze, he quickly blinks away the tears that threaten to form, steeling his expression, pretending the memory no longer carries any weight in his heart. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, Morpheus." You feel awful, awful for describing even the smallest crumb of your nightmare to him when you first met. You want to apologize for that too but decide against it, not wanting to push the subject any further.

“Well,” Matthew continues after a moment of respectful silence. “I don’t plan on dying again anytime soon. We'd better get moving if we want to find her by morning. We should have a good eight hours while she sleeps. If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can figure out her-”

"Sleep," Morpheus murmurs to himself. "Yes. If she is asleep, I know exactly where to find her." He extends a hand for you to take, and you do so without a second thought, allowing him to pull you into his chest the same way he had the night you’d freed him. His hands skim the small of your back as they circle around your waist, his head dipping beside your ear, voice just above a whisper as he instructs, “Close your eyes.”

You comply, digging your fingers into the side seams of his coat as a vortex of wind envelopes your bodies. Your feet lift and float away from solid ground, the vortex pushing and pulling your limbs in every direction. You hang onto Morpheus as though your life depends on it, daring to open your eyes just long enough to catch a glimpse of the black smoke that carries you. Your skin blanches with fear, mind sucked back into that bone-chilling darkness, the nightmare void that had nearly swallowed you whole.

You’re left breathless and wobbly as the smoke clears, continuing to cling to Morpheus’s coat with a death grip. Your mouth opens and shuts, words refusing to flow freely. His hands slide from your back to cup your upper arms, squeezing reassurance and holding you steady as you struggle to pull yourself together. You know the fear is irrational, know that he - as proven before - would not allow the smoke to harm you, but the sensation of the nightmare refuses to leave you in peace.

"Breathe.” He reminds, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your shoulders as he tilts his head down to draw your frightened eyes back to his. “You are unharmed." You savor the touch, your heartbeat gradually slowing to match the pace of the soothing strokes. 

"What was that?"

"A method of travel without my sand." 

"Well, it was awful." He retracts his hands, almost as though the words had offended him, fingertips skimming down the length of your arms as they fall back at his sides. 

"Then you will not experience it again." He promises.

"Wait-" 

"The pouch is here.” He confirms to himself, surveying the apartment building he’d brought you to with assurance. “You will remain outside with Matthew." As if on cue, the raven swoops down beside you. His feathers ruffle and twitch as he settles on the ground, beady eyes darting between you and Morpheus. 

"How do you know? Didn't Johanna say she lost it?" You watch as he glides toward the building, as though being lured by some invisible pull. 

"I can feel its power." Morpheus steps inside the ominously dark building, leaving you alone with Matthew.

 After a while, you find yourself enjoying the raven’s dry, witty humor, chatting to pass the time. But as what should have been no more than a few minutes becomes well over an hour, your playful banter begins to slow, both of your eyes anxiously tracing and examining the apartment complex.

Strange, you think. Something about the building rings every alarm bell within you. Though the hour has hardly passed midnight, not a single light shines from the building. Not from the lobby, the porch lights, or any of the visible windows. As you observe the building, you notice the piles of untouched mail littering the main entrance, moving to pick up a few of the grimy envelopes. 

"Matthew,” You begin, scanning over the unpaid electricity bills, violation notices, and letters dated as far back as three months ago. “Something's not right."

 He titters over, talons faintly clicking across the concrete, and you squat beside him, holding your findings out for him to see. He tilts his head, eyes darting over the envelopes in your hand and all across the floor. After a moment of careful consideration, he opens his beak to say, "I think we should let the boss handle it." You scoff, tossing the mail aside as you stand. 

“What happened to that confidence from earlier? I thought you weren’t afraid to help him.” You shoot for the doors, hands clamping over the sleek, modern handles. Matthew’s caw startles you, winds flapping as he lands on top of your hands. 

“That-That’s not a good idea.” He warns, stalling your movement. “You have no idea what’s in there. The boss said-”

“Your boss, Matthew. Not mine.” You remind, and his feet squeeze around your skin. “If you won’t go in there and help him, I will.” He kicks off your hands, talons scraping the concrete as he lands back on the ground, mumbling under his breath, “He’s not gonna like this.”

You tug open the heavy door, streetlights instantly absorbing into the black hole of the lobby, revealing nothing to your squinted eyes as you cross over the threshold. The door clicks closed behind you, leaving you vulnerable in the dark. There’s a sickly-sweet stench lashing at your nose, rolling in your gut. As much as you’d rather not find out what the smell belongs to, your fear of the dark drives your shaky hands into your pockets, reaching for your phone. 

The contents of your stomach turn to lead as the flashlight winks to life, illuminating the half-decayed corpse of a woman not two feet in front of you. You stumble back, feet squelching and sticking to the floor as acid rises in your throat. Her flesh droops and pools beneath her, melting and mixing with other various fluids into the tiled floor. Hollow cheeks and cloud-white eyes stare up at you. The foul scent strengthens, and suddenly you’re retching up the contents of your stomach, mindful enough to avoid her body. You wipe your mouth with the sleeve of your coat, willing yourself to face the woman again. How long has she been left here, fusing with the floor? 

“What the fuck happened here?” You breathe feebly, stepping around her. You notice - as you avoid inching too close - the faint twitch of her left eye. “I’m going insane.” But the nearly inaudible gurgles emitting from her throat confirm you’re not. Alive. She’s still alive. How? 

Unable to face her any longer, you shine your light further into the room, revealing a messy trail of gooey footsteps. You follow them, vicious chills spidering down your spine with each step as they lead you up the staircase and down the eerily silent second-story hallway. Some primal instinct inside you screams for you to turn around. You know you should, know that you’d be safer waiting outside with Matthew. But what if Morpheus needs your help? What if he’s been captured again? What if? 

At the end of the long, looming hallway, yellow light flickers beneath a chipped, word-down door. You head for it, ignoring the sticky substance coating the silver knob as you turn it. 

Much like the rest of the building, the room is pitch-black as the door creaks open, no sign of the light you’d spotted. Maybe you’d imagined it. The same way you’d like to believe you’re imagining the slithering, shifting shadows that lurk along the walls and ceiling. Maybe the shock of everything you’ve experienced tonight is finally catching up to you. The flashlight of your phone fizzles out, a red battery symbol mocking you as you frantically shake the device. 

“Just my fucking luck.” You hiss, reaching for the switch on the wall, shuddering at the cold, moist goo that coats your fingers as you flick it upward. 

To your surprise, the room brightens, dimly illuminating the crumb-coated carpet and various discarded dolls strewn about. You carefully step around them, hesitantly following the muffled sound of cartoons playing to your left, the living room - your living room. You lean over the familiar grey couch, mutely stunned, sight caught on the mess of tangled hair poking above it. A little girl, no older than five or six, sways from side to side as she sits on her heels, inches away from the TV screen. Sweet, high-pitched giggles tumble from her belly as she remains unaware of your presence, sucked into her show. Though you cannot see her face, you know - feel - that she is you.

A woman’s voice grates through the laughter, calling your name. Your mother, you realize. Something in your chest tightens with pain as the little girl - little you - doesn’t seem to hear her. Another call of your name, followed by thunderous footsteps. Your sore stomach clenches, heart pausing a beat as you watch your mother’s figure overshadows the young girl. She watches a moment, waiting for little you to notice her in the doorway. When she doesn’t, like a bat from hell, your mother flies into a rage. She snatches little you upright by the collar of her oversized nightshirt, teeth bared as she barks at the child, “You will answer me when I call your name!”

“I-I didn’t hear you! I swear!” Little you stammers, eyes swelling with stinging tears. 

“Of course not! You’re selfish!” Your mother yells, spit stringing between her teeth, the strong smell of alcohol wafting off her hot breath. “You think you can just ignore me whenever you want?!” You close your eyes, body jerking at the sharp smack reverberating in your ears. Your muscles tense, becoming rigid as you listen to the gut-wrenching sobs coming from your younger self.

“I’ll give you something to cry about!” You weren’t selfish or ignorant. You were just a child, completely wrapped up in your favorite escape from this - the abuse. 

Your body relaxes as you hear your mother stomp away from the room, allowing you to open your eyes, to see your younger self. She stands before you, her face cupped inside her palms as she sobs with such soundless intensity that her breath remains stuck in her chest. You round the couch, dropping to your knees before her, your own tears falling as you embrace her. One hand strokes her hair as the other soothingly rubs her back, offering the comfort you wish you’d received. 

“Shhh.” You try to calm her. “It’ll be okay. You’re not alone.” You coo. The pressure in her lungs releases, and she gasps for air, bawling against your shoulder as her small fists curl into your sleeves. 

“I-I didn’t mean to- to-” 

“Shhh…I know. I know.” You hug her firmly, providing as much support as you possibly can. Eventually, as her sobs dwindle into light sniffles, her arms circle around you as best as they can, returning the affection. You rock her gently, swaying from side to side as she had been earlier, humming that special lullaby you’ve always loved. 

Preoccupied with comforting little you - healing that broken shard of your past, you’re inattentive to the preternatural strength of her hold. You rock the child, even as her arms constrict, a boa around a mouse. Your shoulders strain, joints aching under the increasing pressure, threatening to pop from their sockets. As the air begins to thin, you wriggle and writhe against her, leaning back to see her face - its face. 

Sickly green and filled with malice, its mouth - where her cheek once was - opens into a blood-curdling, razor-toothed grin as it says, “We’re ssso hungry.” Its voice is at once one and many, splintering into that of a hundred - a thousand - sneering, distorted children. 

Through your bleary eyes, the facade of your childhood apartment fades away, leaving you in a slime-coated, moldy, abandoned apartment. Choked whimpers bubble from your throat as you watch its face continue to shift, features slipping and sliding across slimy skin. How could you have been so blind, so easily betrayed by your senses? 

"Feed usss." Comes another sinister voice from behind, just above your left shoulder. "Itsss been ssso long." Now above your right as the creature’s nails dig into your skin, warm liquid - blood - dripping down your arms. You hardly register the pain as you watch its eyes roll back into its mutating skull, replaced with glowing, yellow orbs. Its flesh becomes a viscous, gelatinous substance, seeping into your clothes.

Your mind empties of all words except one name, “M-Morpheus!” You rasp, the plea scarcely audible through the many, ravenous voices mimicking and mocking around you. I’m going to die, you think. Your face, heated from the rushing blood and lack of oxygen, twists with dread as you’re suffocated by the creature.

“We’ll devour you whole!” It growls the words as it opens its cavernous mouth, lining you up to ease you down its slick, greasy throat. You thrash in its grasp, hysterical sobs tearing the inside of your throat. 

"Enough!" The creature retracts at the bellowed command, a hand gripping and pulling you up by the back of your neck. Morpheus, you realize, brings you to your feet, shielding your quaking form behind his. His arm lingers protectively across your front, his hand gripping your opposite hip, steadying and reminding you that you are safe now.

"Massster?!" The voices shriek. As you take in the full expanse of the room, you see the many glinting, beady, yellow eyes all along the walls. The creatures cower into their shadows at the sight of Morpheus. You think you might do the same until you feel the gentle, reassuring squeeze of his hand, the only thing holding you upright. 

"We thought you left forever." The monsters chorus, echoing the word over and over.

"You have taken advantage of my absence,” Morpheus says - almost snarls, tone dripping with revulsion. “It ends now." 

With the wave of his free hand, the creatures shrivel, crumbling to dust on the floor until you’re left in the now vacant, dusty room.   Johanna leans against the wall a few feet away, looking almost as shaken as you, teeth gritted, fists clenched and trembling at her sides. 

"You disobeyed me." Your eyes flick up to meet his stormy gaze, blood still pumping loudly in your ears as you throw a weak glare his way. 

“You-” You’re still out of breath, each word a strain to your aching ribs. “You were in-” Your head shakes. “You were in here a while. What-” You force down a deep breath. “What was I supposed to do?”

"Wait. As you were told." You gawk at him incredulously, taking the time to catch your breath. ‘Wait as you were told.’ You’d strangle him if he hadn’t just saved you. You’re not a helpless child. Were you not the one saving his ass no less than three weeks ago, freeing him from nearly a hundred years of captivity? Could he truly fault you for trying to help him again?

“I was trying to help you.” Your voice is hoarse, throat sore as you attempt to defend your actions. “I thought you were in danger.” 

"I do not need saving from a mortal." 

Despite the ache, you square your throbbing shoulders, head held high as you quip back, “You did less than a month ago.”

His mouth folds into a firm line as he breaks your stare-off, sharp profile lit by the moonlight now peaking through the window, eyes darkening into ink-black, cosmic pools.

"Right, can we save the bickering for later?” Johanna intervenes, slicing through the tension. “I'd like to get the hell out of here." 

Rain pours around the stone awning of the building as you limp behind Morpheus and Johanna, nearly drowning out the sound of Matthew’s relieved caws. He swoops up to mount your shoulder chastising, “I told you not to go in there!” His talons dig into your skin for balance as you whip your head to scowl at him. Skittish, he jumps away, hopping after Morpheus. “Boss, I-”

Morpheus gives him a stern look, silencing the raven. His lips purse, brows knitting as he pulls a dark, leather pouch - no larger than the size of his palm - from his coat pocket. The sand. Golden beads glimmer along the strings as he tugs open the pouch, tilting it into his open hand. 

He got what he came here for, and now he’ll leave. He’ll leave you and Johanna behind after all that happened inside that wretched apartment complex, the waking nightmare you’d faced to save him. 

“Morpheus!” You snap, watching in disbelief as grains of sand slip through the gaps of his slender fingers, spinning into a sandstorm around him. He pauses, eyes flicking toward you.

“Where are you going?!” 

“Hell. In search of my helm.” 

In a blink, he’s encased in a swirling tornado of sand, and then…he’s gone. Matthew spirits away in your peripheral vision, a brief fluttering shadow and flap of wings as he follows after his master. You loose a frustrated breath and lean on the opposite wall from Johanna. Whether or not she’s still as shaken as she appeared - as you are - you’ll never know, her face now a mask of perfect calmness. You look to her for any semblance of validation for your discontentment, but she merely shrugs her shoulders.

“I’ll say this once,” She starts. “Only because I consider you a friend.” Her words are steady, not an ounce of residual fear behind them as she warns, “Don’t go after him again. It’ll only get you killed.”