#the endless x reader

[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?”

[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.”

[milkluvr333]

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

[starmocha]

Oh oh oh since we're sharing pregnant mc hcs, how about one where they got a bit carried away, they did it, she got pregnant, he "died", by some miracle she didn't lose the baby, she's an excellent, doting, badass mom. then when he comes back he finds the love of his life with a little 1 year old baby girl that could be considered mc's perfect clone except for the eyes. the eyes are his. IMAGINE THE ANGST THE HURT THE TEARS THE LOVEEEEE!!!!!

🫵 are you guys using my Caleb-addled brain to sneak around my “I don’t take requests” condition. /lh 😔 this is who I am now, I guess. I see Caleb, I cave… 🥺

Endless Summer

It was an ambush, another attempt on his life.

It was the thirteenth time in three months, as a matter of fact. Caleb had thwarted all of the previous attempts with ease, always on guard, untrusting of those who claimed to have vowed their loyalty to him as their colonel.

As you learned, you couldn’t trust anyone in Skyhaven, much less the Farspace Fleet. Dark secrets surrounded this seemingly elite entity and though it appeared like the place ran like a machine with perfect precision and efficiency, there was still an insidious side that Caleb refused to let you see.

It wasn’t just his life they were after. They were after yours as well, using you as the ultimate pawn to get to him. Little do they suspect, while you may be his greatest weakness, you were also his strength, his sole reason to persevere.

This was to be a fatal lesson for many to learn.

It was supposed to be a celebratory banquet, thrown in honor of the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel’s latest achievements. There were no deceptions by the hosts, but a traitorous group seized this opportunity to trap the young colonel and all doors within the banquet halls locked, keeping many of the guests hostages in the process.

Within the center of the room, Caleb calmly eyed all of the familiar faces that loomed overhead on the second floor as all around, innocent guests rushed to the exits, banging and screaming for help. He tried to push you away, get you to safety.

They were after him, after all. You didn’t need to be in the crossfires.

You didn’t have time to react, hearing that first gunshot that led the way for the onslaught of bullets.

Something in Caleb snapped that night. The barrage of bullets that came at him and you from all directions would have taken down anyone, but they all froze midair only because of his Evol freezing them in their track and keeping them suspended as if time had frozen at this very moment. He soon, however, learned it was merely a distraction.

Ca…leb…

The moment he saw the crimson blood seeping from your side, that knife pulled out quickly, and you were falling, eyes closing, as he ran toward you yelling your name. His Evol flared out of control, the gravity in the room suddenly immensely heavy, as dozens of men were pulled to their knees in futile struggles.

Open your eyes, he pleaded, his uniform soaked with your blood. His face twisted in pain, a million thoughts rushing through his mind, all of the memories of the past resurfaced in quick successions. All of those years of smiles and laughter that transitioned to pain and distrust only to slowly return to some semblances of the past were now coming to an end before his very eyes. He couldn’t lose you like this, not when he had promised that he would make things right again, to be the man that you deserved. Please…please…

You struggled to breathe, the pain unlike anything you had experienced in your life. As he watched you teetered closer to death, he was filled with wrath, an anger that could not be calmed by any forces in this world.

Caleb held his hand out, and a gun laying on the floor levitated before it rushed into his grip from across the room, and without a thought or any remorse or even hesitancy, he fired bullet after bullet into each man’s head, a clean shot straight through the center, not flinching even as the surrounding guests screamed and huddled to the floor, covering their ears from that violent, horrid sound.

When the last traitor fell, Caleb dropped the gun with a clatter, and his arms wrapped entirely around you, pulling you closer to his body for warmth. Your breathing had weakened even more, but he could still save you. He hadn’t failed you. Not yet, not ever. You were going to live. He would make sure of it.

Even if he now realized you were safer away from him.

Colonel Caleb, you had only slept for four hours last night, the robotic voice of an OTTO said with some semblance of concern in its artificial vocal. It levitated after its owner as the young colonel adjusted his uniform. The robot continued, explaining, An adult man of your age requires ei—

“I’ve slept enough,” he interrupted firmly, ignoring the robot, whose monitor quickly displayed a digitalized look of concern. Caleb had thought often of shutting down the robot and dismantling it, but he could never carry through, remembering that he had purchased this robot for you.

In this cold, monotonous so-called-home of his in Skyhaven, Caleb had few things that reminded him of you. A few plushies you two had won together sat on his living room couch, some snapshots you two had taken together at a photobooth, and perhaps a few furniture pieces you had ordered to be sent directly to his home. You had been in the process of bringing warmth and life into this place when everything came to an abrupt stop.

If he hadn’t taken you to that banquet that night nearly two years ago, Caleb wondered how things would have played out. You wouldn’t have gotten injured that night, but he feared perhaps it would just delay that same outcome. That night, he found himself at a fork in the road, forced to make a decision that would change the course of both of your lives.

Keep you by his side, where he had foolishly believed you would always be safe under his protection, or, let you go, let you believe that whatever had happened that night, he was the one who had died, finally taken away by Death himself. It was better to let you believe he had actually died this time, to keep you from searching for him, to keep you far away from Skyhaven—to keep you from him.

Since that night almost two years ago, Caleb’s nightmares had worsened. He relived the dreadful night, but he had also had other terrifying dreams so horrendous, he would wake up screaming in cold sweats, completely disoriented, unsure if he was trapped within another layer of the nightmare, or if he was truly awake.

“She’s safe, she’s safe,” he would often mutter to himself, an attempt to convince himself that he had made the right choice, that setting you free was the only way he could keep you safe. As long as you lived, he would bear the weight of his sacrifice, even if it meant never seeing you ever again.

It was sunny in Linkon, not a cloud in the sky, and the weather warm and inviting, but to Caleb, it was a place he had forbidden himself from ever stepping foot in again, out of fear that your paths would cross. In all of those times since he had distanced himself from you, allowed you to believe he was dead, he had managed to avoid any reason to step foot in the place that was once his home.

When his adjutant, Liam, had informed Caleb that his schedule required him to attend a conference meeting in Linkon, the young colonel stiffened, the atmosphere in the room stifling almost as if he was using his Evol. He suppressed his initial instinct to yell, knowing Liam was well aware of Caleb’s situation and had in the past made the necessary arrangements to prevent him from having any reason to step foot in that city.

It seemed he couldn’t stay away from Linkon forever, so he resigned to this situation, still remaining vigilant in his stance. Linkon was a big city, and there was no reason for your paths to cross. He would make do with this troublesome situation for the time being.

Now, Caleb had intended to return to Skyhaven the moment the meeting ended, and yet, against his better judgment, he found himself wandering down familiar streets, lost in memories of happier times. As he walked, before his eyes, he saw the silhouettes of him and you as children running down the street after school to your favorite little vintage grocery store.

Caleb, you dummy, you can’t use your Evol!

Don’t blame my Evol because you can’t run fast on those short legs, pipsqueak!

Caleb chuckled. He couldn’t help it. The memories of those years seemed so much more carefree. He often wished to go back to that time when the only things that weighed on yours and his shoulders were school or silly childish arguments.

As he approached the old grocery store, closed just a few years prior, he was surprised to learn that it was now under new ownership. The familiar place of his childhood was now a small trendy café, popular with college students and young couples.

To his astonishment—and, perhaps, also relief—the vibrant hydrangea garden in the back remained. Bushes of the white, blue, and pink flowers bloomed in the garden, showing that its new owner took well care of the plants. They looked like the hydrangeas of his childhood, of those long summer afternoons that never seemed to end as he and you made this place just another secret hideout only you two would ever know. As he walked down a beaten path, distracted, he was stirred out of his nostalgic thoughts when he felt something bumped into his leg. He peered down, surprised to see a little girl in a light orange dress, the same color as the sunset he used to see in his airplane when he was a pilot, was clinging to his leg. He looked around, not seeing any adult in sight to indicate they were the child’s guardian.

He furrowed his brows, a little in annoyance, as he was not prepared to suddenly be grappled with the responsibility of a lost child. He knelt down lower, and immediately, he startled as he took in the little girl’s appearance, a near perfect carbon copy of you, but the eyes—he stared into sweet little violet eyes that mirrored his own, seeing his shocked face reflected in these orbs. The girl looked up at him with curiosity, the wind swaying her short bob while a little yellow chunky cartoon airplane hairclip held her side bangs in place.

Suddenly, she started tearing up, breaking Caleb out of his trance and for the first time in a while, he felt panicked, unsure of what to do. The girl started to cry and Caleb immediately lifted her up, her head resting onto his shoulder as he rubbed her back and soothed her.

He shushed her gently, his caregiver instinct reignited after years of dormancy. “Why are you crying, sweetheart?” he asked her gently, his soothing voice a complete opposite to the tone he used as colonel.

The girl sobbed. She looked so young, Caleb realized, surmising that she probably had barely started learning to speak.

“Are you lost?” he asked in that same tender tone despite knowing the child would be unable to answer him. He continued, “You miss your mommy, don’t you?”

He rubbed her back again, wondering with trepidation if this child’s mother was who he thought it would be. For just a second, his heart stopped when he felt the little girl gripping the fabric of his uniform with her small hands. Quickly, he recomposed himself.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, his hand smoothed the back of her hair. “Let’s go look for your Mommy, alright?”

“Ma...ma…” the girl struggled to say. She rubbed her face against Caleb’s shoulder, and he smiled gently, unbothered that his once pristine uniform was now covered in a child’s snot.

“Okay, mama,” he repeated, “I’ll help you find your mama, sweetheart.”

When he was just about to turn around to head back to the café, he froze again, hearing a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in years. He could feel his heart beating against his chest, actually feeling every heavy thump as the seconds passed and the voice grew closer, a name cried out—the little girl’s.

The child in his arms wriggled, and cried louder, seeing her mother over Caleb’s shoulder. “Mama! Mama!”

Stiffly, Caleb knelt lower and gently set the girl down to her feet, barely registering as the child toddled passed him to her mother.

A completely different feminine voice called out, angry. “Were you trying to kidnap a child in broad dayli—”

Caleb stood up and turned around, his face pale.

“Cale…Caleb?” You stared in shock, feeling like you were seeing his ghost again. Again.

“Mama…Mama…!” Your daughter nuzzled her face against your chest as you held her. You broke out of your trance and instantly redirected your attention to your child. You quickly soothed her, well aware that Caleb’s eyes were locked on you, his face just as shocked as yours but for entirely different reasons. Once the little girl calmed down you passed her off to your companion, saying, “Tara, take her back to the café.”

Tara looked at you worriedly, her eyes darting to Caleb with suspicion. One look into Caleb’s eyes, seeing that same, perfect shade of purple, and the young woman quickly understood the situation. She nodded quietly and took the girl from you. “Come on, sweetie, auntie Tara is going to buy you a cupcake, okay?”

You waited until Tara and your daughter were out of sight. You couldn’t look at him. You wanted to look at him, to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you, to make sure that this was not an illusion, not a cruel, mocking figment of your imagination. But you couldn’t. You felt cowardly in that instance, being afraid of the truth. Afraid of his reaction. Of everything.

“You were…you were pregnant?” he questioned, feeling a wave of guilt washed over him.

Just hearing those words made you realized this was him. This was Caleb, the man you thought was taken away from you. Again.

Suddenly, you broke down crying and you looked up at him with tears running down your cheeks.

“Caleb, you dummy,” you sobbed, “You fucking dummy!”

He gasped, unprepared when you rushed at him and started beating his chest half-heartedly with your small fists as you continued to sob and curse him over and over again. He let you carry out your anger, let you punished him as you saw fit in this moment, but when the punches weakened, he gently grabbed your wrists, lowering them to your sides before his arms wrapped around you in comfort, his apologies immediate.

“Yeah,” he agreed in that ever familiar soft and gentle tone reserved only for you, “I am a fucking dummy.”

You sniffled against his chest, gripping tightly the lapel of his coat.

The afternoon passed slowly, initially tensed and awkward, but eventually all of the missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and you both struggled to come to terms with the picture of the missing years. You peered at the man to your side, seeing Caleb hunched over, his cap in his lap, looking much like a sinner struggling to come to terms with his wrongs.

“You didn’t know,” you whispered after a while, wanting to break this stifling silence. You reached for his arm, but he tensed before his shoulders slumped again.

“That’s no excuse,” he said, looking up at you. He started to reach for your cheek, hesitating at the last second, as if he was afraid that you would recoil from his touch. He started to pull back but you grabbed at his hand, guiding it to your cheek. He stared in shock as you nuzzled your face against his palm, and you gazed at him with glistened eyes.

“You’re not allowed to die again,” you scolded him. “Promise me that.”

He nodded numbly, his voice clear and steady. “I promise,” he said, repeating in a more hushed, firm tone, “I promise.”

He leaned forward, guiding your lips to his, his words still repeating in between breath. You let him drown you in his kisses, let yourself dizzied and relent to his feverish promises. When your lips parted, just a few centimeters, his warm breath grazed over your trembling lips before he pressed another kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I... will you…”

You looked up, seeing the struggles in his violet eyes. He appeared to hesitate again, unsure of what right he had to seek your forgiveness, wondering if he was overstepping the boundary between the two of you.

You gently coaxed him, seeing relief washed over his guilty features. “Will I what?”

“Will you…let me make things right?” he asked, “Let me…earn your forgiveness. I…please…”

He almost wanted to say, I can’t lose you again but the words died at his lips. He, of all people, had no rights to utter such words in your presence. He looked so defeated, beaten down to the point he no longer recognized himself anymore.

You took his hand, just like you always seemed to do, and you pulled him to his feet, to his surprise. He gazed at you questionably, his heart stopping at your words.

“Caleb,” you said his name so sweetly, “I want you to meet…our daughter.”

The summer air was warm even as the sky darkened, and stars after stars appeared above to illuminate the world below. The gentle breeze ruffled Caleb’s hair as he stared down at the sleeping girl in his arms. Maybe it was because she was still so young and impressionable, or perhaps she could already sense who he was to her, but the girl clung to him immediately, already feeling safe and protected in his presence.

His heart felt heavy, overwhelmed by guilt, a feeling of failure, and also of self-loathing, but as he gazed down at his daughter, another feeling stirred, just as intense but much more forgiving. He didn’t think he could feel such love as he did now as he peered down at the sleeping girl, nuzzled against him on his lap, peacefully slumbering away.

He wondered what she was dreaming of as he admired how much she resembled her mother. Hesitantly, he let his finger caressed her cheek, in complete, silent awe at how soft and delicate her skin was. He was almost afraid of hurting her, feeling a need to protect her just as he protected her mother. He looked up at you, his cheeks and ears reddening when he realized you had been laughing at his expense.

“It’s alright,” you told him amid your giggles.

“You’re laughing at me.”

“You deserve it, you big dummy.”

He let out a huff, in mock annoyance, but he agreed with you. “Alright,” he conceded, “I deserve it.”

“Do you want to begin your path to seeking forgiveness from us?” you asked him, a playful, teasing lilt in your voice, unmissed by Caleb as he raised a brow in curiosity.

“Just like that?” he questioned, confused by your leniency with him.

You nodded. “You still love me, right?”

“I’ve never stopped,” he said, his solemn words had you blushing against your better judgment, your heart quickening when he looked at you so lovelorn. You quickly composed yourself, returning to your mischievousness from seconds ago.

“You love her, right?” you asked, your eyes shifting to your sleeping daughter in his arms.

He sighed, mesmerized. “So much already,” he whispered, and again, you found yourself softening, touched by his sincerity.

“Okay, we’ll forgive you,” you answered, catching Caleb’s attention as he looked at you almost bemused by your easygoing attitude. “First step.”

“Which is?”

“You have to make us your specialty,” you said, laughing at Caleb’s look of complete bewilderment unfit for a colonel of his status. Clearly, you had blindsided him completely with this first condition. You clarified with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, “You have to make your braised chicken wings.”

He stared at you as if not comprehending your words. You laughed and leaned closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I ate a lot of braised chicken wings while pregnant,” you said, reminiscing to that lonely period in your life without his presence. You reached over and brushed your daughter’s flyaway hair out of her face, continuing softly, “But they weren’t as good as yours.”

Caleb let out a huff of breath, a soft, resigned laugh as he readjusted his arm, letting it wrapped around you as he pulled you closer into his embrace. He leaned over and kissed the top of your head. “Okay,” he answered, “I take it she also likes braised chicken wings then?”

You leaned into him, nodding once. “She’ll love yours more,” you said, and then looked up, your heart quickening again as you gazed into his beautiful violet eyes, grateful that your daughter had chosen to inherit this sole feature from her father. Breathlessly, you uttered softly, your words for his ears only, “She’ll love you.”

“And you?” he whispered back, that same hesitancy still prominent in his tone. He looked at you expectantly as he asked, “Do you still love me?”

“I’ve never stopped,” you echoed his words back to him, continuing in that same hushed tone, “I’ll always love my dummy Caleb.”

“Alright,” he said, his voice resigned, holding you just a bit tighter, as if he was afraid this was a cruel, taunting dream he would wake up from.

As Caleb watched your eyes closed, he looked down, eyes darting from you to his daughter, and he wondered if he deserved any of this. In the warm summer night, surrounded by the blossoming blue and pink and white hydrangeas, he silently apologized for his mistakes, promising that for the remainder of his life, he would become a better man, deserving of both of you.

Just like the little boy from long ago, once he had made a promise to you, he would never break it.

He swore it on his life.

[dreamyblanket]

DRAGON COOKIE Y/N /nf

but instead of the imposing structure. They’re floofy.. (marshmallow fluff dragon)

I thought this was a super cute idea!! I choose a more sheep look for them so they were more cuddly //^^//

[hexxedcore]

What would Yandere Viktor be like in this 2nd season? Of course if you want, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable making this yandere topic

not an uncomfortable question at all, anon! in fact i love viktor and i love yandere tropes even more ❤️

WARNINGS: YANDERE, unhealthy / toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, delusion (mostly religiously fuelled if i’m being honest), codependency

I’m a firm believer that Viktor wouldn’t be a yandere who imposes him physically. This is a man who is speculative and used to hiding away in the shadows — he demonstrates everything with well planted seeds of deceit and doubt.

Now, Season Two Viktor? With what we know, it’s up to so much speculation regarding what his motives are and what’s going to happen next — but this specific trope is so rich in the potential it has depending on who you present yourself as to him. A devoted follower? An estranged lover who sought him out after he abruptly left? A Zaunite attempting to stop the hold he has on his vulnerable disciples?

I’ll be covering the disciple trope below but will gladly create more posts for the others.

DISCIPLE READER:

You come to him in a moment of desperation, having heard of the whispers scattered through dark alleyways of Zaun that there was a mage who possessed the capability to heal any wound he was presented with. A miracle worker in the flesh.

It was a opportunity impossible to pass up. Everyone had been scrambling for an opportunity to meet him, have him cure their lung ailments or their Shimmer addictions.

Despite being tentative going into the belly of Zaun, you were admittedly shocked by the abundance of life in what had once been deemed the slums. People who were rumoured to be disfigured and marred purple were walking around, regarding you with inviting smiles, soft skin, full eyes.

When Viktor first spotted you wandering his growing compound, lost, he was absolutely entranced. For a moment he was left wondering why everyone was so adamant on worshipping him, when the obvious miracle here was you. You’re just so pure, so perfect, that even the Hexcore is adamant in prolonging your visit.

You approached him with hopes of a cure to the infection that had been riddling your lungs due to the Gray being released to the Undercity. Viktor wasn't in a state to do anything but oblige.

For as much as you heard of his cures being instantaneous and life-changing, yours had been painfully slow. Viktor reassured that due to the unique nature of the Gray, the Arcane was reacting in unpredictable ways. Therefore; you should make yourself at home. Stay, for the time being.

It wasn't difficult to settle in with how amiable the other 'followers' were, as they enjoyed calling themselves. It also wasn't surprising, considering how reverently respectful Viktor had been treating you. As though you were a deity of his own, despite your lack of impressive actions.

It almost made you forget about the swelling cough that persisted in your chest, or the fact you’ve forgotten how long it’s been since you’ve even begun your stay.

Needless to say, you don’t plan to leave this routine anytime soon. He doesn’t plan on allowing you, either.

[mandalhoerian]

childhood friends who became family, who blurred the lines of sibling-tight bonds and something softer, sharper, and more yearning — it's a trope that feels like sitting in the quiet hum of a summer evening when the sun lingers too long on the horizon. because the truth of it is: nothing lingers forever. and you both know that, but you’ll still talk about the old days like maybe you can bring them back. like maybe if you name the memories, you can summon them. like if you say, “remember when we built that fort in the back garden and swore to live there forever because i had a fight with gran,” it’ll mean something now that the garden has been bulldozed and forever has been whittled down to awkward meetings where you can't talk about the elephant in the room.

it’s the uneven ground of being the one who died and the one who was left behind, or the one who grew and the one who wanted to keep the other captured the way they used to be in a snowglobe — or maybe just the realization that you’re both standing on shifting sand now. you talk about the past like it’s a shared secret, but neither of you knows how to talk about the present. maybe you’ve started running out of things to say because the summer nights you used to fill with fun and games are quieter now, and you don’t know how to breach the distance between you that yawns exponentially bigger every single day.

because that’s the ache of it, isn’t it? thinking you’ve grown together, but ending up having grown apart in the blink of an eye. the ache of seeing his face and realizing you don’t know him the way you used to — not like when you could read the curl of his lips or the way he bit the inside of his cheek and know exactly what he was thinking. you still know the shape of caleb, the blueprint of who he was, but he's a house rebuilt in the same place, and you’re standing on the porch like a stranger.

and you miss the summers, the cicadas, sleeping on the floor together with the attic window wide open, sharing ice cream together and being carried because of a scraped knee. even being scolded you refused mosquito spray because you hated the smell. you miss the easy, endless days of being inseparable and being spoiled rotten because time didn’t mean anything then. now, every second feels like a countdown. you sit across from him at a diner, laughter ringing too alien because it doesn’t reach his eyes the way it used to, and you’re counting the minutes until he leaves for skyhaven. or maybe it’s until you leave, because isn’t that the worst realization? there's always a deadline. you tell yourself it’s enough that you were everything to each other once, and there's still something between you like the transition between summer to autumn. but there’s a kind of grief in knowing you’ll never be those kids again, barefoot in the grass, shouting at the stars.

grief. you thought you knew it well.

because you know how to grieve a death — you’ve rehearsed it in your head, folded it into something manageable. it’s a well-worn myth, a story you tell yourself when the silence gets too loud: he’s gone. he’s not coming back. you cried once, twice, a hundred times in the soft, gold-light glow of dusk, in the places you once knew together, and you thought that was the worst part.

but then caleb came back. and now you don’t know what to do with yourself.

because it’s him, isn’t it? same voice, same face, same hands that once shoved you playfully into the lake on a summer afternoon. he looks at you with eyes that are so painfully familiar you want to throw up, but something in them is off — like a song played just a fraction of a second too slow. like the ghost of a childhood home, walls the same but empty, the warmth gone.

you want to say, you’re different. you want to say, what happened to you? but all he says, over and over, with that too-smooth, too-homey certainty is, i’ve always been like this.

and that’s the part that burns. because no, he hasn’t. you would know, wouldn’t you? you spent summers mapping out the topography of his voice, the way it cracked when he laughed too hard, the way he whispered conspiratorial plans under the sheets when you were supposed to be sleeping. you knew his every restless fidget, every dream he had about taking you away to somewhete but never actually going through with it. you would know if this was always him. wouldn’t you?

but what if you’re the one who’s wrong?

the memories are there, but they feel like borrowed pages from someone else’s story now. he tells you, remember when we built a treehouse in the oak by the creek? and you nod, it's like he's trying to coax the sparks out. remember how you used to hum under your breath when you were nervous? and he smiles, but it’s an aching, tight thing.

so you sit there, across from him, trying to measure the distance between the boy you knew and the man wearing his face. he talks about the past like maybe he can drag you back to it. like maybe he can make you remember. but you're here, waiting for him to join you in the present.

but the worst part isn’t the change.

the worst part is the knowing that he’s still here. still breathing, still existing, still talking to you. and yet he’s light-years away with the you of the past.

[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

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: Chapter One

How to Unintentionally, Get An Endless To Marry You: After saving a strange man from a fishbowl cage, you earn yourself a favor. When you cash in said favor, you don’t realize that you and the man aren’t on the same page on what you need from him.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus x Afab!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Masterlist | Next

"So..." you drag out the word, not really knowing what to do now that you've gone all kamikaze on your employer and broken out the strange man locked up in the basement of Fawny Rig. "I didn’t expect to get this far in my plan and have absolutely no idea what to do now..." You look around, trying to figure out where you are. Certainly not in that damp old basement. Had something witchy happened when you shattered that glass prison? "And where are we?"

"You are within a dream," his voice is deep and rich, perfectly fitting his out-of-this-world beauty. Your eyes draw back to his face, and you are more than glad that he is now wearing clothes.

"A dream, gotcha... how did we get here?" An obsidian eyebrow rises, and his lips twitch. He finds amusement in your false bravado of nonchalance. He can feel how unnerved and stressed you are.

"Did he not tell you?" You make a face at the strange, beautiful man. "I am Dream of the Endless. Prince of Stories, Master of Dreams and Nightmares, and Lord of the Dreaming. You may call me Morpheus."

"Like the Sandman?" Why do all mortals call him that? Either way, Morpheus nods at you.

"You have freed me from my confines, Y/N. I owe you a great debt that you may call upon whenever you wish."

"A what? All I did was the right thing, no need for dramatics," you tell him. "You don’t owe me anything… though it would be nice if you could, like, zip me on over to my house? I don’t think I’ll be too welcome back at the manor, you know, kinda broke you out and everything..."

Morpheus tilts his head to the side at your rambles, surprised by your lack of greed and intrigued by your apparent belief that he owes you nothing for releasing him. Quite a peculiar mortal you are. Morpheus decides to observe your dreams more closely when he returns to his realm.

"You shall be returned to your home upon waking," Morpheus promises, observing the expression on your face. He had told you that you were in a dream.

"Okay, um, are you going to be okay? I mean, I don’t exactly know anything about being an Endless or whatever, but you were stuck in there for a while."

"You needn’t worry for me, Y/N." You open your mouth to argue, but how could you not worry when he looks so damn skinny and pale? Sand swirls around your head, and a cloud of sleepiness hits you.

"Uh, Mom, no, you don’t need to set me up with the son of your friend..." you trail off, massaging your forehead while hoping your mother finally gets the message that you don’t need her help finding love. Your love life is your own. Simple as that. They meddled enough in your youth to the point where you keep mum about most of your current life.

"But Y/N, he’s a banker, well off, and has a nice house! It’s even got a pool!" You pinch your forehead and tap your foot on the floor, counting to ten in your head so you don’t go off on your mother for trying to set you up for what has to be the thousandth time. "If you marry him, you’ll never have to worry about a single thing again! All your problems would be solved!"

"No, Mom, no." You repeat to her. "I don’t need you finding me a husband, okay! You’ve tried this a million times before and none of them have ended well! Besides! I’ve—I’ve—I’ve already gotten married!"

You have no idea where that came from because you most certainly have not gotten married. You haven’t even been in a relationship for at least three years! Not that your family or friends would know that, but that’s beside the point. You just told your mother you got married, and she will sink her teeth into that like a dog with a bone.

"MARRIED!?!" She practically screams over the phone. "You got married without telling me or your father!? Without inviting us!?" You hold your phone away from your ear as your mother calls for your father in distress, shrieking about your complete and utter betrayal.

"Honestly, this is why I keep to myself," you complain to yourself as she throws an absolute conniption to your father. There’s a lot of back and forth between your mother and father before your father takes over the phone call.

"So you got married..." He doesn’t sound upset, just tired. Most likely from your mother’s antics. You massage your temple.

"Uh, courthouse wedding?" you offer, knowing that your friends and family would buy that excuse. "I didn’t want any frou-frou or excitement, just a... civil ceremony. Didn’t even wear a fancy outfit. Just signed papers and was done with it." He grunts in acknowledgment. You take after him in that aspect.

"Well, your mother is demanding you come visit with your partner," he sighs out. You inwardly cringe. "And before you say you’re too busy, she already threatened to make plans to visit you, so you can’t escape this." Shit.

"She’s not relenting on this?" you ask, despite knowing the answer.

"No." Your shoulders droop.

"Okay, okay, tell her we’ll be up in like, a week." You relent with a heavy sigh. "I’ve got to—I've got to figure things out first, but… we’ll be up." Your father says his goodbyes, and ending the call, you stare at the wall across the room in horror.

You just told your mother that you were married.

You are, in fact, not married.

And you just promised to bring said spouse up to your parents' house in a week.

You have one week to find someone willing to be your spouse.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There is no way you are going to drag your friends into this mess. No way. You don’t have the money to go and pay someone off to act as your spouse, and you wouldn’t feel comfortable bringing someone like that into your parents' home anyway. That leaves you with one other option that you are mulling over.

Morpheus. Deity, or Endless, whatever he had called himself. He surely has the time to help little ole you out for a weekend after you busted him from his cage. He did say that he owed you. You would consider this payment. But how exactly do you go about summoning an Endless?

"Okay, um, Morpheus?" you ask out loud, having no idea what you’re doing but figuring that if he is as all-powerful as he seems, he would probably hear you. "I think I’m ready to cash in that favor now, but I don’t really know how to contact you? So uh, yeah, if you can hear me I’d be grateful if we could talk soon. Like really soon."

You stand in your apartment for a few moments, not really knowing what else to do but waiting for something to happen. Nothing does. So you take a deep breath and head for bed. Only when you fall asleep that night, you find yourself standing in a place you have never visited before, or even remotely recognize. Disoriented, you spin in a circle of confusion until your eyes catch sight of a throne perched above winding stairs, and the very being you need to talk to sitting in said throne.

"Oh, okay, this works too," you murmur to yourself, still wondering where exactly you are. Morpheus regards you calmly, taking in your appearance fully for the first time since he regained his full power. You are such a... mortal. There is nothing special about you, but perhaps that is because Morpheus has only ever seen you in a state of stress. Yet you are the very reason his realm and dreams of the universe have returned to normal, and that makes him intrigued. He rises from his seat and slowly walks down the stairs.

"Hello," he greets, his voice a low timbre you find far more attractive than necessary. You blink at him and hold up a hand, giving him a small wave because what else are you going to do? Perhaps you should bow? Or curtsy? While you try to figure out what decorum is appropriate, the Endless comes to a stop in front of you. "You wished to speak with me? I will fulfill my debt to you. What is it you require?"

Right to the point. That helps you because he is unbearably gorgeous and you feel entirely inadequate in his presence. A few days shouldn’t be too hard, then you would never have to see him again. You could just tell your parents it didn’t work out and you got a divorce! Clearing your throat, you gaze up at the Endless with a nonchalant look.

"Please be my husband," you state boldly. For a few moments, silence stretches between you, and finding it uncomfortable, you speak again. "I need you to be my husband. My mother won’t stop harassing me about getting married, and I really need her off my back. She’s making me visit for the weekend, and I can’t show up without..." You trail off.

"A husband," Morpheus finishes for you, unblinking at your demand. It is a rather simple demand for the great debt he owes. Nonetheless, he will do so to his best ability. "Very well, I shall be your husband." The relief on your face catches the Endless off guard as the stress slips free from your facial features and you physically relax.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," you breathe out. "You have no idea what she is like, and I just need her off my back about this. She keeps trying to set me up with these mediocre guys I’ve never met before. She doesn’t understand that I don’t want or need her help in that... department..." While you trail off, Lucienne comes striding into the throne room.

"My lord, your presence is requested—" She pauses mid-sentence at the sight of you standing so intimately close to Morpheus. "I was not aware you had an audience, shall I return?"

"No," Morpheus replies, his eyes not once straying from yours. "We have finished our business." You tilt your head to the side, wondering what will happen now.

"So should I leave?" you ask, looking around in confusion. Wherever you are is positively beautiful! But you have no idea how you ended up there in the first place.

"That will not be necessary," he reassures you, "I am sure you are curious about this place. It is only right that you are shown our realm." You blink at his word choice, thinking he is referring to himself and the lady. "Matthew, will you please introduce Y/N to the realm?"

A raven pops up from behind Morpheus’ shoulder and cocks its head at you.

"Sure! Hi! I’m Matthew, Morpheus’ raven!" the bird chitters, much to your surprise. Then again, this is a dream! Dream of the Endless. You should probably try to figure out more about him.

"Uh, sounds good, lead the way," you say, following the talking raven out of the throne room while Morpheus and Lucienne have a stare-down you are not privy to. The moment you are out of earshot, Lucienne's eyebrow goes up.

"May I ask who that was, sir?"

"My wife," Morpheus answers simply.

"Your... wife," Lucienne repeats slowly, making sure she heard correctly. "And when did this happen?"

"Three minutes ago." Three minutes ago?? Lucienne is going to need to hear how exactly this came to be. Immediately.

"...and that’s Fiddler’s Green. He’s a major arcana and has some awesome views if I do say so myself!" Matthew finishes, puffing out his chest proudly. "The whole place got an upgrade since you broke Morpheus out of his fishbowl."

"It certainly has to be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been," you respond in agreement, your mind still reeling from the sights and beings you have seen on the tour. "I—I had no idea what would happen when I set him free, but seeing all this… I’m really glad I did."

"Yeah, don’t be surprised if you have random dreams and nightmares walking up to you to thank you," Matthew echoes, fluttering down from a nearby tree. "They’ve been watching their home disintegrate for over a hundred years, so you breaking the boss out is kinda a big deal to them."

"Is... that why they kept staring at me?" you ask, tilting your head to the side while remembering how you had been stared at in the village. It had just about given you a complex before Matthew guided you away from the town.

"Oh yeah, you’re kinda famous here..." the raven says before stilling and going silent. Clearly, something has distracted him because the bird hasn’t shut up since he started showing you around. You carefully watch as Matthew is silent for a few more moments before shaking his head and ruffling his wings. "Okay! The boss is inviting you for dinner… not entirely sure how that works in a dream… and wants me to bring you to some palace staff."

"Why bring me to the palace staff?" you question as the raven takes flight again.

"Cause he wants to impress you..." The moment Matthew mutters those words, the poor bird squawks midair in a ruffle of black feathers and nearly tumbles from the sky. You catch him before he hits the ground.

"What?"

"I mean he’s trying to introduce you to everyone and everything, ya know?" Matthew blurts out in a rush of words, still jilted by the blast of annoyance and ire he’d received from his lord very much intruding on his thoughts and sight. "Don’t you want to know what it’s like living in a palace? I’ve seen the baths and man if I had my body back..."

Ignoring whatever had ruffled Matthew’s feathers, you right him in your arms and lift him to your shoulder while you walk back towards the looming palace.

"I’m sure you could still enjoy a bath, Matthew," you reassure him. "Birds take baths, don’t they? Granted, not extravagant ones, but still..."

"My point is," Matthew begins, clutching your shoulder with his feet, "we’re trying to be good hosts and the palace staff want to make sure everything is perfect for you. Don’t ladies like being pampered?"

You look down at the clothes you are wearing in contemplation. Well, the raven has a point. Jeans and a t-shirt aren’t exactly worthy of Dream of the Endless, are they?

"Uh, I’ve never been pampered in a dream, but I suppose I could find out?" you offer. "I’d hate to dismiss the hospitality."

Date Published: 12/4/24

Last Edit: 12/4/24

Masterlist | Next

[myokk]

note-taking

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3,6k

summary: mc loves flustering sebastian with her notes during class😇

cw: NONE this is just fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, it takes a while for them to admit their feelings, I rated it M for some language/sexual themes

a/n: I laughed a lot as I wrote this on the train, I hope you enjoy reading about these two idiots (endearing) as much as I did writing them

A beetle slowly makes its way across Sebastian Sallow's desk.

The classroom is silent - save for the scratching of quills furiously calculating the Arithmatic probability of who will be the next Minister and the quiet murmur of his professor as she helps Hobhouse (how did he even get into the N.E.W.T. level?) - and Sebastian is going absolutely mad.

He counts how many seconds it takes for the beetle to reach his abandoned quill (fifteen). But, when it takes its seventh step after making it over the quill (an auspicious sign), Sebastian slams his hand down on top of it.

The loud noise echoes through the silent classroom and Sebastian hears her snickering coming from behind him as the whole class turns to see what has happened. His ears turn red, he wishes he could jinx her somehow, and yet he is terribly curious to see what she has sent him this time. Sebastian hopes that everyone has gone back to their equations and stops staring at him, because now that it's in his hands, his fingers are itching to open it. His hands eagerly - shamefully eager, if you ask him - unravel the note he's crumpled up in his hands - almost a shame that he destroyed the beetle, it was one of her better creations - and Sebastian soon curses his haste.

His ears would be an even deeper shade of red were his blood not currently draining to a different part of his body. Sebastian shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he continues reading the note, his eyes flying across the tiny note once, twice, three times before he crumples it up and adds it to the graveyard of the other notes she has been sending him all day. The words fuck my soaking cunt flash up at him and he adjusts his schoolbag so that if anyone were to walk past and look into it, they wouldn't suspect a thing.

You see, this has been going on all week. Sebastian knew that when his seventh year started, it was going to be the culmination of their academic rivalry, but he never expected this. That witch has made taunting him her personal vendetta, and it's working.

Sebastian can't get her out of his mind.

It started in Herbology on Monday, at exactly 7.37 in the morning. Sebastian had been sitting next to Ominis, both complaining under their breaths at how early Professor Garlick had made them wake up (something about the plants blooming - Sebastian can't remember now). He had seen a little snake slither past Ominis's hands, making its way directly to him, and he does remember that he thought it was quite strange that Ominis didn't seem to react to the snake's presence. And then - he took a closer look at it - he saw that it was made of paper. Curious, Sebastian had thought as he grabbed and unfolded it. Reading it started an unfortunate chain of events.

It started out innocently enough, he supposes. Well, if you can call the most indecent thing he's ever read innocent, then it started out innocently.

Sallow - let me just say how absolutely delicious you look in your jacket this morning. I find I want to rip it off of your broad shoulders. Did you hit a growth spurt this summer?

He had flushed, briefly glanced over his shoulder - maybe he could see a face as flushed as his was, watching his reaction, but nothing - before looking back to the note, squinting at the familiar (familiar?) handwriting when Ominis had interrupted him.

"Sebastian? I think we need to start trimming the budding flowers now..."

His voice had blended in with the buzzing in Sebastian's ears as he stared intently down at the note in his hands. He had soon figured out who sent it - how could he not recognize her handwriting? - and the rest of Herbology class had been an absolute disaster. He had spent the whole rest of his time haphazardly massacring his plants and ignoring Ominis's pleas for help as he ruminated on her and what did she mean by her note? Her maddening laughter floated over the sound of tiny, precise snips as Sebastian's classmates did as they were supposed to, boring into his mind as he tried his hardest to figure out what she was up to.

Her plan's working, whatever it is. Sebastian has been frustrated to no end. She's nobody to him, just Anne's annoying best friend. Well, that's not entirely true, and Sebastian doesn't like to lie to himself. She was his closest friend last year, and the year before...ever since she arrived at Hogwarts, really. They did everything together, but something had changed when she visited that summer.

She had spent less time laughing with him, instead choosing to whisper with Anne about Merlin knows what, sometimes looking at him with an expression he couldn't place that had started to drive him crazy.

Sebastian had decided that a certain someone made no sense, that he would ignore the strange way his stomach would flip in her presence, and that he would focus all of his energy into besting her at everything. Maybe if she was embarrassed about being inferior to him, she would stop all of this. Although he would never admit it, he had started having nightmares about her gasping beneath him and needing him, that strange look from the summer flashing in dream-her's eyes, blissful fantasies that have him waking up hard and needing to cast a silencing charm around his bed before he can start his days.

Needless to say, these dreams have become infinitely worse this week.

What started out as a joke has quickly spiraled into an obsession. She soon finds herself watching Sebastian with breathless anticipation every time she sends a note over to him, relishing in the deep flush of his cheeks as he sneaks glances over his shoulder at her.

She doesn't really know what possessed her to start in the first place. A stroke of daring, she supposes as she finishes her latest note with a flourish and charms it to fold itself into a tiny swallow. And, she muses, watching the bird fly towards its victim, it's rather fun to fluster him so.

It's what he deserves, after all, after she has spent a whole year pining after him. A whole bloody year of sighing as he leaned over her shoulder in the library to point at something in her textbook, of his chin resting on top of her head, of warm breath tickling her ears, of watching him defeat every opponent in Crossed Wands, of watching him laugh despite himself at her little quips in Transfiguration. Of making sure -

She stifles a smile as she watches Sebastian eagerly grab the swallow as it flitters towards him. At first, he had tried acting nonchalant, like a cat biding its time before it pounces. Ignoring the notes she's been sending until he can't stand it and then: squashing them, smashing them, trapping them in his large hands, long fingers eager to unfold the note and see what she has to say.

Now, he has abandoned any pretense of aloofness he might have had before.

She can see it in the rigid set of his shoulders. The tension releases somewhat every time he opens a note, but quickly returns as he crumples them up and adds them to his collection. She hopes he's getting as wound up as she is, hopes that he's beginning to know an ounce of the suffering he has been putting her through.

A small voice in the back of her head tells her that she's being unfair, that maybe he's just oblivious - but then, why would he have looked at her like that all summer? And - almost the most maddening thing of all - ever since their seventh year started, he has made it a point to try and best her in every class. She couldn't move on from her silly little crush even if she wanted to, when his deep voice cuts through hers every single class to answer first, when he's always right ahead of her in Potions to get the best ingredients, when he's the one standing across from her in the mock duels in Hecat's class and as he raises his wand and her breath catches in her throat and -... Well, it's only fair, then, that she tries to distract him during class.

She's wondering what the next note should say, is lightly rubbing the edges of the quill's feather against her lips - did she go too far with the latest note? - when the scraping of a chair next to her pulls her out of her thoughts. She jumps at the jarring noise, the quill clatters on the table as it falls, and she feels her own face flush when she sees Sebastian sprawling himself out in the seat right next to hers.

There's a look on his face that she's never seen before and she feels as if all of the air has left her body when he leans in close to her - she could start counting his freckles if her brain hadn't gone completely empty - warm breath tickling her ear as he breathes, "What do you think you're doing?"

She hasn't thought this far ahead.

Why hadn't it occurred to her that Sebastian might confront her about the notes?

"I..." she falters, trying to get her thoughts working again, so that she can find something to say to get her out of this situation. Because she didn't actually want him to notice her, did she? And, what could she possibly say in defense of the filthy things she's been sending him all week? She can't seem to break eye contact with him: she swallows nervously: she tries again: "I -"

Her words fail her once again, when Sebastian's warm hand comes to rest on top of her thigh. Her thick wool skirt might be acting as a barrier between them, but it somehow feels like he's touching her bare skin and her whole body heats up uncontrollably. Even like this, his touch is better - more electric - than what she's been imagining this whole time.

He turns away and pulls parchment out with the hand that isn't actively caressing her thigh, and reaches across her for the quill that has fallen from her fingers. She hears scratching as he starts working on his equations - she vaguely thinks that she should be working on them too, isn't she supposed to be trying to do better than him? But -... her breathing is shallow - all of her nerve endings have seemingly migrated to the spot on her inner thigh that Sebastian's thumb is now massaging in tiny circles - maybe her brain has just packed its bags and left on holiday to Bath for all the use it's giving her now.

He doesn't even spare her a glance during the rest of the class, continues to diligently work on his equations for the first time all week, but his large hand remains on her thigh, completely obliterating any thought from her mind that doesn't have something to do with the warmth that keeps pooling deep in her stomach at his touch.

When the class is blissfully (unfortunately) over, Sebastian finally pulls his hand away and she squeaks in protest against her wishes - her thigh is now cold - that must be it (just discomfort, that's all) - she doesn't feel the relief she thought she would at his absence. He smirks down at the parchment he's rolling up, packs everything into his school bag, and leaves her behind without his eyes darting to hers even once.

Seven notes.

She has sent Sebastian seven bloody notes over the course of the last three days, and as he looks over at the crumpled up papers sitting on the desk in his dorm room, notes he tried his best to smooth out, he feels his heart race increase. He doesn't understand why she's doing this, but he does understand how it's making him feel. He could barely even think during Arithmancy, knowing how much his presence was affecting her, feeling her warm thigh under his hand. And when she protested when he removed his hand, well. He had to get out of there as fast as possible.

Maybe it's a good thing she didn't have the presence of mind to look at his arithmatic equations during class, because they are, unfortunately, incomprehensible. He had to keep up the charade by pretending to scribble for the rest of class, but now he almost regrets it - almost - because his pride won't allow him to ask Amit for his notes.

Sebastian has spent the evening poring over his textbook, trying to make sense of something that should be coming easily to him - Anne doesn't tease him about his strange obsession with numbers for no reason - and yet, his eyes keep wandering over to her notes. (Why did he even take them out of his bag in the first place?) (Why hasn't he burned those blasted things yet?) He has decided to forego studying in the library, the common room, and the Undercroft (places where he might see the object of his inner turmoil), and yet he is still getting nothing done even in the peaceful silence of his dormitory. Because her letters are shouting at him.

Well, not really, as they aren't Howlers. They might as well be, though, with how much he has reread them since he took them out of his bag. A smile spreads across his face despite himself as he puts his plaid jacket - the one he wore on Monday - on his chair to wear tomorrow. That stupid smile doesn't leave his face as he brushes his teeth next to Ominis before bed (thanking Merlin that Ominis is blind and can't pester him about what he cannot see), nor does it leave as he tries to fall asleep that night.

Suffice it to say, Sebastian does not get much sleep that night.

"...caught her snogging Prewett in the boathouse."

"Oh Merlin." A giggle. "I wonder if he's any good. Don't look at me like that, I know you've wondered the same thing..."

She blushes as she tucks her head down, trying to concentrate on the reading before her but it's difficult. First, because Sacharissa is being entirely too loud as she gossips with Grace - they might be some of the first at breakfast, but that doesn't mean they're alone - and second, because she is reading the book she filched from Sacharissa's bag. It's been charmed to look like a History of Magic textbook (nobody would ever be interested enough in one of those to filch it back) and she hopes that it's enough to make sure that no one distracts her in her research.

She has never had experience of the amorous sort before, and she has run out of things to put in the letters she's been sending to Sebastian - they were all just things she had been thinking, or things that she's overheard the boys saying when they thought they were alone. But what she's been reading in Sacharissa's novel - if it can even be called that - are enough to make her so hot and bothered that she's not sure if she should retreat back to her dorm room to read it in peace. As her eyes fly over the words, she pictures Sebastian doing those things to her, with her, and it's enough to make it so she's not even sure she can look him in the eye ever again. The feeling of his hand on her thigh the day before has imprinted itself on her body and in her brain and she barely got any sleep because of it.

"What are you reading?" asks Anne as she plops herself down on the bench, trying to look over her shoulder. She flinches and slams her book shut as fast as possible, feeling her traitorous face heat up. She knows she's making it all more suspicious, but Anne cannot find out. Anne shrugs and starts buttering her toast, stifling a yawn. "I never knew that the Vampire Treatises of the 15th century were so interesting. By the way, have you seen my brother at all? I couldn't find him last night and - Oi, Sebastian!"

Anne stands halfway up and starts waving him over, and she wishes she could vanish. Maybe, instead of researching fresh ways to torture him, she should have been learning how to most effectively vanish oneself from the face of the Earth. She's sure the heat she feels burning her cheeks as she sees him walk over to them is translating to her face being a bright, red, ugly beacon calling to him.

As he walks over to their table, looking entirely too irresistible in that plaid jacket of his, Merlin, his growth spurt really -

"Ladies," he says, nodding at them as he takes a seat across the table, "how did you sleep?"

She knows he's giving her a pointed look as he asks, but she has started to choke on the pumpkin juice she started drinking as he walked over - she is, unfortunately, picturing them doing some of the filthy things she's just read together - and could she really make more of a fool of herself than she already has at this point? But then - he grabs her book. Her heart lurches but she can't do anything due to the fact she's still spluttering over her pumpkin juice, and she watches in horrified fascination as he starts flicking through the pages. His eyebrows raise steadily higher and higher as he reads, his own face turning a shade of red she's certain matches her own. She curses herself again - vampires are so interesting, of course he would want to read about them - she should have made the cover a topic she knows Sebastian hates, like a compendium of spells to boost fingernail growth or a Duncan Hobhouse biography - but it's too late now.

Sebastian clears his throat and glances at her, and she sees uncertainty, vulnerability in his eyes as they make brief contact with hers. Finally her brain starts working - quite possibly for the first time since she started this stupid game in Herbology on Monday - and she hastily stands up, snatching the book from Sebastian's hands - he puts up no resistance - and clutches it to her chest as she blurts out in one breath: "I-slept-terribly-last-night-and-it's-all-thanks-to-you."

And now, she's fleeing the Great Hall, wondering what's gotten into her.

She next sees Sebastian during their Ancient Runes class. Well, she doesn't actually see him: she's made it a point to be the first to enter the class, and keeps her head down as she stares at her parchment the second everything is set up perfectly. Inkwell - parchment - her stupid replacement quill - textbook - everything is in place. After the disastrous event otherwise known as breakfast, she's decided that she's over her silly little crush, and she will never think about Sebastian Sallow again. She will never think about things she might say that will make him laugh again, she will never think of book recommendations again, she will certainly never think of his strong hands caressing her thigh again, and she will never, ever -

A tiny paper fox climbs into her hand.

I didn't get any sleep last night either, because of you. P.S. I still have your quill.

She flushes and looks over her shoulder. Sebastian flashes her a crooked smile that makes her stomach lurch in an unfamiliar way, before he ducks his head down and continues to scribble his translations with her quill. Her quill. A new flash of hatred surges through her - that's what these intense feelings must be - and she decides she needs to get it back.

Instead of translations, she hatefully scribbles down everything that she wants to do to Sebastian Sallow - she wants punch his stupid face, wait: she wants to kiss his stupid freckled face and hold his silly beautiful hands and she wants to feel the deep rumble of his laugh after her jokes as she rests her head on his shoulder and she wants to read next to him and have things be back to how they always were, and yet she wants more than that, more than just being friends, it's what she's wanted all along, isn't it? - and she marches after him when the class has finished.

Sebastian doesn't spare her a glance even though he has to know she's behind him with how much noise her frustrated huffing makes as they weave through the throngs of students in the hallways. It's lunchtime, and yet instead of heading to the Great Hall, he's leading her somewhere else.

He finally stops when they reach the top of the Astronomy Tower, and she opens her mouth to protest. She knows she's terribly flushed, her chest heaving as she glares up at him: "You are despicable! I need my quill -"

She's cut off from speaking as before she knows it, his hands are caressing her face and he is kissing her. Oh, Merlin, it's better than she could have hoped it to be, and her own traitorous body and mind have forgotten the alliance formed against him in the face of Sebastian Sallow's persistence and she's wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down closer, making sure he can't get away from her again.

Maybe later she can show him all of her notes on how much she hates him and they can have a laugh. Maybe later they can revisit some passages from the book she filched.

But right now, she doesn't let go of Sebastian.

[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.

[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!

[nxtaliaistyping]

Thinking about Morpheus making you ride him as punishment :(

Author’s note: oh my god the season 2 behind the scenes look has me screaming, I’m so excited. I need him back in my life.

18+ nsfw, fem reader, slight bondage

Morpheus is nothing if not an attentive lover, always putting your pleasure first. While you’re in his realm, you don’t have to lift a finger, don’t have to want for anything. He provides.

And while he spends long stretches ravaging you, of taking you apart piece by piece via his long fingers stroking your clit until you squirm and cry for him, or fingering you while your gush around his lithe digits, there’s occasionally times where he finds you…challenging.

That mouth of yours has a tendency to run rampant, undermining his authority. He is a king, a god…more than a god; an endless. And to think a bratty little mortal like you has the audacity to be in his domain, his kingdom, and demand more of his time and energy? Well, you simply need a correction. A simple reminder of your place.

So that’s why you find yourself straddling him, thighs burning as you move up and down. He looks every bit the king of dreams as he sits on his impressive throne, how high you both are allowing you to survey the room while you ride your lover to the best of your capabilities. An unseen force is keeping your hands pinned to the small of your back, not even giving you the slight relief of bracing your weight on his thighs or shoulders.

No, instead you simply have to rut against him, feeling every bit like a concubine, pleasing your ruler.

“Are you getting tired my love? That cannot be the case I’m sure, since you were so eager to have me earlier. Quite…insistent, were you not?”

You whine pitifully at his words, the ache of your limbs at the repetitive motions setting in. Morpheus doesn’t have quite the same need to cum that you do, after all you both are in the dreaming, as much a part of him as he is of it. He can withhold his orgasm for as long as needed, which seems to be long enough that you’re soaking his lap with your needy juices.

“Making a mess I see, so wanton.” He chastises, but still makes no effort to help you move.

“Please…”

“Hm?” He tilts his head, a neutral expression plastered on his regal features. “Is there something you need, dearest?”

God you just want to scream, but your outburst would most likely not help your situation, so you give him a particularly strong slam of your hips before batting your eyelashes. “Please just fuck me.”

Instead of your desired response, he simply tuts. “You misunderstand the situation. This is…correctional. Your penance if you will. After all, you were the one being especially mouthy while in my realm. So it’s only right you prove to me you’re worth the attentions of a king.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly how reminding you of his status above you makes you whine and clench your pussy around him. Your body is an instrument he is especially well versed in playing.

“Perhaps I have been too accommodating to your every whim and desire. I have created a spoilt thing it seems, so used to not putting in the work to achieve what she wants. This lesson is needed.”

Knowing no other way, you fight against your bodies’ exhaustion to ride him with vigour, rolling your hips. Pleasant hums occasionally pass his lips, the minuscule praise like a drug as you move faster on his lap.

You must get too carried away, as he gives your hip a light slap. “Now now, do not allow yourself to get carried away. Remember, it’s rhythm that is important in sexual situations such as this. Not just how fast you can move your hips on me.”

At his reprimanding, you nod your understanding and mutter a soft apology, building a rhythm that works. The sheer fact you’re riding him on his throne, in his throne room, really settles in. Anyone could walk in, heaven forbid Matthew flies in and gets the shock of his (after)life.

But you can’t deny how much it turns you on, to be dream of the endless’s favourite mortal, his favourite little pet to entertain him. It’s almost power in a strange sort of way, but it thrills you nonetheless.

Eventually, your lover’s hips start to move up in time with your thrusts, causing the breath to leave your lungs quickly. Your hands are released, and you quickly move them to his shoulders, feeling the material of his black cloak under your fingertips.

“Touch yourself. Feel the pleasure that I allow you to take.”

You don’t need to be told twice, fingers hurriedly rubbing circles on your clit as he fucks up into you with tenacity. “Please…can I cum?”

“You can do better.”

A moan rips its way from your lips before you can stop it. “Please…please my king, I need to cum. Please let me cum, I won’t talk back again, I’ll be so good…please.”

A trace of a smirk tugs on his lips, and he gives a simple nod of his head. Blue eyes trace over your trembling form as you finish all over his lap. A few thrusts later, he’s buried to the hilt inside of your weeping cunt, filling you up. He allows you to slump against him, gentle fingers moving up and down your spine to soothe you, his release warm inside of your spent pussy.

“Was that to your enjoyment?” He mumbles lowly into your ear, and you can’t help the girlish giggle you make as you nod against him. His smirk is now transformed into a soft smile, not allowing you to see this moment of vulnerability as he presses kisses to your hairline.

“Do not make such demands of me again, unless you want your next punishment to not involve climax for you at all.”

[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

[swanimagines]

Hola can i request a Morpheus x f!Reader fic where her son is running over all the palace because he doesn’t want to take a bath?

Sorry English is not my first language

A/N: Ahem ahem, excuse me... this may be the first time in a very long time I'm actually genuinely HAPPY with something I wrote?? If there's a writing deity or a saint, I will pray to them and hope for this kind of skill and motivation and inspiration and whatever hell I need to produce THIS kind of content in the future too, thanks bye!

"Aridus!" your voice echoed through the grand corridors as you chased after your son, who had decided today was not the day for a bath. He turned around slightly, his face scrunched up in anger.

“I don’t want to take a bath!” he declared for the hundredth time, before taking a turn to yet another maze of hallways. You let out a frustrated groan, even though you tried to keep it in.

“I know, sweetie, but after all that playing with Goldie, you’re all muddy, I can’t let you go to bed like that!” You stopped, as you took the turn to where he went. “Aridus, please just—”

“No! I don’t want to sleep either!” His voice echoed through the hallway, it was impossible to know which nook he took as a hiding place. “Daddy never sleeps either!”

It was true, the everlasting bickering with him. Why is daddy able to go around day and night, why can’t he stay up to play all night as well. But the thing was, Aridus was your offspring too, and you were originally from the Waking world — and you needed sleep, so Aridus needed sleep too. Your husband had told you that Aridus may need less sleep than a “regular” human as he grows up, but as a toddler he was just like regular children were. Getting tantrums out of being tired, while the tantrum is about not wanting to go to sleep. “I know sweetie, but he’s–”

“No!” he screamed, and you heard the patter of feet going further again.

You barely heard Morpheus coming to stand beside you, but you felt his presence and turned to look at him. “I can’t catch him. He’s persistent and knows how to tire me out.”

Morpheus's lips had a small hint of a smile. “He is much like you, then.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms. “Me? Are you sure? You’re the one who’s refusing to listen to any other opinions of change when you’ve already decided the ‘best’ way. I think he’s more like you than me.”

Morpheus smiled properly now, inclining his head forward. “True.”

A loud crash interrupted the sound of running, and you heard something rolling through the floor, followed by a soft thud and a whimper from Aridus. You walked forward with Morpheus following close behind, and discovered the source. Aridus had collided with one of the pedestals, which had sent a stack of dream scrolls all over the room. You moved to stand in front of him and brought your hands to your hips, sighing.

Suddenly your son, who had been so angry just a moment earlier, looked more remorseful as ever. “I… I didn’t mean to.”

Before you could answer, you felt Morpheus’s hand on your shoulder. “Allow me, my love.”

Aridus sat there frozen in place, looking at his father kneeling in front of him. Morpheus reached out, carefully tucking a curl of hair behind Aridus’s ear. “Do you know why we need to take baths, Aridus?”

Aridus’s shoulders slumped. “I know, father. Mother doesn’t want my bed to get dirty. But I don’t like to get wet.”

Morpheus shook his head. “It is not only because we get dirty. Every day, all living beings get dream dust on them. If there’s too much of it, it weighs us down. It affects our mood and eventually… it may make us fall asleep and never again wake up. Be stuck in nightmares forever, and not even I would be able to help.”

Aridus stared at his father, his mouth opening slightly before he whispered, “Stuck?”

Morpheus nodded. “Yes. Even the stars must cleanse themselves of the night sometimes.”

For a moment, Aridus stared at the floor, clearly trying to contemplate his options. But eventually, he looked up again and nodded. “Okay.”

You smiled slightly, ushering him towards the bathroom before you looked back at your husband, who was left cleaning the mess up.

—

Later, when you watched your son sleeping in his little bed from the doorway, you felt a slight gust of air as Morpheus appeared to your side again. You smiled at him and whispered, “You’re good at making up stories. I think he’ll be much more willing to take baths in the future.”

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on your son. “I merely spoke the truth.”

You frowned. “Really?”

He turned towards you slightly. “Yes. Well, maybe I dramatised it a little, but much of it was true. Even stars need to be born anew sometimes. They too resist, hang on, but ultimately they yield and give way to new stars. Just like our son did.”

You nodded and let yourself lean against him slightly. "I’ll admit, I was starting to lose hope there for a moment. I didn’t think anything could convince him to take a bath, let alone willingly. He certainly takes after both of us. I thought I'd never tire him out, but you…” you murmured and looked at him. “You have a way with him. Maybe I should let you handle all the tantrums from now on."

Morpheus pushed you away slightly, tracing his fingers against your bare arm. "I would handle them all, if you so wished," he whispered. "But I believe Aridus needs you as much as he needs me. You are his anchor to both worlds. Without you, he might wander too far in the night."

You smiled a little at that. Morpheus certainly knew his way through words, it was in his nature, in how he was created, sure, but you felt like he had learned a thing or two from love since he fell in love with you all those centuries ago.

You sighed, looking at your sleeping son. “He seems to like wandering. He has told me so many times he wants to be just like you, and I don’t know how to tell him that it isn’t possible.”

Morpheus was quiet for a moment, running his hand up and down your arm. “He must learn to walk in both worlds because when the time comes… Waking world may call out to him. In any case, balance is essential. And he must learn to control and thrive, whatever his place will end up being.”

You swallowed, remembering that once your son grows up, he may only be able to visit you at night. You’d watch him grow old year by year, and only get him back once he dies. Which will take centuries, if not even millennials with his Endless blood. And even then, he may choose the Land of the Dead if he has loved ones there. But Morpheus made it sound… like it was natural. Which it of course was, you reminded yourself. “You make it sound so simple. That it will be simple to accept it.”

"Simple, no. But necessary, yes." His hand stilled on your arm. "And you, my love, have always excelled at guiding him in ways I cannot."

You were quiet for a moment again. “I just don’t want him to grow up so fast.”

He was quiet for a moment too, taking in a deep breath. “I wish he did not grow so fast either. But moments like these, they will linger. Forever, if necessary. We need not fear losing him.”

You nodded, finally closing the door and following Morpheus towards the throne room. “I guess I should just remember he’s going to be a half-deity like you. And that hopefully he’s going to make the world a better place.”

Morpheus turned to look at you, taking your hands in his. “He will have both of us with him when he enters the Waking world, and be more than us. He will be a dream, but also a heartbeat. And that, my love, is his gift.”

You swallowed, but then closed your eyes and dropped your face towards the floor. “I know. As long as he has both of us in him, he’ll be alright.”

Morpheus cupped your cheek, tilting your head to look at him again. “He will thrive. He will flourish in ways we cannot yet even imagine.”

You nodded, glancing back towards Aridus’s room and then you turned back to Morpheus. “I love you.”

His smile appeared again, an expression only reserved for you before he kissed your forehead. “And I, you. Always.”

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You: A for Aphrodisiac

Summary: On a quest to save your little brother, you and your fated companion Dream of the Endless, run into a small problem in Aphrodite's Temple.

Notes: ~2.2k words, GUYS! I finally wrote a fic that wasn't below 500 or above 5,000 words, it just doesn't need any random side characters... or a definitive plot.

Warnings: MDNI - 18+, dubious consent, sex pollen, aphrodisiac (duh), porn without plot, unprotected sex (get tested yearly guys), P in V, no foreplay just straight fucking, Dream is a red flag but he's my red flag. I am willing to die on that hill.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

B for Breeding

“A temple of Aphrodite?” You question as you walk through the marbled entrance. The overwhelming smell of roses fills your senses and the honks of swans disappear as you cross into the building.

Morpheus follows closely behind. The drizzle of rain seemingly bounces off his coat and hair leaving him dry like the Sahara. On the other hand, you, the poor human with no otherworldly affiliations, were soaked to the bone. Your light jacket and sundress stuck to your skin until it became itchy and you quickly take off your jacket to dry easier in the momentary shelter. 

You miss the way Morpheus stares at your exposed shoulders and legs. His eyes run up and down your body, to the way the dress sticks to you like a second skin.

“Aphrodite loved Ares, unlike her vowed husband. But such is the game of gods.” Morpheus explains and peels his eyes away from you. 

You lean on a large pillar that supports a large brazier, one of many others. The heat helps you warm up and the shivers slowly leave your body as it dries your clothes. 

“So, Ares is… here?” You say without much confidence.

When the fates set you out on this quest to find your brother, you hadn’t even packed your lunch yet. They just threw you to the wind and then gave you Morpheus as a guide. As for him, it was so “He could get out of the house more” as his older sister has explained it to you. 

So, here you were, soaked in summer rain and sharing conversation with Dream of the Endless on a quest to find your kidnapped brother - all of which happened since this morning. The everything bagel and cream cheese you had for breakfast sat uncomfortably in your stomach, the same stomach that was screaming at you to eat something as your journey had left you to skip the midday meal. 

“Ares is behind this gate created by Aphrodite,” Dream sighs as if he were spelling out the obvious. “Yes, it is a possibility.”

You simply roll your eyes. For someone who is almost infinitely older than you, he certainly didn’t act like it. Feeling warmer and dry you started exploring the temple, running your fingers across the divots in the carved stone much like the climbing ivy that decorated the walls. 

At the end of the temple stood a magnificent statue of Aphrodite herself, wrapped in cloth and her hair flowing in the wind. Beneath her pedestal, you could make out a rectangular outline made out of large roses. 

“Hey! The door!” You exclaim in excitement. As much as you hate to admit it, Morpheus was right. He usually was right but you’d rather keep that comment to yourself, in case the ego inflates any more of his head and he drifts off. Which, would unfortunately leave you on your own to solve these puzzles. 

Morpheus appears behind you, peering over your shoulder at the door. 

“Seems like a hidden mechanism. It would be wise to not touc-”

You press your palm onto the center of the door and it gives away to the pressure of it. 

“You fool!” Morpheus seethes out and you tense. 

It seems like a trap, now that you think about it. With bated breath you wait, slowly inching yourself closer to Morpheus in hopes that the King of Dreams may be able to protect you if something were to go wrong. 

Yet, nothing. 

The door slides back into place, the sound of marble against marble scraping against each other in the otherwise completely quiet sanctuary. The quiet atmosphere stays peaceful for a few seconds but ends when a yelp escapes you when the roses suddenly go into full bloom, the petals giving a “floosh” right in your face, its sweet pollen dusting both of your bodies. You stare wide-eyed at it waiting for anything else to happen. When nothing did, you let out a sigh of relief and turn to Dream with a smile. 

“See, nothing to worry about.” You shrug with your palms facing upwards. The two of you stare back as a golden engraving appears on the door. 

“One from two, enter together.” You read out loud while trying to dust off the shimmering pollen, sneezing when some enter your nose instead. 

Great, a riddle but nothing comes to your mind as you think. Morpheus glares at you still and his eyes drift down to the palm that touched the door. 

“Your hand is glowing,” He states. 

You look down at your open palm and panic. The skin is bright pink and as Morpheus has stated, glowing. You scream at your hand and shake it aggressively. When the glowing still doesn’t reside you scream again and face the palm towards Morpheus’ face and shake it aggressively to grab his attention. 

“Enough,” He commands and grabs your wrist. The grip is stern but it doesn’t hurt and the warmth of his skin calms you down. 

It is now that you realize that the skin doesn’t actually hurt. There’s no burning sensation or pins or needles, nothing. Morpheus takes a closer look at your hand and you can feel the exhale of his breath fanning your palm. It tickles and you try to pull away, but his grip doesn’t relent. 

“What? Do you see something?” You ask, your other hand is clenched in on itself as a way of grounding yourself. 

Morpheus doesn’t entertain you with an answer and instead brings his face closer. A sound that you didn’t know you could produce comes out from your throat as you feel the warm, slick feeling of his tongue on your palm. 

“Wha..mm” Your words fall short and he licks again and a whimper leaves your lips. You look up at him, his eyes are closed as he inhales deeply.

He brings your hand to his cheek and leans into it. When you release your hand and he lets you, you see that your glowing mark has smeared to his cheek. You come in closer, nervous about marking the Endless but he stops you again. He peers at you, all silver gone from his eyes and instead blown pupils pull you deep into their voids. 

His hands find themselves around your waist and you place your hands on his chest to stop him from invading any more of your space. It doesn’t and he advances still. His brooding act doesn’t help with voicing whatever he could possibly be thinking. 

“Hey, what’s gotten into you,” You release a moan at the end when he presses his nose to the junction of your neck. The hot breath released from his mouth had your lower regions start to grow hot and slick. 

When his tongue licks the length of your neck, your fingers grasp desperately at the lapels of his jacket, holding on tight as your knee buckle beneath you. Morpheus smelled like grass after a summer thunderstorm and he stood sturdy like an old oak tree. 

You whisper his name and his grip tightens more, bruising and unforgiving. 

He groans into your neck. “Aphrodisiac.” 

Of course, Aphrodisiac, named after the goddess Aphrodite, the very goddess you are trying to please and solve her riddle. The thought crosses your mind momentarily but it is quickly cut short by Morpheus’ continued administration. The pink stain spreads further on Morpheus, anywhere and everywhere you touch him. Your cheek was pink as well, where he touched yours and markings of his tongue glowed pink as he continued his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. 

“Oh, gods,” You moan into his hair as he dives deeper towards your chest. Your body is turning hot and you can’t tell if it’s just the aphrodisiac or the way he is touching you. Perhaps it’s neither, perhaps it’s both. Either way, you can’t stop the sounds that escape your lips. 

He presses forward and you step back until your back hits the pedestal and Morpheus’ large frame follows, trapping you between a rock and a harder place. You can feel his erection pressing against your stomach, hot and heavy and begging to be released. 

With restraint, Morpheus pulls back and pants into your neck. Your own breath was ragged, your tongue felt heavy when you speak. 

“Please,” You whisper, your hands travel down his chest, pink smearing along his black shirt, and cup his erection. 

He looks at you now, eyes peering into your soul asking you if you really did want this. You nod, not trusting your voice for a second time. 

“Say it,” He commands again, his forehead pressed against yours. “Say it,” He whispers in a plea. 

You tip your head up and respond with the strength you have left. “Yes,” You murmur against his lips, barely brushing yours with his own. 

He seals the deal with a kiss and hands once again go to your waist. He grabs you, hoisting you up and your legs immediately wrap themselves around his lean torso. You impatiently grind your heat into his as he dips his hands below your dress line and moves your undergarments to the side. 

It was rushed, it was sloppy and it was nowhere near romantic, yet you’ve never felt so much excitement. No one was near but the peering gaze of the daunting Aphrodite statue made you feel exposed. Morpheus doesn’t bother to warm you up for him and the heat of his cock presses against your cunt. He pushes forward and it stings. Tears swell in your eyes at the intrusion, his cock splitting you open as he sets a rhythmic pace. 

“Forgive me, forgive me,” He chants into your ear but the words fly in one ear and out the other. The pleasure the Dream Lord was giving you more important and present in your mind. 

Your hand reaches into his hair and grabs onto his roots. A groan sings from his throat and you can’t help it when your lips connect to his Adam’s apple. You leave bruising kisses along his neck and continuously feel the vibrations of his moans, each one low and gritty. 

Morpheus felt like he was about to lose his mind if he didn’t quickly finish the two of you off. His body felt like it was on fire and his head pounded in his skull with ideologies of fucking you until you were nothing but a pile of pleasure. When your nails grip his shoulders, he welcomes the pain and bites down on your collarbone to suppress his wanton moans. 

You were too sweet for him, a type of innocence that he didn’t want to taint. Tears well up in his eyes as he realizes that he did it without him even knowing. The aphrodisiac completely consumes the two of you. He loved it, the feeling of your legs wrapped around his waist, your grip on his hair, your moans filling the space and echoing around the temple, but were not his to take. 

“More, more, more,” You moan, head thrown back towards the ceiling and he couldn’t deny you the pleasure.

His thrusts become ferocious, slamming into you harder and harder until you were just a babbling mess in front of him. Your words range from his name to curses to simple pleas. The contractions of your cunt spasming around him make him falter for a moment but he presses on. When your orgasm reaches you, your scream is muffled by his open mouth kiss. His thrusts turn sloppy and uneven before he finishes as well and you feel the way his cock pulses within you. His semen drips out of your spent hole and mixes with your release on the polished marble floor. 

Your body deflates as the orgasm finishes and you’re left panting and leaning on Morpheus as your thighs tremble around his waist. The door behind you opens with an ungodly scrapping sound and you look behind you. Lust was still evident in your eyes but you were pulled back to the real world again. 

The aphrodisiac wore off and a blush rose high into your cheeks. You push against Morpheus’ chest not wanting to be in his space, asking him to put you down, but quickly realize that it was a bad idea when your knees buckle and you start to fall. 

Morpheus grabs onto you to steady you and you murmur a thanks, too embarrassed to look at him in the eyes. The aphrodisiac has made you look at Morpheus in a different light, but there were more important matters at hand. You take one steady breath and readjust your underwear and dress, Morpheus releases his grip on your arms as you go to turn towards the open door. 

Beyond the door is nothing but darkness with a slight wind blowing out towards you and the smell of metal and leather comes into your nose. Before you can go, Morpheus’ fingers wrap around your arm again. 

“Should we… talk about it?” He asks in that low voice of his. 

You look back at him, somehow finding the confidence to look at him in the eyes. You find that they are full of adoration and passion that it turns your eyes downwards again. You’ve heard the rumors of what it means to be the lover to Dream of the Endless. It is rainbows and butterflies, the world at the edge of your fingertips, but one wrong move, and you are cast away like you were less than nothing. You think of Nada, Queen of the First People, who is still condemned to Hell for declining his promise to make her queen of the Dreaming. 

It’s too much, you have your brother to save, and there is no room to talk about love. 

“Later,” You say instead. You still need his help and if the promise of ‘later’ keeps him around long enough until the end of your quest, then so be it. 

“Very well. Later,” He repeats then follows you into the realm of Ares.

B for Breeding

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This is going to be a 26 part series, all porn, no plot hehe ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)

Until the next fic,

♡ Yours, Layla