#the endless x reader

[waywardsummoner46]

Awake, Evader of the Endless

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x reader, extremely dark!Endless x reader

Summary: Dream glided towards you with as much grace as a King. He towered over you, looked down at you from his nose - you were beneath him in more ways than one, of that you knew. Didn’t mean you had to like it. Cruelly, he smirked and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I will enjoy this, little deceiver.”

  ...Hell erupted inside of you; you could feel your organs burning within your body, slowly, so agonisingly slowly, were they burning and melting and disintegrating. Blood formed inside of you and there was nowhere for it to go apart from up up up up out of your mouth, your nose, your eyes. 

...Pools of blood formed around you and as you lay in the remains of your organs, all the while wondering distantly how you were still alive without a heart… you wished for Death. 

Word Count: 4481

Warnings: EXTREMELY DARK, graphic descriptions of being skinned alive, organs burning inside of a body, hair falling out, nails being torn, vomit, threat, blood and gore, non-consensual touching, mind fuckery

A/N: This is, believe it or not, only the tip of the iceberg. I felt ill writing this so I warn you PLEASE ONLY READ IF YOU ARE NOT FAINTHEARTED. I genuinely can’t believe I wrote this. Thank you for your support and let me know what you think.

Weightless. 

  You felt weightless, as though there was nothing burdening your tired shoulders.

  Silent.

  Everything was silent, as though the world outside had stopped to give you peace at last. 

  Darkness.

  You saw darkness, as though a warm blanket had shielded your eyes from their surroundings. 

  Void.

  Only a void was left, as though you were the only one in a vast universe. 

  … Anxious. Afraid.

  Something was wrong, as though the world outside had stopped; as though a cold, misleading blanket had restricted your eyes from their surroundings; as though you weren’t the only one left in a vast universe. 

  Air rushed back into your lungs quicker than you could comprehend and you sat up heaving for breath. A queasiness made its way through your body and before you could even try to suppress the rising vomit in your throat, you wretched all over the floor you were sitting on. The urge to vomit again arose once the smell wafted to your nose and you struggled to remember what the hell had happened before now. 

  After spitting the remaining bile from your mouth, you raised a trembling hand to rub your eyes; you remembered meeting up with Gabe in a pub and talking about a random theory you had, then you went up to the bar to get some drinks. After that, though, you couldn’t remember anything at all as to what happened in that pub for you to wake up like this. 

  Undoubtedly, the nausea that had calmed only slightly had been caused by something and the uneasy feeling in your gut told you it wasn’t because of the drinks.

  With that thought, you focused on your growing dread and willed your unnaturally heavy eyes to open. Immediately, you regretted it. 

  A rather embarrassing scream tore itself from your throat when your eyes met another pair mere inches from your face. It was a girl, only slightly younger than yourself but definitely not an adult. Her eyes had followed you as you’d scrambled back and you noticed with clouded curiosity that they were different colours - one was a beautiful blue and the other was a deep green with specks of silver dotted around the iris. Much like her eyes, her clothes didn’t seem to follow a specific colour pattern. Ripped, striped socks of purple and blue lined each leg and she wore a torn dress of green and orange. Her hair was as fiery as her clothes with its gorgeous ginger colour and the mix and match of her entire appearance was strangely appealing to your eyes. 

  Clapping hands distracted you from your observations. “Oh, isn’t she cute? Like a little puppy, a little adorable puppy, and puppies need to be looked after! Yes, that’s what they need. What else do puppies need?” You ogled at her outburst. Her question hadn’t even processed in your mind, only the intensity and obscenity of her speech. As her gaze darkened, however, and her irises swapped sides inhumanely, only then did you truly pay attention to her words. 

  “Disobedient little puppies need to be puuuuuuuuniiiiiiiiisheddddddddd.”

  “What?” The question left you in a horrified gasp. It was only the tip of the iceberg, questions were forming in your brain at a speed you were unfamiliar with and the inevitable headache hit you with viable intensity as you gazed deeper into her ever changing eyes.

  In response to your question, she clapped her hands again with delight and giggled deliriously. Then, abruptly, her hands lowered slowly, and her expression turned blank. Her stare looked through your eyes to something beyond. 

  For a time, all she did was gaze into the void, and it was only when she finally blinked did her temperament change once again. 

  Small, uncalloused and surprisingly strong hands wrapped around your throat with an unforgiving squeeze. Eyes widening in shock and fear, your own hands desperately fought against her, trying with all of your might to lessen the pressure to your throat. 

  She glared into your eyes, the contrast between anger and fear poetic even now. “You deserve to be punished! You disobey us without correction and now you’re like a puppy! But, oh!” You could breathe again although you weren’t fully out of her grasp. She’d taken to wrapping around your quivering body and stroking your hair all whilst whispering deluded things into your ear. 

 “Puppies are innocent and so very, very, vulnerable. They must be protected, by who? By me! I’ll protect you like I protect… um… what do I protect again?”

  “Delirium,” a deep voice spoke, your eyes widened minutely at the sound. “That is enough.” 

  Both of you looked up to the source of the sound and, while her face brightened and she instantly let go of you in favour of bouncing towards the voice, yours dropped once you beheld just who had commanded the crazy girl.

  It was the man from the pub. The very man that had captured your entire attention the moment your eyes fell on him, who had magically reconstructed the glasses you’d dropped and who had… “You did something to me, with that sand. You did it to Gabe too. Why? Where is he? Where am I?”

  His face darkened even further from its already cold exterior at your confrontation, his attention having been ripped from the girl by your rude tone. In your defence, rationality was hardly a priority for you at the moment.

  “You dare address me so?” Fear unlike any other seized your heart. Despite not having considered your tone before speaking, within a moment of chilling clarity, you finally began to grasp the situation you were in and the danger that could easily turn fatal at any second.

  Gulping audibly, you tried to form any semblance of an apology, however, no words left your mouth as you, at long last, beheld the five others standing by him. Just what had you gotten yourself into?

  A woman, with dark skin and incredible curly hair,  wearing a black vest and equally dark jeans spoke before the man could threaten you anymore. “Dream, give the poor girl a break. She’s just confused and that is no thanks to you, so rein it in.”

  He, Dream as she’d called him, had enough self-discipline to at least appear apologetic even if he never stated so. Contrary to his sudden calmness, you still eyed him wearily (trying in vain to remain composed at his intense stare). 

  The way she spoke of you was oddly condescending. In spite of her words having been defending you, they were undoubtedly patronising - as though she felt the need to rub it in your face, your helplessness and hopelessness against seven other people. Heck, you didn’t even know why you were here, let alone why she’d intended her words to be like that!

  Under the guise of fear you observed them all - you thought and planned how exactly you were to escape the room you were in. It wasn’t very big, the room, although it was lavish in a way that was homey. Where you sat on a dark, patterned carpet, you could see that most of the walls were an unnatural ebony that no doubt held secrets unfathomable for your brain. They beheld no insight to where you were or whether or not there was an escape in them. 

  Deciding not to dwell on what you didn’t understand (which seemed to be an ever growing list), the furniture and layout of the room held your attention now. To the right of where you sat, there was a fireplace and two seats of crimson leather were situated before it. In between them lay a table with a book - something was scrawled on the spine but in the lighting you couldn’t quite see what it was.

  “Ohh, she is rather naughty, isn’t she?” Your head whirled around at the smooth, seductive voice. Their eyes narrowed at you in a way that made you tense in anticipation, of what kind, you knew not. “And clueless.” Similar to others, their expression darkened and suddenly their dark red lipstick signified more than just extravagance - each of the seven wore something akin to resentment on their face as they looked down on you. You must’ve done something catastrophically vile to garner such spiteful attention.

  In the background, you noticed there were portraits. Very big, very grand and very detailed. And each individual one depicted one of the beings before you; admittedly, they wore different clothes but the resemblance was uncanny.

  “How can you fault me for being clueless when none of you have made any effort to explain literally anything to me?” You spoke bravely. “I mean, the only time that I did ask questions it’s a wonder the death glare I got didn’t actually kill me!” 

  Some of them looked amused at your words, others looked downright pissed and then there was the poor girl who couldn’t seem to comprehend what you’d said, never mind settling on a singular emotion. You pitied her in an odd way.

  Dream looked at you with nothing short of absolute hatred, yet the scariest thing was how his expression had never changed. He was able to convey such a powerful emotion all while making hardly any effort at all, subtlety was a weapon for him, you realised, and it would be extremely difficult to recognise when and even if he was planning to kill you. He raised a hand and your eyes squeezed shut in dread. What was it you were thinking about him killing you?

  Sand flicked across your face once more and you braced yourself for whatever pain he’d force upon you. The sand cut and nicked your skin, warmth flowed down parts of your face as blood rose out of the split skin. Like a rabid dog, your movements became driven by pure instinct as you futilely shielded your face from the onslaught of the shard-like sand. The grains were too small, however, and weaved themselves through the tiny nooks and crannies of your violently shaking hands. More cuts appeared on your hands as your resistance persisted and soon red was all that could be seen. 

  Slowly the torment began to cease. Only when you were completely sure it had stopped did you lower your hands. Expecting to see rivers of blood, you questioned your mental stability when clear, unmarred skin was all that could be seen.

  “Let that be a warning of what is to come, little deceiver,” Dream threatened from across the room. You gazed up with tears spilling down your face. No shed of remorse could be found on his face, if anything, you’d say he definitely enjoyed what he’d done to you. 

  Despair became a hole in your heart; was this what had happened to Gabe? Had they caused such agony upon him as they had to you? Worse? Was he… no, you couldn’t think like that. Not if you wanted any chance of surviving these masochistic scumbags. 

  One of the unfamiliar people started gasping, moaning, you noticed with horror. Her worn, lifeless clothes made the distinction from her mood that much more disturbing. As she brought a hand up to her face, you noticed a hook ring on her finger and before you could process what had happened she’d stabbed her own fat cheek and angled the ring so that it cut the entirety of the cheek. 

  Nobody else commented on it, only the one in red lipstick seemed to react positively to it by reaching over and hugging her from behind. Numbly, water continued to run down your face as you struggled to do literally anything in that moment. 

  Another ginger began to approach you, a man with a similar appearance to a lumberjack. Oddly, his demeanour was warm - an unfamiliar contrast to what you’d been familiarised with - and he asked you a genuine question with no ill will hidden between the syllables.

  “Would you let me carry you? Please? You can’t be comfortable down there.” His voice was pleasant and deep and you found yourself contemplating what he’d said.

  “She does not deserve such a choice, Destruction,” Dream said uninvitedly.

  Hidden from his eyes, Destruction rolled his eyes and the illusion of a smile spread across your face. It was the way he resembled Gabe, even if only in behaviour, that made you nod your head. A sharp pang struck your heart at the reminder of him. 

  Instantly, another moan echoed in the room and as Destruction picked you up you curled against his muscular chest in an attempt to drown out the uncomfortable sounds. 

  “Despair, my twin, your time will come, have no fear. For now we must try and control ourselves,” the blonde with lipstick said.

  “Sorry, Desire.”

  A low, slow, cruel laugh left Desire’s lips. “Do not apologise, sister. It’s her that should be sorry.”

  Destruction had begun walking by that point, right towards the rest of them, and as you passed in between them you saw how each and every one of them looked at you: Desire had a hungry look on their face, Despair could barely contain her pleasure, Death revealed nothing, Delirium had a mix of elation and fury on her face, the mystery man was hidden by his cloak and Dream… Dream’s face was positively murderous. 

  Somewhere there was an explanation for his malice towards you, it was up to you to exploit it and wield it for yourself. Avoiding his eyes, you looked down and noticed that in his arms was the book from by the fireplace. The close distance finally allowed you to see what it said on the spine. 

  A new form of dread filled you; the book, it read:

  (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

 Dream must’ve sensed where your attention was, for he stopped Destruction in his path and reached a hand to your chin. His grip in his fingers alone felt more powerful than both of Destruction’s arms together and at any second he could render you incapacitated or even dead. 

  “Know that any intentions of escape will be met with more severe punishment should myself or any of my siblings catch you in your misdeeds.” Oh fuck, he knew that you’d been looking for an escape, they all did. And did he say siblings? Their allegiance to one another must be unparalleled if they would cooperate with what Dream had done and said to you and not report it to any authorities. 

  So far he’d kidnapped you, assaulted you in one way or another, threatened you and now had an entire book dedicated to what was, without a doubt, your entire life story. How long had he, they, been keeping tabs on you?

  The familiarity in which they spoke to you was unnerving to say the least, but the confidence in which they held themselves suggested that there was something beyond just cocky self-entitlement. Obviously, that played a substantial part in all of their personalities yet you still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something that you were missing. 

 Dream had been able to manipulate sand, to control it, and he’d used it to put you to sleep. That goes against every law of physics in existence and yet, he’d wielded it as an extension of himself. Then there was that god awful helmet, who knows where that could’ve gone but you noticed that in his painting he was wearing it. Did it have any significance? You didn’t know. You’d be damned if you didn’t find out though.

  These… people… seemed to have funny names with funny outfits and funny personalities. They also seemed to have a power about them that you were helpless to fight against should they decide to use it on you, like Dream had recently. Did all of them have sand powers? Perhaps it was just Dream.  Suddenly the song “Mr. Sandman” seemed to have taken on a new meaning. 

  Considering that, their names each contributed to whatever they were wearing in some way; Dream with his sand, Delirium with her vibrant colours, Desire with clothes that revealed a bit too much, Despair with that fucking ring and Death with an Ankh around her neck, an ancient Egyptian hieroglyph for Life. 

  But that was only six. There was another one who hadn’t been named, hadn’t spoken. His hooded cloak and massive book that had been chained to him revealed nought about him other than he was probably very knowledgeable. Maybe unwillingly so if the chain held any significance. 

  Alas, it wasn’t him who was of concern at the moment. It was the infamous Sandman (you hypothesised).

  Addressing him with a clearer head than you’d had since waking up, you wriggled around in Destruction’s hold so that you could appear more in power than you actually were.

  Amusement glittered in his surreal cerulean eyes.

  “Duly noted.” Simple, though your comment was, it also grounded you further and allowed more thoughts to turn calculative rather than inoperative.

  Destruction cut off your silent stare down as he continued in his path towards the floating portraits. The floating portraits. Floating. Okay, sure, that was normal.

  Feeling as though your brain would literally combust if you continued to dwell on it, you silently chuckled at how if anything were to push you over the edge it would be gravity defying portraits. Not the fact that you’d been kidnapped or assaulted with practically sentient sand.

  Vibrations could be felt from Destruction’s chest as he addressed his siblings curiously. “Alright, where are we going now?” 

  “Colours and patterns! Moving and making and forming and shaping! We can go to my realm, it’ll be funnnnnnn! Puppies love fun,” her puppy bullshit was really starting to grate your nerves. 

  Death smiled patiently at Delirium and you applauded her tolerance of the young girl. If anything were to convince you that they were siblings, it’d be that. “Delirium, you know that we agreed we’d go to the Dreaming. It’s been a while since we all visited as a family, hasn’t it?” She turned to you after restoring Delirium’s complacency, “It’d be the first for you, obviously. Thanks to your avoidance of us all there really is so much you’re missing.” Sighing rather dramatically, she turned to the cloaked man. “Is that still okay, Destiny?”

  Destiny nodded once at her then turned to you all; “The path we tread is murky - our decisions must be wise, careful… lest we lead the universe to its destruction.” Poor, poor Destruction tensed his hold on you, causing you to bite your lip to prevent crying out. 

  “Big brother, Destiny meant no harm with his words,” Desire crooned from where they were perched behind Despair, blood dripping from multiple areas on the latter’s face. 

  “Do I not get a say in this?”

  All seven heads jerked in your direction, Destruction’s beard dangerously close to getting in your eyes. Shoulders hunching, you diverted your eyes from everyone, remaining silent. The familiar feeling of dread crippled you once more.

  “Destruction, could you place the human onto her feet, please?” Death’s eerily calm voice broke the suffocating silence. He did so, and you noticed his hesitancy to do so along with a final reassuring squeeze.

  As he stood back, Dream glided towards you with as much grace as a King. He towered over you, looked down at you from his nose - you were beneath him in more ways than one, of that you knew. Didn’t mean you had to like it. Cruelly, he smirked and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I will enjoy this, little deceiver.” 

  Your eyes joined as he drew back slightly, still only inches from your face. Suspiciously, you never once felt the hints of breath on your face; did this guy not breathe either? 

  The two of you stood like that long enough for you to forget about Death momentarily. Feeling your eyes suddenly sag under an invisible pressure and your mouth to dry up like the Sahara desert, Death’s hidden threat began affecting you.

  Dream took a step back, narrowly avoiding your collapsing form. The weight of the world felt like it was on your shoulders and you were physically incapable of moving a muscle.

  The carpeted floor was the only reprieve you had before the full force of Death overtook you.

  Hell erupted inside of you; you could feel your organs burning within your body, slowly, so agonisingly slowly, were they burning and melting and disintegrating. Blood formed inside of you and there was nowhere for it to go apart from up up up up out of your mouth, your nose, your eyes. 

  A boiling feeling bursted over your entire body, a heat so intense that the carpet around you seared and crisped in its magnitude. Blisters, horrible, rotten blisters formed from the tips of your toes to your forehead and the pressure of the very air around you was almost too unbearable to withstand.  Twistedly, the way they popped was comparable to bubble wrap. 

  Gory pus spewed from the broken skin. For the second time that day, you vomited everything that was in you. But your stomach couldn’t be emptied, so your stomach was what was emptied; the remaining flesh of your intestines, your stomach, your kidneys and your heart surged out of your mouth. Pools of blood formed around you and as you lay in the remains of your organs, all the while wondering distantly how you were still alive without a heart… you wished for Death. 

  She didn’t stop. In fact, it only got worse.

  Nails were forcibly ripped from their beds. Screaming brokenly, you pleaded for mercy but it. Didn’t. Stop. Ripping filled the room, with a numb sense of horror you knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was your skin that was being torn, flayed. 

  You were being skinned alive, by a force you could not see, a force you weren’t even sure existed outside of your violently tormented mind. Hair fell from your head in clumps.

  Being nude in front of the seven siblings didn’t even occur to you, how could it when nude wasn’t even something you were capable of being anymore?

  “Death, you must stop this! This has gone on too far!” Words entered your brain and immediately left it in an odd sense of delirium. 

  “Puppies like colours,” puppies did like colours… and the colours you saw were so very pretty-

  You started to convulse on the floor. The onslaught of so many sensations nearly breaking your brain. Another scream ripped itself from your bloodied throat; salt burned along your flayed body and you pleaded for Death once more. You were wholly set on doing anything to escape this torture and surrendering to the colours because they were oh-so pretty-

  Then they vanished. And only darkness remained. “Listen to my voice, deceiver. Follow the light.” Stars formed around you but one outshone the rest. Captivated, you listened to the deep voice and drew near like a moth to a flame (something deep down warned you that this was dangerous). “Very good, little one.” A rush of energy swirled inside of you and with unfamiliar strength, you enveloped the star in your palms.

  Weightlessness overwhelmed you and you sagged into the waiting abyss, finally falling into the arms of what you desired most. 

-------

  Low, soothing voices registered in your brain, it was them that woke you from your slumber. 

  “I stated extremely explicitly, sister, that our decisions were catastrophically critical for the preservation of the universe and then you decide to do this?” The tone itself was chillingly calm and tremors spread across your body.

  There was a moan and the voices quietened. 

  Arms wrapped around your drained body and a comforting hand raked itself through your hair, “Sh, my sweet, it’s over. You’re safe, you’re alive.”

  Alive? You were alive? For a split second, you couldn’t remember what would encourage such words but then it all came rushing back. Despair gripped you in a chokehold, any coherent thought fled your brain as phantom sensations flared all over your body.

  Colours formed, they did nothing to distract you. 

  Frantically, you ripped yourself from the cage you were in, the blood already too prominent and the scent, the rancid scent of the pus-

  Grains of sand hit your face. Scrunching your nose in confusion, you blinked blearily at the golden grains floating before you. Deliriously, you raised a hand to touch them but a tanned one grabbed your own. And with it, clarity.

  Death had sunk her claws into you and you’d come so very close to sinking into the depths of her sea, drowning in an endless current of burning and boiling until you wasted away into any other being a victim to her malice.

  Except it was not Death who held your hand, it was Destruction. His eyebrows were knit in concern and he appeared to be troubled… he was pained on your behalf. That struck you as odd, surely someone with such a name should revel in your pain. 

  “How are you, (Y/N)?” He used your name, the first of any of them to do so. 

  Your quivering lips were the only answer he needed. Despondently, he nodded his head and averted his eyes as though ashamed of your inevitable answer. “I, we, would like you to know that nothing like that will happen of our will again. Death is older than most of us, has the biggest responsibility of us all and your challenge… pushed her over the edge.”

  Facing Death, even acknowledging that she was in the room, was too much for you. At the moment, your will was as stable as a Jenga tower and any ill movement would make it crumble completely.

  Destruction’s words made sense, especially if your growing theory that these were exactly what their names signified. Despite your absolute hatred towards her presently, a small understanding part of you sympathised with the intensity of her burden.

  No words left your mouth in response to his, no words could. You didn’t know what to say or what to feel. Your inner whirlwind of emotions was wholly confusing and you just wanted them to stop so you could gather your wits.

  Reluctantly, Destruction released your hand, again squeezing it in reassurance one last time. An unrestrained whimper left your throat at the reminder of what happened after he’d done that the last time. 

  Before you could descend into your own paranoia, more grains of sand tickled your face. More memories rushed through you then.

  “You saved me,” you didn’t look up, nor did you raise your voice above a whisper. Dream never voiced his acknowledgement and you couldn’t be bothered to check if he knew it was him whom you were addressing.

  Regardless of the hate filled relationship you two had, the two words left you with no disinclination:

  “Thank you.”

Tag list~

@fangirlmary

@annievvv7

[peachsukii]

Bakugo walks into your shared apartment to see you in the living room surrounded by packages, all excitedly torn open with discarded bubble wrap lying around you. Various Dynamight themed trinkets are littered at your feet, everything from keychains to can badges and exclusive cafe coasters.

He chuckles to himself while placing his boots in the closet by the door. “Go on another shoppin’ spree, sweets?”

You turn your head away bashfully, tapping your fingers against your thighs.

“…yeah. Someone was selling a bunch of limited edition merch.”

Bakugo strolls into the living room and observes all the items on the floor. He leans down to leave a kiss on your cheek before turning to head for the bathroom to shower.

“Ya know I can get ya that shit for free, babe,” he calls over his shoulder. “I am Dynamight.”

“I know!” You answer, picking up one of the keychains and smiling. “Just being a supportive girlfriend is all.”

[endlessthxxghts]

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

[attackurheart88]

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really love me?”

“Yes.”

"Do you really really love me?”

They stop what they’re doing and turn to look at you. An audible sigh is heard.

“If I come over there and kiss you until your lips fall off will you shut up?”

[the-chamber-of-hoes]

Not pleased with the lack of new fics for my fav characters (hyper fixations) lately. The withdrawals are eating me alive

[prettydeeryess]

i hate mischaracterization except when it's with a character so cold and/or reserve in the og material that reading about them being extremely down bad for y/n in plain sight while all the other characters are their normal selfs so they are weird tf out by that demonstration of affection coming from them is satisfying, fills the hole inside of me fr

[hanafubukki]

You didn’t remember.

None of them did.

The be-speckled ghost oversees the room.

He’s happy to spend Halloween with everyone again.

When Malleus Draconia offered to make an Endless Halloween night to continue the joys of Halloween, of course he jumped on board too.

Just to spend time with everyone just a bit more.

Especially now that he remembered.

How fun! It is to see everyone enjoy the Halloween they preached about. To see his life long achievement come to fruition.

The colors! The costumes! The music! All of it more merry more than ever with close friends present.

They might not remember outwardly but the occasional glances his way tells they feel a kindred spirit.

That’s enough for him.

He can enjoy Halloween with them once again. Old friends. From his time in the book. And one from his travels, a mischievous one who now has short hair. The only one who remembers him from this motley crew.

This is Halloween! He exclaims with the other ghosts.

Let’s dance and be merry!!

He approaches you.

He’s been watching you all night.

Offers you a hand, you accept with a slightly confused look.

A part of you remembers.

He kisses your hand before pulling you for a dance.

Unbeknownst to you and all, you were dancing with the King of Halloween.

One more night and then everything will return back to normal.

But oh what fun it is! To have spent it with you and friends.

To one Skully J. Graves, it was the best Halloween he’s ever celebrated.

Dead or alive.

He can’t wait until next year to visit again.

Until then.

Happy Halloween!

[zephyrchama]

For once, the Avatar of Sloth awoke before you did. He stared blearily up at the ceiling, trying to ascertain the time based on the shadows on the wall. It didn't work. It's always nighttime in the Devildom, and there were no windows, anyway.

He could easily have checked the time on his D.D.D., but that required turning the screen on, and that would have unleashed a potent ray of bright light directly into Belphegor's eyes. He didn't feel conscious enough for that yet.

Plus, it might have woken you up. You were still fast asleep, curled up in pajamas next to Belphegor. You looked so peaceful. He wouldn't mind staring at your resting figure for a few minutes. At the way your lips were ever-so-slightly parted, your hands loosely balled up on the pillow case. Belphegor counted the seconds between your breaths like one would count sheep.

It took a while for his gaze to move on from your face, which is why it took him so long to realize. "Oh."

You didn't have any blankets. No wonder you looked so cold. Belphegor could fix that. He gently maneuvered an armful of blankets, still warm thanks to his body heat, over your sleeping form. The two of you were equals so he wanted to ensure you had equal access to all the cozy coverings. Sharing the same blankets made him feel warm inside, too.

He wondered if you would wake up if he got too close. He wanted to hold you, to wrap his arms around you and have your scent envelop him. To let you know he was reliable and here for you. He wanted to know if you were dreaming, and if it was a dream about him.

Wondering these thoughts, Belphegor began to doze off again. He rolled over within minutes of falling back asleep. He pulled all of the blankets with him, becoming a Belphegor burrito, leaving you exposed once more. At the very least, he had good intentions.

[becca-e-barnes]

Ma’am, you are deviously incredible 🔥 We’re begging for an exploration of him saying “I love you” while fucking her like he doesn’t 🥹

My brain keeps picking up the storyline a few splendidly torturous hours in when her body’s completely spent & quivering & she’s a blubbering mess & that’s when he picks her up & takes his sweet time positioning her so she can limply yet eagerly watch their reflection has he finally gives her… exactly what her twitching body’s been craving. 🥵

I'm so glad you all enjoyed the thought of this as much as I did because I've been dying to expand on it 😵‍💫 (Part 1 here)

I like to imagine by that stage, he's absolutely desperate too though. He's got to feel your sweet little pussy clench and flutter around him, contracting so tight every time you cum that he swears it's going to be the end of him.

He's been too hard for too long, buried inside your body and he swears he's never felt you this wet or this hot before. It's been fucking luxurious, forcing you to cum against his fingers, feeling how your body's natural reaction is to coax him to drain his balls into you but that alone isn’t enough. He needs more than that.

He wouldn't admit it to you but he can't take any more. His balls feel like they're fizzing; overfull and beyond ready to flood your waiting, overstimulated body.

He arranges you gently, laying you on your front because he doesn't trust your trembling arms to support you. "That's it, good girl." He coos, hearing you whimper and sob pathetically because he needs to slip out of you to slide a pillow under your hips.

"You've made such a mess." He groans, taking a second to appreciate the delicious, inviting, slick little cunt he's about to indulge in. "You're dripping, sweetheart. God, I just know there's no way I'm going to be able to pull out."

His huge hands are gripping your hips and with one sharp, brutal thrust, he's back inside you and you both sob pathetically at the feeling of your bodies being joined again. This is exactly what you've needed but you don't have the words to tell him that. All you can do is whine and will your body not to cum again so soon.

"I meant. What I said earlier." He punctuates his sentence with soft groans, drawing back until he almost slips out of you before pounding back in.

He leans forward, tilting your chin up, making sure you can see the way he's fucking you in the mirror at the end of the bed.

"I love you. And I don't want you to forget that." He sounds sincere, one hand trailing up from the small of your back to right between your shoulder blades and then back down again. It feels intimate and tender but all that is forgotten by the very next thrust.

"I love you. But for now, you're just a mindless. Little. Drooling. Breedable. Cunt for me." He slows his thrusts down, determined not to cum so soon but it's going to be difficult to last until he gets the first couple of loads out of the way.

"Baby..." You whimper, feeling the tip of his cock nudge against your sweet spot, making you shake from overstimulation.

"I know sweetheart, I know. It's too much. But you're being so good for me. You're so perfect. How have no idea how you feel. So wet and warm and I can feel you fluttering around my cock. It's like you're trying to squeeze every last drop of cum out of me. Is that what you want? Because angel, I'll keep this delicious cunt stuffed full of load after load until I have nothing left to give you."

His thrusts are punishingly fast, thumping against your raised ass, half chasing his orgasm, half holding it back.

"And when I do, I'll remind you just how much I love you. And the baby I'm going to give you tonight."

With that thought, he can't stop himself from cumming, his dick twitching inside you as he shoots thick ropes of his seed right against your cervix. You're so cock-drunk you can only rut yourself millimetres back and forth but that's all you need to send yourself spiralling into another orgasm that leaves you trembling and sobbing.

"Fuck, you want that as much as I do, don't you?" He kisses the back of your neck, breathing you in while letting the euphoric rush subside. He notices he hasn't softened in the slightest despite such an intense orgasm but he knows he needs to be gentle with you for a moment before he can get any rougher.

[dxckgrxsonx]

one thing i love beyond measure is the fact i know that jason todd adores comfortable silences.

to have you sat together in a room, or tucked up in bed, both of you doing your own things, knowing the other is close by. theres no pressure for conversation. just a grounding reassurance that if either of you were to glance over, you’d both be there. to feel you in the room and know that that’s enough. to maybe have your foot pressed against his thigh, or for jason to have his head in your lap and neither of you share a single word.

to know above everything else that your presence brings comfort. and to be comforted by the knowledge that you don’t have to do a single thing to make him stay other than exist in his space. to know that you are someone who can exist in his space when so many others cannot. to have that concrete, solid awareness of trust and rest and endless love without words. to look at him when he’s in the middle of his own world and know that you are an incredibly important part of it.

to love him quietly and have that come back in equal measure.

[xitsensunmoon]

Uh oh

[roguelov]

Had a random brainwave

Imagine Morpheus and his human love have a petty argument and she threatens him with a DREAMCATCHER

basically uses it like a cross to a vampire as a joke to stop the argument

Thoughts 👀

And prayers because he might be pissed 😂

“I told you -“

“No, I don’t care -“

“You are being unreasonable -“

“You know what?” You pulled out a small dream catcher from your pocket - a cute charm you found a few days prior. You lifted it up towards him, jokingly and partially curious if anything would happen. “Goodbye, Dream. We are done with this pointless conversation.”

Morpheus’s eyes flickered down to the dream catcher. You couldn’t be serious, could you? He raised an eyebrow, now more so unamused. “And what is this?”

“It’s a -“

“I know what it is, I am inquiring as to why you believed such a thing would work.”

You stuttered out a bit, “Ah, well, it wards off nightmares and such, so wouldn’t it affect you?“

Morpheus’s lips thinned slightly. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Not even a little bit?”

Morpheus calmly walked towards you and your raised hand. He walked until your hand bumped agaisnt his chest, and the dream catcher pressed into his shirt. He cocked his head as if saying ‘see? Nothing’.

You puckered your lips, a little frustrated it had no effect whatsoever. It was a joke of an idea truly, but it had no effect at all? You huffed and dropped your hand from him. “Well that’s stupid,” you grumbled.

“Did you truly think a petty woven net would stop me?” Morpheus asked.

“… I mean … not really but the thought of it was funny enough to try.”

Morpheus stepped in closer. “Perhaps on one of my nightmares, yes it may ward them off. But to me, The King of Nightmares? You will need something far more powerful.”

“… not even a little bit of irritation?” You mumbled curiously.

“Do you believe me to be a vampire of sorts?”

You winced, “Um, no, but -“

Morpheus surprised you, he laughed once through his nose. He shook his head and whispered under his breath, “You and your strange thoughts.”

You huffed. “It was a perfectly logical idea given who you are.”

“Your way of thinking is very limited to the stories around you, there is far much more to the universe.”

“… whatever.”

Morpheus smiled to himself. “It is a trait I adore in you, do not mistake it for anything else.”

You stared into his eyes for a moment, finding the love pouring out of them. You then smiled at him.

“But,” Morpheus added, “if you try such a thing about it may not end well for you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Morpheus’s eyes then twinkled with delight. He leaned down to your ear. “You may find yourself caught in intricate ropes and woven within my grasp if you try again.”

[endlessthxxghts]

Just One

DBF!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 819 (she just a baby!)

Summary: You’re still worked up even though Joel’s tapped out for the night. Maybe you need a kiss to satisfy you—a simple, sweet kiss. Right?

Content/Tags: Reader is able-bodied and has female sex anatomy, but is otherwise undescribed. Pussy pronouns (she)!! 18+ MDNI. Making out. Bulge grinding 😋 let me know if there’s anything I missed!

A/N: @pinkypromisepascal and I had a conversation…and then I said I wanted to write a drabble based on what we talked about, to which she said “DO IT.” So I did. Y’all better thank her brain for this too!🙂‍↕️ and to @strang3lov3, thank you for the extra pair of eyes AND THE MOODBOARD!!!😭 I love you both so much. To everyone, I hope you enjoy, all my love xx

masterlist | notifs blog

It’s been thirty minutes. 

Thirty minutes since Joel had you folded nearly in half, your legs pressed against your torso, the slam of his hips pushing you higher up his mattress. 

Thirty minutes since he made your eyes roll back, throat burning in pleasure. 

Thirty minutes since he wiped you clean and massaged your hips. 

It’s been thirty minutes. 

And he’s knocked the fuck out. 

You sit up in his bed. You’re not here very often. Ever, really. It was by chance you stayed over tonight. So you study the area. Take his space in. The painting and posters above his bed. The nightstand. The white fan sitting on his dresser, pointing directly at him. He runs hot when he sleeps. Too hot. 

Your eyes trace his figure, then. His broad back on display, hips covered by his sheets. 

His face. God, his face. Salt and pepper scruff around the edges, smile lines and furrowed eyebrow lines adorning his face. They’re not as harsh now as he succumbs deeper into his slumber, but they’re present nonetheless. 

His hooked nose sits prettily, the same nose that had you squirming and gasping for air earlier in the night. Your core flutters at the thought. 

You’re looking at his lips now, and you can’t help the way your own forms a smirk. 

“Joel,” you whisper. 

A rock. Unmoving. Unfazed. 

On your knees now, you shuffle to face him. Leaning forward, hand on his shoulder to nudge him, you try again. 

“Joel.” 

“Hm?” his sleepy voice rasps. 

“I need your help,” you respond. 

One eye peels open. His eyebrows move into their natural habitat, furrowed. “What’s wrong, darlin’?” 

You put on your sweetest face. “Can I have a kiss?” 

You stifle a giggle at the daggers being thrown at you. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Have you been up this whole time?” 

“It’s been thirty minutes,” you retort. 

“No, it ain’t—” you gesture to his clock before he can finish his thought. He faces it immediately, throwing his face back into his pillow with an incoherent grumble. “Sleep,” he finally says. 

“I will, sleeping beauty,” you giggle. “Can I please have a kiss first? Just one,” you ask again, lowering your voice an octave, a tone he can never deny. 

He flips himself over, so he’s more on his back now. “It’s never just one.”

“That’s not true,” you fake pout, leaning closer in, letting the tips of your nose dance.

“You said one kiss months ago. Look where that got us.” His breath fans against your lips.

“I don’t see you complaining,” you whisper, your body on fire with this conversation. 

You let your lips finally meet, soft and sweet, but the heat building in your cheeks keeps you from breaking the seal. Without thinking, you climb on top of him, straddling him as your hands find the base of his neck, the length beneath you already beginning to stir. 

You break away for less than a second before you bring your lips to his again, but he’s quick to stop you, a shit-eating grin between his cheeks. “Thought ya said one?” He breathes. 

“Shut up,” you murmur, smashing your lips against his once more as your tongue coasts the expanse of his bottom lip, the taste of you from earlier still lingering. 

“Shit, sugar,” he groans into your mouth, his hips bucking into you on their own accord. “She’s still so needy, ain’t she? That why ya can’t sleep?”

His bulge catches perfectly where you need him most, pulling a whimper from the back of your throat. “Please, baby,” you pant. 

“Told ya ‘s never jus’ one kiss,” he rasps as his heavy hands grab at your waist, guiding your hips into a more frenzied rhythm.

“You’re right,” you cry, eyes clamping shut, nothing but the sweet sounds of your ecstasy blessing his ears. 

Too blissed out to continue kissing him, you bring your lips to his jaw, nipping and licking the places you can reach. With a few harsh grinds of your hips, you’re moaning out into his ear—his partially deaf one, luckily—with millions of white sparkles flashing beneath your eyelids. Joel’s breathing stops at the same moment your body convulses, strangled grunts leaving his throat as he adds to your mess of his boxers. 

“She satisfied, yet?” He hums as you lay across his sweaty chest.

“Mmm,” you pretend to think it over. “I think it’s her turn for a kiss now.” 

Joel scoffs. You can hear his smile with it. 

You lift your head to look him in the eyes, a faux innocence in the way you jut out your bottom lip. “Just one, baby,” you reason with him.

Joel tosses you to your unspoken side of the bed. “Sleep.” 

“But—”

“She’ll get her kiss in the morning.” 

Your eyes nearly pop out at the realization of his words. “G-Goodnight, baby,” you reply quickly. 

“‘S what I thought. G’night, darlin’.”

I would love to hear what you guys think! I love you all so much, thank you for always sticking by my side and supporting me always. You all are my happy place. Wouldn't be where I am without you.🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

[zaczenemiji]

Hello Dearest Writer! I have read the Shattered Pride that you wrote which I like it! and I hope you don't mind me requesting ^^. I wanted to request for a lil' bit angsty Kenji Sato x Reader, where kenji & reader have a heated argument that leads to reader with tears streaming down her face from kenji's hurtful words and attempted to remove her engagement ring and proposed to end things for the better and kenji got scared and regret everything he said, so he asked for forgiveness, convinced her to stay and makes it up for her. Thank you so much, Writer! I hope you have a nice day!

Second to None

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 2,076

Genre/Warning: Angst, Character Development, Drama, Established Long-Term Relationship, Heartbreak, hurt/Comfort, Redemption

Author’s Note: My works are becoming longer lately 🤧 Is that a good thing or not?

MASTERLIST | Shattered Pride

The reservation; a special menu and a gift sat neatly wrapped beside your plate. Your eyes dart to the door every few minutes, eagerly yet anxiously anticipating Kenji’s arrival.

The minutes turned into an hour, each second becoming agonizingly longer than the last. Your discomfort became noticeable to those who arrived before and after you.

Some couples came in pairs. Others also waited but the arrival of their beloveds was only half as long as the duration of your waiting.

The waiter approached with a sympathetic smile. “Would you like to order now, miss?” He asked gently.

"Not yet," you replied, forcing a smile. "He should be here any minute." You smoothed down your dress, avoiding any more contact with someone who isn’t Kenji.

“Are you on your way? Our reservation was at 7,” your message long showed as delivered, but still, no reply, and all your calls went straight to voicemail.

Your heart sank as the waiter returned, his expression more apologetic than before, "Shall I bring you a drink while you wait?"

"Yes, please," you answered, trying to mask your growing disappointment. You chose a glass of your favorite wine with Kenji, hoping the familiar taste would bring some comfort.

It was your fifth anniversary together, a milestone you had been looking forward to for weeks. Yet just like last year, it seemed like this would be a missed one too.

The first years of your relationship were pure bliss. The years that followed were less exciting but more comfortable. Yet from last year til today, some things were never the same.

At first, it felt like it was just because both of you had gotten used to each other. But as time progressed, it started seeming like your relationship was just a background—a television turned on not for the sake of watching, but for the sake of not being alone.

It started with last year’s missed anniversary; he said that it was an important out-of-town game that he couldn't skip. "I'm so sorry, the game went into extra innings and I missed the last train back. I'll be home late.”

He went home the next day.

You reminisced your first anniversary, a weekend getaway, a brief escape from your busy lives. The second, you had gone to a cozy little restaurant. The third had been a quiet dinner at home.

The fourth anniversary was marked by absence and loneliness; as this year’s. It wasn't the first time Kenji's baseball career had come between you, but you had hoped that anniversaries would be different.

You started to wonder if you would always come second to his dreams.

Another hour passed and the restaurant began to empty as the night grew older. "Kenji, I'm still here. Please call me." But still, there was no response.

Finally, your phone buzzed, "I'm so sorry, practice ran late and then we had a team meeting. I’ll try to get there as soon as I can."

You stared at the message, a tear slipping down your cheek. You heard similar apologies countless times before, each one chipping away at your patience and hope.

You signaled the waiter and asked for the check. You couldn't sit there any longer and pretend that everything was fine.

You walked out into the cool night, clutching the small gift you had brought for Kenji. The streets were quiet, the city's usual buzz dulled by the lateness of the hour.

You felt a profound loneliness, one that wasn't just about this night but about the accumulation of missed moments and broken promises.

When you finally got home, the flat was dark. You placed the untouched gift on the table and changed into more comfortable clothes.

You were too drained, emotionally, to even wait for Kenji in case he’d come over. You lay down on your bed, more than willing to sleep off the pain you just can’t get used to.

As your consciousness was being tugged to sleep, your phone buzzed again. It was Kenji, calling. And for the first time, you decided to put yourself first and slept.

Morning came and you sat at the dining table, a half-empty glass of wine in front of you. It was far too early to be drinking, but the remnants of last night's disappointment and loneliness still clung to you, and you needed something to numb the ache.

You swirled the wine in your glass, your mind replaying the evening over and over. The beautifully wrapped gift lay discarded on the coffee table.

You immediately slept last night but somehow, you hoped that Kenji would walk through the door with some grand gesture, some sign that he valued your relationship as much as she did. But he never came.

The sound of the key turning in the lock pulled you from your thoughts. Kenji walked in, looking exhausted and worn. His eyes immediately found yours, and he saw the wine glass in your hand.

"You're drinking this early?" he asked, concern laced with surprise. You didn't respond, just took another sip.

The silence was heavy, filled with all the words you wanted to say but didn't know how to begin. You set the glass down and met his gaze.

"Do you even realize what day it was yesterday, Kenji?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Of course, I do. I'm so sorry. Practice ran late and then there was an unexpected team meeting. I—“

"You always have an excuse,” You cut him off, your voice rising. “Do you know how many times I've heard 'practice ran late' or 'there was a meeting’? I'm tired of it!"

"I know," he said, trying to calm you down. "I really wanted to be here, but you know how important baseball is to me."

"And what about me, Kenji? Am I not important to you?" you snapped, tears welling up in your eyes. "I've sacrificed everything for you! I left my career, my family, my friends, everything to come to Japan and support you! And for what? To be stood up on our anniversary again?"

His face tightened, "It's not like that. You knew what you were getting into when you decided to come with me."

You took a step back, your voice dropping to a whisper. "So, it's my fault now?” You asked. “I chose to support you because I believed in us. But it feels like I'm the only one making sacrifices here."

"That's not fair," he retorted, frustration creeping into his tone. "I work hard for us. I'm trying to build a future for us."

"But at what cost, Kenji?" you shot back. "Every time I need you, you're not there. Every important moment, every milestone, you're always somewhere else. Do you even understand how lonely that is?"

He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words, "I'm doing my best. It's just... baseball is my dream. I can't give that up."

"And what about my dreams?" you cried, your voice breaking. "I had a career I loved, a life I was proud of! I gave all that up for you, believing that you would be there for me, that we would support each other. But it feels like I'm the only one who gave anything up!”

He took a deep breath, his own anger rising. "I never asked you to give up your career!” He said. “You made that choice!”

Your eyes widened in shock and pain. "I made that choice because I loved you—because I thought we were building a life together,” you said, voice softening and heart breaking. “But it seems like I'm the only one who sees it that way."

There was a long silence as you two stared at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you. Slowly, you reached for your engagement ring, your hands shaking.

"What are you doing?" Kenji asked, panic creeping into his voice.

You struggled to remove the ring, tears streaming down your face. "Maybe we're fooling ourselves, Kenji,” you said in between sobs. “Maybe this isn't working. I can't keep feeling like I'm second to your career. Maybe it's better if we end this now."

His heart raced, panic surged through him, and his voice trembled with desperation. "No, please don't," he said, stepping closer, his hands reaching out but hesitating to touch you. "I'm sorry for everything I've said. I didn't mean it. I love you, and I can't lose you."

You looked at him, the ring held loosely in your hand. "Do you really love me, Kenji?” You asked. “Or do you love the idea of me being here, waiting for you, always understanding and never complaining?"

He stepped closer, his eyes pleading. "I love you. I know I've been an idiot, and I know I haven't been there for you like I should. But I promise I'll do better. Just please, don't leave me."

His eyes filled with tears as he dropped to his knees in front of you, the weight of his regret crashing down on him. "I love you," he said, his voice breaking. "I know I've been an idiot, and I know I haven't been there for you like I should. Every time I chose baseball over you, I was wrong. I see that now.”

“Please, don't take off that ring. Don't leave me,” he pleased. “I can't imagine my life without you."

You looked down at him, your own tears blurring your vision, “How can I believe you, Kenji?"

He reached out, taking her hands in his and holding them tightly. "Because I can't bear the thought of losing you,” he said. “I'll do whatever it takes to prove to you that you're the most important thing in my life. I'll talk to my coach, I'll cut back on practice—anything. Just please, give me one more chance."

You hesitated, the pain and love warring within you. His eyes were filled with genuine fear and remorse, and you could feel his hands trembling. "One more chance, Kenji,” you said. “But things have to change. I can't keep feeling like this."

He nodded fervently, pulling you into a tight embrace, his heart pounding with a mix of relief and fear. "I promise, things will change,” he said. “I'll make it up to you, I swear. I love you more than anything. Please, believe me."

The next morning, Kenji came over early and made you breakfast, a small but heartfelt gesture to start making amends. He took the morning off practice and thought of having breakfast together.

Over the next few weeks, Kenji made noticeable changes. He began to prioritize your time together, making sure to balance his demanding baseball schedule with moments that were just for you two.

One evening, as you sat on the couch watching a movie, Kenji turned to you with a serious expression, "I talked to a few people, and I found a way for you to continue your work here in Japan.”

You looked at him, curiosity and hope in your eyes, "What do you mean?"

“There are some production companies interested in meeting with you,” he said. “I want you to have your career back, to have something that's yours."

Tears welled up in your eyes, this time from gratitude and joy. "Kenji, that's... I don't know what to say. Thank you."

He took your hand, squeezing it gently. "I want you to be happy. I want us to build our lives together, supporting each other's dreams,” he said. “I'm sorry it took me so long to realize how much you were sacrificing."

True to his word, Kenji began to make your relationship a priority. He surprised you with small dates, like picnics in the park or quiet dinners at home. He even started learning a bit of Japanese cuisine to cook your favorite meals.

Kenji made it a point to never miss another important moment, attending every event and celebration that mattered to you. He cheered you on as you restarted your career, eager to see you shine.

In the end, you both learned that love required effort and compromise from both sides. It wasn't always easy, but you faced your challenges together, knowing that your love was worth fighting for. And with each passing day, you both found yourselves more deeply in love, more committed to the life you were building together.

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@ppiglovestravel-blog @eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle @lannnu @lailuv21 @christiinee @abracarabbit @youngbananamilkshake @flutterfly365 @o-schist @brazilsho @arrozyfrijoles23 @finestflora @mmeerraa @mianbaobaoo @skyeliteratures @themourningfox @despacito-uwu16 @crimson-mage-02 @vinegarjello @btszn @berryjuicyy @https-mika @reader-1290

[hunny-beann]

I am literally having the worst day ever, do you think you could write some insanely fluffy Dream for me? I'm talking tooth rotting levels of fluff here.

Rest Now, Wife, Mine

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi anon! Thanks a ton for the adorable request, I had a lot of fun with it and really hope it helps make your day feel a bit better <3

Synopsis: Morpheus' wife finds their bed far too lonely without him in it, and seeks out his presence to remedy this so she may finally succumb to slumber for the evening.

Thankfully, he is all too happy to oblige.

Warnings: None! Just pure and unbridled fluff :)

Word Count: 1,298

Her steps are silent and her pace slow as she approaches the familiar throne room, sensing even from outside of its walls that it is as close to empty as it is going to get for the evening.

That said, as close to empty as possible for the throne room of an Endless such as Dream was not nearly as empty as one might think, with it being a rarity that he not be found there.

She fights back a shiver as she steps across the threshold, her bare feet suddenly far colder than before, and her majority uncovered shoulders beginning to undergo horripilation at the seemingly inexplicable shift in temperature.

That said, being easy to explain was not a rule that the Dreaming followed, so this was nothing new, and certainly nothing unexpected.

Though, the sudden voice that split the once heavy silence in twain on the other hand, was.

"And what could possibly have you awake at such an hour, dear wife?"

The voice asked quietly, laced with both amusement and even a twinge of concern that had the wife in question smiling softly in spite of her best efforts to not appear excited at the mere sound of her love's voice.

Oh, but she had never been that strong, had she?

He had her wrapped around his finger just as he did the entire realm that he ruled, though he notably reserved the one with the ring for her and her alone.

She padded up toward his throne quietly, not willing to answer his question until she was close enough that her voice might not reverberate so loudly off of the palace walls.

Some words, she had decided long ago, were for her husband and her husband alone.

Upon her eager approach, the Lord of Dreams could not help but raise one of the corners of his mouth at the mere sight of her, holding his hand out at her nearness to guide her to stand before his crossed legs as he reached gently to take her other in his own as well, making a mental note of how chilled her extremities felt due to the cool night air of his throne room.

He watched as she slackened slightly at his familiar touch, her body always so happy to find him near in a way never ceased to have his heart all but melting at her feet.

What a disastrous little thing she was, truly.

He could never love another.

As her form relaxed at the feeling of his hands on hers, so loving in spite of the power that they held, she could not help but yawn softly, eyes growing teary as her ease allowed the weight of the day to truly set in.

Her dearest Dream Lord smirked up at her, his brow raised knowingly and his eyes twinkling as he watched her fight off the eternally tempting wiles of sleep.

What a sweet little thing, so helpless in her battles against her own biology that it was entirely too amusing to ignore, and always far too entertaining to neglect to bear witness to.

"You are tired, my dear."

The Lord of Dreams stated matter of factly, tugging his beloved closer using his soft grip on her hands so he could properly brush some of her hair behind her ear, a gesture which caused her eyelids to flutter closed briefly before they snapped open once more, her fight against herself not yet over in her eyes (though Dream could see clearly in the way that she swayed on her own two feet that there was already an obvious victor).

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head,

"You need to rest, sweet stardust. Let me bring you back to the bedroom."

He spoke gently, rising to guide her back to their soft and familiar bed only to halt when he heard her reply.

"No, I don't want to go back, you're just going to leave once you think I'm tired enough not to follow."

The Dream Lord faltered upon hearing this, raising a questioning brow in response before lowering himself down upon his throne once more, though this time he pulled his wife right along with him, sitting her on his lap in order to get a better look at her exhausted expression.

He frowned.

"Have you been staying awake on purpose, my love? Lying in wait for me as you promised you would not do?"

She shook her head, but he could see the way that the blood rushed into her cheeks as she tried to explain, embarrassed to admit the things that she had to in order to quell his worries of any intentional harm having been done.

"No, of course not, I just..."

The Lord of Dreams hummed and brought one hand to her back, rubbing up and down along her spine and feeling her lean against him unintentionally in response, her bones heavy and all too prepared to sink into whatever comfort they could find.

"You just what, dearest?"

He urged, causing his lover to nod blearily in response, slowly coming back to reality again.

"I just find that sometimes I cannot bear to sleep alone, that the bed feels far too wide and empty without you in it."

Dream fought back a slight smile upon hearing this, feeling more than a little bit proud to know that his wife could rely upon him enough to truly need him so (though he was notably unhappy to hear that this was causing her any amount of unnecessary strife).

"And is tonight one of those nights, beloved?"

He asked, watching as she nodded, her head lolling slightly upon her neck as her overworked muscles struggled to remain in control over her all too tired body and mind.

"Poor thing,"

Dream all but purred in response, adjusting his love upon his lap until she was leaning against him, breaths warm on his neck and body seeming to grow heavier by the second as the feeling of his familiar closeness drove her into a type of ease that was felt only at a lover's closeness.

"That will certainly have to be remedied, won't it?"

He murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver in response, nuzzling closer with a nod as he gathered his coat that had been hanging on the back of the dais behind him with just one hand, draping it over her body and pressing a soft kiss against her head as he felt her begin to drift off into a much needed and far too well deserved slumber.

"Rest now, wife, mine."

He said softly, feeling his dearest love smile gently against his skin at his familiar words and the use of his favorite (and almost sickeningly sweet) nickname for her,

"I will see to it that no one interrupts you as you do."

If she had been more awake, perhaps the woman would have rolled her eyes or even offered a sarcastic retort in response to her husband's dramatics, but instead she simply nudged herself closer, pressing a gentle kiss against the pale flesh of his neck before she drifted off for the very first time that night, feeling truly safe in the arms of her most adoring love.

And when morning arrived, and the throne room became far less uninhabited, the two of them made for quite a sight, indeed.

After all, who would have thought that the Lord of Dreams might choose to sleep simply to live life as his dear wife did, his cheek pressed gently against her head and his arms wrapped around her as slumber found them both, pulling them closer together, ever still, in the very same way that they belonged now, and always would for the remainder of eternity, and perhaps even beyond that.

ao3 link

[thoughtsfromlayla]

I'm Sick

Summary: Dream confesses something to you.

Notes: 200 words, scheduled post :P, thanks for the inspo @arunawayheart lol

Warnings/Tags: None, fluff, PININGGGGGGG, queued post

Main Masterlist | One Shot Masterlist

"I'm sick," Dream says randomly one afternoon when you visit him during a well-deserved nap.

You look at the Endless, your eyes scanning his figure from top to bottom. Can Endless get sick? He's sickly pale, that's for sure, but... isn't he always?

"No, you're not," You scoff only half sure of yourself. You return to the task that Lucienne had given you, pushing the leather spine of an old book back into place.

Dream stalks closer to you, turning you around to face him. His finger lifts at your chin and he gazes deep into your soul. "No," He reilliterates. "I'm sick of missing you."

You were too stunned to speak for a moment, your jaw slacking on his hooked finger.

"You see me every night, Dream Lord," You sigh, your eyes fluttering close as his thumb strokes the curve of your cheek. The books in your arms are long forgotten.

"The hours between are too vast," He confesses between the smell of leather books and ink. "Yet, I know dreamers cannot stay here, allow me to be selfish."

"I understand, Dream." You smile, your hands ghost over the one covering your face, interlacing your fingers with his.

"I'm sick of missing you."