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ravcnism · 7 months ago

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STRIKEOUT. ( PART 2 ) — KEN SATO x Male!Athlete READER

Summary: An after-party. A conversation-turned-confrontation. Kenji finally meets the esteemed Toyo Bullet and struggles to define the difference between anger, terror, and infatuation.

# # TAGS: Even More Tension, Kenji Has a Good Relationship with His Team, Intense First Encounter, Domestic Sato Family Shenanigans

# # WARNINGS: Mature Language, Alcohol Consumption, Nothing Too Crazy, No Beta Again We Die Like Onda

Note: Okay, here we go: the actual second part. Again, I am so sorry for accidentally publishing my draft earlier — I am ill with embarrassment. But I’m very happy to know that people look forward to it! If you read the false-post, then you’ve only read half of the chapter. This one has over 3000 words more! Enjoy.

“It was a nail-biter of a game here at the New Tokyo stadium tonight, folks. Right off the bat, both teams were going neck and neck, toe-to-toe. And it seemed like neither one was willing to give an inch! Our home team managed to pull off a narrow victory in the end, and by narrow, I mean narrow, Kiba.”

“That is absolutely right, Sasaki. I truly have never seen anything like it in my entire career. And you know- you know I know a lot of baseball. You know I’ve been doing this for many years, but wow! Just- insane.”

“Truly a close call. Eight additional innings? To break the tie? I cannot believe it. Let me tell you, neither the Hiroshima Toyo Carp nor the Yomiuri Giants wanted to lose today.”

“If you look at the crowd, It looks like everyone’s been wanting to go home.”

Exhausted was an understatement. Kenji hadn’t felt this drained after a game since, well, only months ago: when he was still juggling the responsibilities of raising a baby Kaiju, carrying the weight of being Ultraman, and maintaining his reputation as a well-known baseball player. All of these, on top of the sleepless nights, no longer hindered him from his work. He usually left the stadium feeling brand new every single time — regardless of whether they won or lost. He had grown and learned to lean on people, to ask for help, accept defeat. Which was good and all that, but the point was: he was exhausted from this game. You had him panting for air like an overworked dog.

Shimura had Kenji on the field for longer than he should have been. While his younger, more egotistical self might have loved his moment in the spotlight, running base to base for six innings in a row was unsurprisingly really tiring. The teams had hit a clean tie by the ninth inning, and the tie-breaker lasted for eight more. You were eating their rookies alive and having their journeymen for dessert. When Shimura realized that Sato was the only one batting your pitches, he had him play for every round after the tie. The only times Kenji wasn’t on the field was when you weren’t either. Which wasn’t a lot. It scared him how you looked like you could throw that ball for days.

“Hiroshima’s L/n is just- an absolute unit, isn’t he?”

“He certainly is, Kiba. He certainly is. I mean his performance was near inhuman tonight. Each pitch was a gem and we- he really wanted us to know that he’s here, he’s ready, and he’s willing to change Japanese baseball. He was a major force out there on the field.”

“I cannot agree with you more. But credit where credit is due, we all know that the only reason the Giants are coming home with tonight’s win is because of none other than Ken Sato himself.”

“That’s right, Sato really put up a fight. L/n was throwing him off balance every time, but he always found his footing. I think tonight might have been the hardest I’ve seen him work. You know he- he usually makes his plays look effortless — disregarding last season’s slump.”

“I say he held his own very, very impressively. The team was right to rely on him. I know we’ve spoken a lot about their tension, but I’d say it’s their dynamic that really drove the point home. They were like- mirrors of each other out there. When you put two equal forces together, they deflect. You know what I’m saying?”

Kenji’s hand shook with a weakness he wasn’t familiar with. He stared at his calloused palm and noticed his fingers twitching. Shit. It really was some game. He might have been hitting the ball, but he was barely getting it through the field. Not only were your pitches fast, but there was weight to them, too. He was witnessing the caliber of your capabilities; understanding why you were the talk of every city.

The rest of the Giants came walking into the locker room, jeering and laughing amongst themselves. “That L/n is a real piece of work, ain't he?” Shirakumo, number 24, sat himself next to Kenji, unlacing his shoe. “Never seen anything like it.”

“Did you see the look on Tateoka’s face?” Yuki laughed, smacking his thigh. “Dude was scared shitless!”

“Hey!” Tateoka frowned in reply, tugging his jersey off his arms. “You try standing in front of that guy and telling me you don't feel a little threatened.” He shuddered, remembering the look in your eyes. Dark and pointed and menacing. “He was staring me down like he was gonna—”

“Eat you alive?” Kenji scoffed.

The team went silent, then erupted into a cluster of teasing ‘oooh’s. God. It reminded him of highschool.

“Oohh, yeah.” Yamada, number 21, slid over to him with a teasing tone. He wrapped an arm around Kenji’s shoulder and squeezed him closer. “I don't think I've ever seen Sato so shaken!”

He laughed, playfully pushing him away. He was also actually really sore on that shoulder. Hell, he could already feel the pain he’d need to go through just to get up tomorrow. He was going to need another ice bath. The rest of the boys jumped in on the jokes.

“Did you see the way he was looking at you Ken?” Tokuda opened his locker, grabbing a shirt from the top shelf. He whistled. “Like he wanted your head on a plate.”

Tanaka chuckled. “He wanted you dead, man!”

Kenji rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Let's not get carried away. I never said I was shaken.”

“But that last bat was sweet as hell.” Yuki nodded. “I doubt any of us would've gotten through the guy if it weren't for Sato.”

“Well, duh.” Shirakumo shrugged. None of the Giants denied it. Ken was their star player. And tonight proved it more than ever. “We owe you for drinks, bud. Give us a date and we'll treat ya’ to someplace you like.” He slapped Ken’s back affectionately, which elicited a pained groan. “Shit, sorry.”

Kenji’s watch started beeping. He flinched at the sound, eyes widening slightly. “Uh, see you in a sec, guys. I gotta take this.”

He was there a moment, then gone the next. Kenji rushed himself out the hallways and into an empty locker room to answer Mina’s call. “Hey!” he greeted, anxiously. A screen projected itself from his watch and lit up his face. “Hey. Hi. What's wrong? Everyone alright? I know I said I'd be home soon, but the game took way longer than–”

He was interrupted by cheering. His father clapped and whooped with excitement as Emi occupied the background, screeching with glee. Kenji could see the ground shaking as she was jumping around and doing her special dance. One of Mina’s arms was protruding from the wall and waving celebratory flags. It immediately put a smile on his face, easing the tension from his shoulders. He was always happy to see everyone alright, and even happier to see them as their silly selves.

“Kenji!” cheered Hayao. “That was an incredible game! You were unstoppable!” The professor chuckled. Emi picked him up into a hug, slightly toppling the camera over. His legs swung like a ragdoll’s. “Okay, okay girl-”

Ken laughed, slightly shaking his head. “Easy, Emi. Put Grandpa down.”

“It was a very impressive game, Ken. Perhaps one of your bests.” Mina’s calculative yet affectionate voice echoed from his watch.

Hayao fell to the floor with an ‘oof’. “You didn't tell me you were playing against THEE Mets’ Bullet!” He scrambled to stand up, barely leaning on his cane. “I wasn’t even aware that he was signed into the Carp!”

Kenji’s smile immediately faded. “Okay.” He rolled his eyes. “He was alright, I guess. And we don’t actually know if he signed into it or if he was traded. We barely heard anything about him from the press.”

“Alright?” Professor Sato gasped, appalled. “Kenji, he was spectacular! He’s a lot like you, you know. I’ve always suspected that the both of you equalled in skill, but to see it in action? Phew.” He wiped some pretend sweat off of his forehead. “What a show! Eight extra innings to break a tie? Unbelievable! I highly doubt that he was traded. Who in their right mind would purposely lose a player like that?”

Kenji scoffed. “He wasn’t that good.” His sore limbs would like to say otherwise.

“He had you chasing after his pitches like a dog!”

“I don’t like that analogy.”

“I ought’ to rewatch that documentary they made about him. You know they’ve done studies on the physics of his throws.”

“Dad.”

“And how fortunate for Hiroshima to have gotten him out of all teams! I can tell that this season is going to turn around really fast. Just today he’s already scored-”

“Dad!”

“Oh. Sorry.” Hayao chuckled. “I’m just very excited to see the both of you on the same field.” Kenji sighed, nodding his head. “Anyway, congratulations on the win, my boy. I’m so proud of you. I always am. Get home safe. It may be late, but we still have a lot of leftovers from dinner!” Emi made a noise that let him know she was waiting, too.

Going home sounded like heaven. Ken wanted nothing more but to rest. Maybe kick back and have a chocolate shake while he and his family watched cartoons to fall asleep. It was the perfect way to end his night. It had been an unexpectedly long day and he looked forward to tomorrow’s well-earned break. Eight extra innings might even win him a second day of rest. Or a third, if Shimura agreed not to schedule him for the next game. Which, he doubted, if it meant you’d be playing.

“I’m on my way.” He ended the call, and opted to take the fastest way out, desperate to avoid the press.

Ken collapsed onto the floor, snuggling into Emi’s arm. Having washed up and eaten his dinner, he felt the last remains of his adrenaline-fueled strength die out like a dwindling flame. He felt as if his limbs were about to fall off. “Ugh,” he groaned. “I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.” Emi didn’t much care. She seemed to be preoccupied by the new ( gigantic ) stacking blocks that Mina made for her. Ken sighed, sinking deeper into her arm. “She always smells so good after her baths.” The baby Kaiju’s warm and heavy grasp felt like a weighted blanket. It was a comfort that Ken would find nowhere else.

Professor Sato walked past them, chuckling into his coffee mug. “That, she does. You should have seen her earlier, you know. I’ve never seen her so invested in a game.”

Kenji hummed. “Is that right?” He rolled onto his stomach, facing Emi. “Hey. Baby.” He poked her cheek. “Is that true? Did you cheer for Daddy? I bet you did.” Giving into his cuteness aggression he rubbed at her cheeks. Emi expressed her annoyance through a small squeak. “God, that mean old Bullet had Daddy running laps, didn’t he? We hate him, don’t we?” Kenji pushed her cheeks up and down, leading her into a nod. “Yes we dooo.”

Professor Sato laughed. “Whatever happened to sportsmanship?”

“Whatever happened to loyalty?” He pouted. “My own father, rooting against me. I would never root against you, Emi.” Wanting to return to her blocks, Emi lifted Kenji up by his torso and placed him on her head. The batter laughed, laying on her with no protest.

“What!” The professor exclaimed. “I never said I was rooting against you. I was just— feeling enthusiastic, that’s all. For both teams.”

Mina entered the room, her mechanisms humming faintly. “Good evening, everyone.” The Sato’s greeted her accordingly. “I have a message for Ken.”

The mentioned Ken slumped into his daughter, rolling his eyes. “Here we go. I bet it’s the press.” He scoffed. “Let me guess, at least 30 emails asking for my statement. Or, better yet, it’s Shimura warning me not to miss the next game.” He raised his fist, mocking a reporter’s tone: “We’ve witnessed baseball history tonight, folks! Blah, blah, blah.”

“Actually, it’s an invitation for something else.” Mina hovered closer. “An event.”

This caught his attention. Kenji tilted his head. “For what?”

“A party, hosted by various sponsors.”

“Bit too early for an afterparty, don’t you think?” Ken sighed, resting his head on folded arms. “We’ve only won one game.”

“I suppose it’s to celebrate Mr. L/n as well.” Mina would shrug if she had the shoulders to do so. “His coming to Japan is quite a big deal.”

“Great.” Kenji was half-asleep by then, eyes already closed. “All the more reason for me not to go.” The professor had settled himself onto one of the desks, getting into some light reading. Emi had grown tired herself, and decided that she was not interested in the blocks anymore. Waddling to her spot, (with Kenji still on her head), she yawned, and opted for some much-needed sleep.

Mina’s light blinked. “I think you should go, Ken.”

The rightfielder cracked one eye open. “And why would I do that?”

“I think it would benefit you to interact with Mr. L/n more.”

“Mina, that’s literally the last thing I want.”

“Is it?”

Ken frowned. “What do you mean, ‘is it’? Of course it is.”

“Your vitals seemed to say otherwise earlier.”

Kenji scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was keeping careful watch of your vitals, as I always do. I have your daily status tracked and recorded.”

Kenji couldn't get rid of Mina’s voice in his head. Even amidst the warm crowd, with chatter swaying smoothly atop of light r&b music, he felt as if he could still hear her words ringing in the back of his mind. It remained vivid, though she had told it to him days ago. It was as clear as day. Like a broken record.

“Believe it or not, the heart beats differently for every emotion. There is a difference between fear, anxiety, excitement, and—”

Kenji stared at you from across the room, watching as you conversed with your team, nursing a glass of cold, hard whiskey. He watched as you bowed your head and smiled, listening for the faint, muffled sound of your laughter. He wondered what you were talking about; what joke might have made you grin that hard. He wondered why you seemed to illuminate a room, and why everyone seemed so drawn. His eyes were caught in the way the colorful lights sank into your hair.

“—Infatuation.”

You looked up, and your eyes met his. Kenji flinched. He felt his heart skip a beat. Shit, he thought. Mina was definitely going to catch that. She had probably already marked it down to tease him for it later. You held his gaze for longer than he could have standed and greeted him with that same annoying wink. The same one you gave him on the field. Confident, snarky, playful. You lifted your glass and took a sip, eyes still trained on his.

“What you may perceive as frustration for him might just be the opposite.”

Kenji's jaw clenched. Mina had no idea what she was talking about.

And he would prove her wrong tonight.

Like a soldier marching into battle, he waded through the party to make his way towards you. Was he intimidated? Yes. Unfortunately, he was. But he knew his way around a crowd, and his weapon-of-a-tongue knew all the right talk to make a conversation work. He was sociable like that. He was a poet, a wordsmith. If you weren't careful, one little exchange could have you wrapped around his finger. Some people called it his charisma, some blamed it on his irresistible good looks. Either way, Ken took it. He wasn't going to deny the fact that people loved talking to him — though he, admittedly, didn't really like talking to them in return. But he could do it. He could make it work.

Besides, how bad could you be?

With a newfound confidence, Ken dared to get closer. The distance between you and him lessened, and– oh, fuck, was that your cologne? He blinked. You smelled so good. Why did you smell so good? “Hey. Hi.” Shit. Abort mission. No, it's too late. Too awkward to back out. You were already looking at him. “L/n, yeah?” He spoke your name like he only just remembered you upon seeing you. When in truth, he hadn't stopped thinking about you since that damn first pitch. “Some game, huh?” Ken held his hand out for you to shake. ‘Fuck, I hope he doesn't notice how clammy it is.’

“Ken Sato.” It was the first time he heard your voice, as well as the first time he heard you say his name. He didn't like how his body reacted. There was a small shiver down his spine, a tingling flutter in his chest. You took his hand. Yours was cold. So cold. Kenji concluded that the icy glass of whiskey you had placed on the counter was to blame. He could feel your callouses against his. Your hands mirrored one another, marked with the battlescars of your sport. He was oddly sensitive to every detail. Touching you was.. a sensation.

You gave him a firm shake before promptly letting go.

“That's me,” he said, miraculously. Ken was oscillating between panic and confidence at a speed that likely wasn't normal. He was holding his own, though. Like the real champ he was. It was surreal to be standing in front of you without a ball to keep you apart. No bat, no competition. Just you, and a few shots of alcohol. “You adjusting into Japan alright?”

“As well as I can.” You shrugged. You had a tone to you; an elegant air of grace and self-assurance. You had no need to raise your voice because you knew he'd do his best to listen. It was pissing him off. “It's definitely different from the States.”

“I gotta say, I'm pretty surprised to see you here.” Ken usually knew what to say when it came to conversations. He never blanked out at interviews, nor left dead air hanging at conferences. But speaking with you made him feel like his vocabulary was on a limit. “After a game like that?” He whistled. “A lesser man would've taken a week off.”

“But we're not lesser men, are we, Ken?” A waitress passed by. Without the need to look, you had grabbed two shots of vodka from her tray. You handed the other one to him. “That's why you're here, too.”

He stared at you, brows furrowed slightly. “Exactly.” He took the shot from your hand and bumped the rim against yours. “Cheers.”

You grinned. “Cheers.”

Kenji tilted his head back, downing his drink, tasting the fire run down his throat. His face screwed up a little, but not enough for you to notice. You did the same, sighing the heat out of your nose. You allowed a small laugh to slip past your lips. “Japan’s liquor is surprisingly stronger.”

Kenji chuckled. “Yeah. If you know where to look.” The music felt like it was growing louder. He leaned in to speak to you better. “You know, I can't believe this is the first time we're meeting.”

You nodded. “Neither can I.”

“The Mets and Dodgers have always been at each other's throats, and yet—”

“Our schedules just never lined up.” You scoffed. “What are the odds of that, huh?”

It really was such a coincidence. If Ken had known that your interactions would've fired the press up as much as it did now, he would've fought to face you sooner. “When was it?” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Playoffs. 2019, I think. The Mets were set to face the Dodgers.”

“2019,” you repeated, brows raised. “I was there.” Kenji took notice of the way your head slightly shifted to the side. Like you were trying to get a better look at him. He swallowed thickly. “I was there.” You shrugged. “You weren't.”

“I was overseas.” He was wanting another drink. But, speaking to you was surprisingly not horrible. “Didn't get back until 3 months in. And when I did—”

“I wasn't there,” you chuckled. “Alright. I remember. 2019, I was gone for half the season. Injury.”

“The world was in shambles.” Ken grinned at you. A second waiter passed by. He grabbed you another glass of whiskey. He took scotch for himself. “See what I mean? It's like– divine intervention.”

“Big word.” To say that fate had a hand to play in yours and his meeting was beyond your beliefs. You didn't place your trust in things like that. But to know that he had thought about it was charming.

“Hey.” Ken shrugged. “Ya’ never know.”

The music shifted, and so did the lights. There was a moment of quiet between the both of you, and in that time, you found a common interest in people-watching. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, nor the absence of something to talk about. The two of you merely agreed upon the minutes it took to watch the party unfold. A good number of the guests were already drunk. The dance floor was alight and occupied mostly by women. Ken rested his weight on one foot, sighing at his still-aching muscles. He wondered if you were any sore too.

“They love it, don't they?” You leaned your back against the counter, arms crossed over your chest. Ken took quick notice of the necklace worn loosely around your neck. A silver dogtag, similar to his. “The drama. The intensity. Even the things that go on beyond the field.”

Ken shrugged. “It's baseball. Who doesn't?”

“Exactly.” You smiled. “Which is why it's important to always let the home team win the first game.”

It took a moment for Kenji to process what you said. He was distracted by the colorful lights, his favorite song coming on, and a tray full of hors d'oeuvres. “Mhm.” He reached over to take one, before— “Wait.” His brows knitted together. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Hm?” You had your lips pressed together into a thin line. Your expression feigned innocence, a stark contrast to your bold statement. “I said it's important to let the home team win the first game.”

Kenji made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. He couldn't believe his ears. Had he been standing by the speakers for too long? “No, I heard what you said. What I'm asking is what you're saying.” It was a dare of a reply, with a tone that commanded: go on. Clarify.

Your smile refused to leave your face. Nearing the batter, ever so carefully, you whispered:

“I'm saying you won because I let you.”

Kenji blinked.

And there it was. He knew you were too good to be true. Goddammit, he knew it! Beneath your seemingly-perfect self was something cold and rotten and he called it. He fucking called it. How thrilled he was to be correct, and oh, how utterly terrified.

But this was good. This was absolutely good. He needed something to hold onto, something to keep himself afloat. The next time he found himself drowning in your eyes again, he'd only need to remember that you were a grade A asshole. That you had the audacity to claim that you were in full control of the game. Surely it would solve all his problems.

Kenji broke out into a laugh. It started out as a small cluster of sarcastic chuckles, but erupted into actual laughter. You were funny. So, so funny. Unbeknownst him, you were watching with amusement. “Because you let me!” Kenji repeated, smiling, but, exasperated. Two can play at that game. “Right. Of course. Totally not because you're an average pitcher and I can bat anything you throw.”

“If that helps you sleep at night.” You shrugged. Your attention wasn't on him anymore. You were watching the crowd, disinterested.

Kenji felt his eye twitch. “That's big talk coming from someone who got struck out by a rookie.” He was referring to the eighth inning, when Tateoka managed to bat your pitch into a homerun.

“That's right, Sato.” You laughed, low and sultry. “Batted by a rookie. How could I have struck you out at the last inning but be batted by a rookie?” You tilted your head at him, brows knitted together. You spoke in a sickeningly soft tone. Like you were helping a toddler understand something simple. “Doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, does it?”

Kenji was growing flustered. His face was warm and his fist was itching to meet your cheek. Nobody spoke to him this way. Sure guys had been mean to him before, but it was mostly because they were threatened by him. They'd tried to put him down and pick apart his flaws, but what you were doing was something different. You weren't claiming that he was weak, you were claiming that you were stronger. You didn't deny the amount of talent that Ken had in his body, but you were fully convinced that you had more. You were bigger, smarter, and better. And you had him under your control.

“Oh, c’mon. Seriously?” God, your voice. It infuriated him. It drove him insane. You leaned in, closer, whispering your words, as if hearing you through the party wasn't hard enough. He could smell the whiskey on your breath. It mingled with your cologne. It was intoxicating. “Are you blushing?”

He scoffed in disbelief. “No.” Except he totally was. He could feel the heat radiating off of his face. His breathing had gone shallow, his heartbeat rapid. “Why would I– Tch. You— You don't know what you're talking about.” Holy shit. He was a mess.

He wanted so desperately to blame it on the alcohol, but he knew damn well he wasn't drunk enough to be acting the way he was. He was stumbling over his words stone-cold sober.

You were smiling. He was dying, and you were smiling. “You amuse me, Sato.”

Ken took a cautious step back, knowing that being that close to you for too long was only going to make him worse. “Who the hell do you think you are, huh?” He had to retaliate somehow. Like a soldier fumbling for his sword, he had to get up and do something. “You don't think I don't know what this is? Where you're heading?”

You tilted your head. “Do enlighten me.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Sure. Celebrity-Athlete from America waltzes into Japan thinking he's the shit— that he can rule the world. He's a shiny new toy and everyone's just dying to catch a look. Nevermind that his old team traded him off, nevermind that he goes home to an empty penthouse. He's got the stats to prove his skills and he thinks he doesn't need anything else.” Ken dared to retake a step forward. He sort of regretted it when you didn't take a step back. “Well, guess what,” he continued. “I've been where you are. I know how you feel, what you're thinking.

Everything you're trying to be is a shadow of what I already was.”

There was a beat of silence. You weren't smiling anymore. You were staring at him, stone-faced, seemingly indifferent.

Kenji narrowed his eyes. “So don't go talking to me like you're any better.”

He didn't know what to expect. You were quiet for such a long time that he thought you were going to snap. He partially expected a punch to the chin. But you were calm. There wasn't a trace of irritation on your face. Instead, you set your glass of whiskey — now empty — on the counter behind you. With a sigh, you shoved a hand in your pocket. “Are you done?”

Kenji blinked.

“Let me tell you something, Sato.” You raised a brow at him. Ken felt his heartbeat pick up again. Your once-approachable gaze shifted into something cold and commanding. He swallowed thickly. “There is a difference between you and me. And that difference is the fact that I don't settle.”

Kenji was glaring at you, brows fixed together.

A teammate called you from the other side of the room. You nodded at him, once, then returned your focus to the Yomiuri Prince. You placed a hand on his shoulder, tauntingly, smiling at him as if you'd known him your whole life. “I hope last season’s slump accustomed you to the feeling of losing those points.”

Kenji wanted to say something, but his lips refused to move. Somehow, the blaring music in the background had faded into a muffled blur. All he could hear was your voice. Like a moth to a flame.

You winked at him. Again. And like before, his body reacted in ways he didn't like. You squeezed his shoulder once, before leaving to go to your friend. With your back turned against him, Kenji released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He clutched his chest, watching wide-eyed as you moved through the crowd. He could still smell your cologne. The last thing he heard from you was,

“I'll see you on the field.”

taglist: @fairy-lenaa @moonjellyfishie @witchygod — Thank you for your patience!

#kenji sato #ken sato x reader #x reader #ultraman rising #ken sato x male reader #kenji sato x male reader

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thesparklingwriter · 1 year ago

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treasured moments

tags: established relationship, fem!reader, fluff, dragon zhong doing dragon zhong things (he's hoarding treasure)(he likes soft things)

"celeste, rin's birthday way in june--" shhhh.... i am 6 months behind on everything. hush.

lore: around the time of @zhongrin 's birthday, i very suspiciously left an ask for undisclosed reasons asking about things she thought Zhongli would secretly like. and in order to maximise the surprise I decided to wait six months before even starting the fic, AND almost forgot to add the one thing she said she thought he liked but I digress. nobody expected it, did they? i got you all. right? i got you right? you're all surprised?

masterlist | taglist

It’s a well known fact that dragons are hoarders. When they find something they hold dear, they will go to extreme lengths to protect it. They will fill their abodes with the things they love, collecting anything that reminds them of it—anything to curate their home to the best of their ability.

Your dragon is no different. Zhongli will often return home with small trinkets that you truly believe there is no space for, and you often tell him as such, albeit offhandedly. He’s good at decorating, and for some reason, the house never seems crowded or cluttered.

Over time, you began to notice his preferences change. At first it was noticing the crystal and ores he found matching the colour of your eyes, or your hair, or a piece of clothing you hold dearly. You’d notice that sometimes, after pulling you close to him in the middle of the night, and quietly remarking about how soft you are, he’d come home with something knitted or plush. Things you mention to him in passing suddenly pop up in your room or on your bed. You know not to say anything about it, afraid of making him embarrassed or suppress himself out of fear of offending you, but it’s hard to express you’re gratitude without words.

When you hear the sound of the front door opening, you pull yourself out of the cushions and blankets you’ve buried yourself in (courtesy of Zhongli, of course) and head towards the door to greet him.

“Good evening, love.” He says when he sees you, putting his bag gently pulling you into a hug. “How has your day been?”

“It’s been okay.” You ask about his day too, before shifting you attention to his bag. “What did you get?”

“I happened upon these woven blankets during my walk home.” He watches as you look inside. “I thought they might be a welcome addition to the house.”

Before, you might have agreed quietly, desperate to not make him to aware of himself. But now, you think quietly to yourself. “I’ve been thinking that the seat in the study is somewhat bare.”

You aren’t looking at him, so you don’t notice the slight glimmer that appears in his eyes as you begin to devise where his latest trinket shall go. He isn’t bothered about where you choose to put the blanket or whether colours might clash, however. He knows that his true treasure is found wherever you are.

notes: rin i hope you don't mind me tagging you but if you do I apologise and I hope everything in your life is getting better and your pillow is cold on all sides and---

taglist: @thelonelyarchon@aixaingela@medusuu

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #zhongli fanfic #zhongli fluff #genshin fluff #genshin zhongli #zhongli genshin impact

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liketwoswansinbalance · 20 days ago

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Return of the Inagrotten

This fic is also available on Wattpad or AO3, if you would prefer to read it elsewhere.

⸻

@heya-there-friends Here’s to another fic—since I remember you mentioned that you wanted to be tagged in the future. Cheers!

If anyone else would like to be tagged on my fics, just let me know!

Further, you might be surprised to know I’ve referenced this fic before, in this post and in this post, and that it is no longer a one-shot but two chapters long.

Additional fun fact: Some of the fic’s narration was probably slightly influenced by how I sometimes feel like I’m watching a surreal play, as a passive observer in front of other humans when they interact.

NO CONTENT WARNINGS: The violence is largely canon-typical.

And now, without further ado—I hope excessive eye contact and almost nothing entertain you.

Summary:

Rafal becomes what he hates most to “save” Rhian at a steep cost—himself.

Rafal puts on a grand “production” for Vulcan.

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CHAPTER I: Eclipses, Ellipses, and Lapses in Judgment:

Right as Vulcan and Rhian stepped into the shaded clearing from opposite sides, an inkblot-like portent appeared on the horizon. Neither of them noticed.

Rhian looked chary, eyes welling with tears that threatened to fall, as his substitute swaggered up to him. What had he agreed to? And why—why a Trial that could potentially endanger one of his charges. And all because he wouldn’t submit and roll over for a takeover by his once charming traitor.

And now, his Evers would see him risk losing everything to, to this—this impostor School Master, this great boor of a man whom he never should have trusted! And Rhian hadn’t even been granted the chance to parley much further with the vile opportunist the last time, due to Vulcan’s burgeoning popularity among Evil’s students.

But Good always wins, he told himself. Simple. His side would win. It had to. He’d known all along and always would. He’d seen Good win the last few tales.

But he had everything to lose, a darker voice of sharp-edged rationale joined the chorus in his head. His opponent had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

He did not feel any better.

Swallowing bile and his pride, Rhian reached out to shake Vulcan’s hand when a tidal wave crashed onto the shores of Good, sloshing onto the lawn, dousing Rhian and everyone else, and forming a heavy fog.

Rhian dropped Vulcan’s hand like it had burnt him, and the two competitors froze as the fog began to subside, neither daring to move from where they were rooted in place.

Indeed, Rhian’s boots had already begun to sink into the grass, drowning in the muck. Muck! His white boots and swan-feather doublet would be soiled by muck!

He exhaled heavily. There was nothing he could do about it now.

The seawater chilled Rhian, dripping down from his collar, and his spine hurt, as if he had lost his balance and fallen—and yet, he didn’t feel afraid.

Vulcan on the other hand looked as if the living daylights had been knocked out of him, but shortly recovered.

Even the students backed up a bit, and some of the cowardly ones scattered away. Several remained and held their breaths, even the Nevers.

Rhian and Vulcan’s heads swung to the newly-arrived, amorphous… whatever-it-was, alien through the veil of fog.

It docked right before them, banging into the shoreline, as waves hauled it up and retreated, letting it skid further across the lawn, upturning sod and carving out a shallow trench.

It turned slightly, its long side facing everyone, and settled with a thud, halting just inches away from where Rhian and Vulcan watched.

It stood at an imposing height, a hulking block of pure onyx—upon closer inspection, a ship.

A ship that eclipsed them all with its broad starboard, its ever-darkening, looming shadow, that obliterated the sun, swallowed the students gathered around the warring pair, and eclipsed the clearing whole.

The ship stood still, as if watching for the School Master and his substitute’s next moves.

When no one moved, it lifted off the ground, levitating above the wet grass by about an ell.

Jaws dropped at the marvel, and more than a few students wondered if it would float higher or coast over their mute, little pates, and take off into the sky after this odd detour at the Schools as it surely had to be an unidentified flying object.

Instead, the ship righted itself, deftly rotating so its bow faced the clearing. It plunked down with half a hollow thump on the craggy, stone shore and half a squelch in the grass as it rocked and tipped forward marginally, mast angled, jutting out like a magician’s bow.

Cheeky, Rhian thought—assuming he were right in knowing what to expect from the vessel. Yet he still couldn’t stop his involuntary shaking.

It was the cold, wasn’t it? In response, his stomach lurched and roiled like the dark waters.

The ship boasted diaphanous, black sails and itself was rather solid-looking with an ebony hull, encrusted with sleek onyx and obsidian.

The clearing stood dead still, fragile. It was silent, except for the water lapping the shoreline with great, constant slaps. The only movement was the flapping of the sails, snapping, stiff against the cutting winds.

Would it leave? The students mused to themselves. Would it leave them be and return their daylight? Return them to delight in their sunshiny Ever picnics and resume their Never picket lines at the encampments?

No, it seemed.

Beyond them all, lighting split the sky, crisscrossing erratically, fracturing the silence like the shattering of glass—right on cue, as if orchestrated by a willing conductor.

Many students startled, already having anticipated the swell before a storm after such dreadful, broken silence.

Several more jumped and fled for their lives, hiking lengths on foot, as fast as mortally possible towards the cover of the treeline or Good.

They didn’t want to stay when everything fell to ruin, but Vulcan and Rhian remained firm despite the fog and the dark.

Rhian cringed. He couldn’t bear his own impotence. But he couldn’t do anything without assessing the threat at hand. Something or someone had changed the game.

Then, the last of the fog cleared, rolled away and swept to the side like the parting of theater curtains, as if creating an open channel for the bow of the great, anchored vessel.

The Inagrotten seemed to be commandeered by a boy nearly as alabaster-pale as his otherworldly crew.

Rhian squinted. He and Vulcan were forced to crane their necks up to meet the icy eyes of the visitor, unnerving eyes that skewered cleanly through Vulcan’s soul. Vulcan turned away, shaken, but did not flee.

Rafal? Or was he not—

Even in the supposed privacy of his own thoughts, Rhian faltered—his brother’s stare, it bore straight into him.

Yet Rafal looked as if he weren’t seeing. It was as if he were staring through, at the nothing beyond.

And after he’d been gone for so many months—it was approaching six months—Rhian knew. And—

He could only rub at his eyes and hope, hope that this sight, this apparition-like boy wasn’t a mirage, that this was his brother.

Rhian’s voice caught in his throat while Vulcan stared bemused at the Evil School Master, perhaps, a School Master no more.

He did… certainly, look as youthful as ever, Rhian assured himself. He had not aged. One less fear to harbor. They were still immortal. Probably.

But, the shadows carved into his face were deeper, like in his time apart from his twin, he’d seen a ghost or unspeakable, maritime horrors.

Yes—he seemed… rougher, somehow. He carried himself differently, standing there, at the bow, with a haunted look. His eyes seemed sunken, or perhaps it was the way the sun cast over him from above, the dark cast it produced, at his height far above the clearing, a clear-sighted gaze.

It was his usual hard-eyed countenance, the same as always… except not.

He was eerily still, more disarming than usual, creepier, Rhian dared think, as if he’d picked up the traits of his comrades, those creatures—from months at sea with them.

His movements, if any, were too languid, like his bodily systems had shut themselves down, constricted like ice. And he looked gaunt, veins and collarbone more prominent, and his face, angular, more so than ever, with those shadows lining his face, like he didn’t have a heart pumping blood left to speak of. Like he ran cold, colder than the rest, colder than ever, as a specter, a shade of his former self.

The iron stench of blood clung thick in the air, clung to Rafal’s strange, new garments.

Craning his neck even further upward at the barque, Rhian could’ve sworn his brother’s clothes smelt of blood, but he couldn’t see a trace of blood on them. Just, smears of—blue—a strange, deep, sapphire blue on his clothes, tinting spikes of his hair, a spray of the inky substance speckling his jawline and the side of his face, and streaks of blue on the… Night Crawlers, assembled in rough formation behind him.

By the Storian’s grace, were those real Night Crawlers? He’d never seen them outside of storybooks. It was like Rafal had dredged himself out of a storybook, out of the deep undersea, like a myth among myths.

Night Crawlers. Bad idea. Rhian winced and closed his eyes, starting to develop a migraine. Not Night Crawlers! Not Night Crawlers at Good!

Rhian would have concluded it was blood, but it couldn’t be, could it?

He opened his eyes in a flash. Yes, they were still there…

They flanked Rafal, falling behind him, like sentinels, even paler than their leader’s bloodless pallor, eyes ever-watching, roving, moving, momentarily eying him in his sodden doublet, spattered in muck, before sweeping from side to side, from person to person, as if in search for something more, or someone from the sparse crowd in particular.

All Rhian’s mind could grasp was the sensation of eyes, Vulcan’s glare, the Night Crawlers’—and his wet socks.

Then, finally, the last set of eyes flicked too-quickly over everyone in sight and once again settled on the restless pair below. Rafal’s.

But Rafal just as quickly lowered his gaze to a sash at his waist and then his black, cavalier boots.

Why yes! Rhian hadn’t noticed. His brother was shod with tall, new boots. It was a miracle in itself that Rafal wasn’t wearing the same, old boots as always. Albeit, these ones were rather scuffed and dripped blue ink.

Rafal tapped his foot impatiently, exhaled, as if waiting for something, then casually scraped one boot on the edge of the ebony deck, attempting to clean it off and dislodge a glop that had practically fused itself to Rafal’s sole.

Vulcan huffed and muttered, “Stupid snowman,” under his breath.

Rafal ignored the trespasser, and shook his booted foot tetchily until the indistinct gobbet of blue flew off his boot and smacked Vulcan in the bat tattoo, just missing the lout’s eye.

“Oops. Didn’t see you down there, peon,” Rafal breezed, blatantly lying. He swept his hand through his snow-white hair, cresting it with more of the blue from his hands without realizing it.

Rhian quelled his mysterious, rising sense of nausea. At what? The rich, blue stains that he thought should be laundered sooner rather than later?

If he hadn’t known any better, Rhian would’ve been sure that something smelt of rust, of blood. He had to be imagining things. He blinked at the Night Crawlers.

They stood motionless, stolid like statues.

Rhian frowned harder and realized that he had been frowning all along. And this new Rafal was slovenly! And blue!

Rhian glanced at the grisly gob sliding down Vulcan’s face as the man swatted at it blindly.

Squid ink, he decided, again, trying to set his nausea aside to no avail. Saliva coated his gullet. Rafal must have stepped on a squid. That was it. The substance was a squid with, with… ventricles. Ventricles? Wait.

The lurid, inky blob resembled some creature’s innards, Rhian reflected, sickened. Had Rafal—

About to burst from curiosity, Rhian started, “Wha—”

Rhian must’ve been addled. Rafal cut him off. “You must know, I have returned to reclaim my post,” he enunciated evenly, as if Vulcan were deaf or dumb, projecting his voice as if he were playing the lead role in a theater production.

Rhian shook his head vigorously, hand slicing the air at his neck, trying to signal to Rafal to stop talking in front of Vulcan!

Rafal paid his brother no heed and examined the blue underneath his ragged fingernails, having resumed tapping his foot on deck, stalling. He didn’t have a watch, but knew he had arrived on set early.

Even the birches stared at him accusingly as he looked out on everyone else.

Forget it.

Bah. Now he had to wait for everyone else to catch up, the blasted imbeciles. Nothing like—nevermind.

Vulcan fumed, his ears turning red, a pugnacious grimace crossing his face.

Right on schedule. Rafal nodded at him imperiously, eyes turned to slits, furtively glancing at the man’s ill-concealed pocket lump.

Placidly, Rafal rolled up his sleeves. He loathed this frilled tunic. It was too baggy, and therefore too impractical for his taste. How did the filthy, drunken idiots stumble around without catching themselves on their own cutlasses? The same critique went for the pantaloons—and the fussy sleeves easily soiled, but they were already soiled, so no matter. He could burn these ‘pirate’ clothes later and forget about the whole incident. Besides, his proceedings would be civilized, unlike those pests’ sorry excuse for discipline.

That was when the midday sun at last emerged and reached its summit. His next cue.

Finally. Rafal looked at it directly and smiled like a loon, frost-blue eyes glowing in the light.

Meanwhile, Rhian worried for his brother’s mental state as Vulcan grew more agitated. Why wasn’t he moving?

Rafal spared a glance at his incapacitated, seafaring crew. Unfortunate that they didn’t fare well under the sun. Now was not the time to lose composure—but it didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. Yet.

The Night Crawlers—all of them veiled in such a funereal way, decked in wide-brimmed hats—hissed, and others recoiled into their cloaks, blinded by the brilliance of Good’s lit glass castle.

Rafal observed Rhian’s feather-adorned clavicle rise up and down as he heaved great gulps of air, the fool practically navel-gazing, contemplating the blue-tinged muck of all things.

Coward, Rafal thought lightly, suppressing a sigh.

Rafal gave a subtle hand signal, dismissing the students, who responded to his gesture eagerly.

A few waved back gleefully like they had their heads screwed on the wrong way. Pah. Children.

They ran for their lives, no longer a captive audience. But he hadn’t truly done them a favor. He had other plans in store to sort out the bad, rotted-through apples later.

The others, the better-shielded Night Crawlers, clustered together, like a malignant pox, and grinned, revealing fanged-toothed smiles, stained blue, that gleamed like slivers of upended crescent moon.

They stared greedily at Vulcan.

Rafal shook his head slightly, not wanting to err, and kept his eyes fixed on Vulcan. Almost.

A few slumped, and the rest rearranged themselves idly, like predators evaluating prey.

Not yet.

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CHAPTER II: Salutations, Immolations, and Confrontations:

Expectant, Rafal continued to peer down at them, his makeshift puppets, his brother and the enemy—as if he were sitting in an audience, awaiting a grand performance from the mezzanine.

Then, he took note of Vulcan, shaping up to be quite the aggressor, and his lip curled at the cur in disgust.

“Well. What is it that you are waiting for?” Rafal coaxed sibilantly. “Stage directions?”

Rhian turned back and discovered everyone but he and Vulcan had left the clearing. Not a single student in sight.

“Rhian, it’s your move. And the show must go on. How ever will you deal with this dastardly stranger? Or is he not a stranger at all?” Rafal mocked.

On cue, Rhian immediately flushed red. He had frozen in place, holding his right arm bent at his side the whole time, wrist hanging limp! His hand dropped to his side instantly. Rafal hadn’t known about the Trial agreement? And the handshake! Had he?

Rafal addressed his brother again. “What are you doing, Rhian? Something rash? Something you'll come to regret? I suppose it's almost prophetic that I returned when I did, or else, you'd let our School fall to ruins, wouldn't you?”

Vulcan inched forward to face Rafal, straining his neck, not that could’ve stepped any closer to the Inagrotten without plastering himself to the hull like a figurehead. “Hah! Cold, Evil Master back, Duckling?” he boomed. “What does Duckling do now? Evict Lord Vulcan?”

Rafal’s scowl deepened at the term of endearment. Duckling? What conversations had he not borne witness to? Forget it. He gritted his teeth, setting his jaw.

His head was already devolving into a cradle for a pulsing headache due to this Vulcan character slamming down on his last nerves like a guillotine. This was exactly why he hadn’t hired the man the first time.

He turned to Rhian. “You liked this numbskull?” he called out.

Rhian, who still seemed queasy, shrugged and gave a little, diffident smile.

‘Lord’ Vulcan sneered, maniacally whisked his hands around in the air, then feigned some sort of hideous mock-terror, all while his eyes rolled back into his skull so the whites showed.

It must be amateur hour, Rafal groused. What a poor man’s impression of a true Never. A pathetic final performance. And such low production value.

“Or, will brother save Duckling and Duckling’s fat cats?”

Fat cats?

Rafal quickly dismissed the aberrant image of Rhian with cats, and turned his back for just a moment.

Through rustling fabrics and veils, and low, slurred, susurrated murmurs that approximated speech, Rhian made out something like: “You’ll get your prize soon enough, after I deal with the trespasser and my brother. Just fall back, and I’ll do the talking as always.”

It was as if his brother meant to-to pacify these killers, these man-draining monsters.

But the Night Crawlers never posed the problem, Rafal well knew.

And, naturally, problems the first and the second were still watching him confer with his crew from below in the clearing.

The Night Crawlers shuffled around, rearranging themselves once more, skulking behind Rafal, chastened but petulant. Most slipped below deck, several adjusting their hats.

The intrepid few kept watch. One in particular, with his black-gloved hand, pulled out a silver pocket watch and flipped its face open before clapping it shut.

Rhian couldn’t puzzle out the strange sight. At least they weren’t swarming.

Just then, Rafal leapt down from the side of the ship and stalked over to face Vulcan, stopping at a spot a few yards away, looking blasé.

Not yet.

Vulcan shoved a hand into his pocket.

Not yet.

Vulcan made to attack, eyes probing Rafal, dagger gripped in hand.

Not yet.

Rhian’s eyes widened as he caught on. He opened his mouth, about to call out and warn his brother to move—

But Rafal, as if stone deaf, reached into the depths of his long, coal-black, wide-cuffed greatcoat, and tugged at something.

A collection of bone-dry matches that had once been wrapped up spilled out of his pocket onto the wet ground.

At last, he pulled out a white handkerchief, flecked with the barest hints of blue, and raised it skyward, dismissing his brother’s shouts, brushing off Rhian entirely.

With the handkerchief, a few more matches spilled out of his pocket, skittering into the path of Vulcan’s forthcoming advance.

Vulcan raised an eyebrow at the gesture.

Not yet.

The lowly cheat stepped forth to check the limits of Rafal’s surrender, or rather, his resistance to pain—completely insubordinate to the universal gesture Rafal had just executed. He wanted to test the so-called Evil School Master. School the coward himself.

Not yet.

Vulcan feinted once with the dagger.

Not yet.

Moored in place, Rafal did not move, did not flinch, his neutral expression unwavering and handkerchief tossed aside.

Twice.

Rhian gasped.

Not yet.

NO, Rafal mouthed to Rhian.

There. The viper slung the dagger, aiming for Rafal’s heart the third time.

Now.

The Good School Master valiantly intervened anyway… He took off and dove, but overcorrected, launching himself too far, and straight into a patch of muck to Rafal’s far right, the sludge blinding him.

Rafal, for his part and parcel, simply stepped aside, two paces to the left.

The dagger whizzed by.

Silence.

Then Vulcan roared with the vengeance of a thousand suns and thrust forward with the intent to clobber Rafal.

Hurry up, clod, Rafal carped.

Vulcan slipped on the wet grass, and careened forward, landing onto the scraggly bed of matches.

Rafal laughed and laughed until his stomach started to ache and flicked his wrist in Vulcan’s general direction, scorching him to death by white-hot incineration.

The kindling was meager but effectively fueled.

His proper pay-off! And Vulcan’s send-off! Good riddance! At last.

And all at half past twelve on the dot—praise Adela’s soul! He almost regretted killing her with questions.

Ashes cascaded to the ground, and blew off, carried away by a sorcery-induced wind.

Deceitful designs paired well with dishonorable foes.

Disoriented by the sound of the blast, the puissant odor of charred flesh, and his brother’s psychotic laughter, Rhian groped blindly and used Rafal’s fallen handkerchief to wipe at his eyes. What in the Woods—

Rhian blinked back acrid, grey tears.

Plumes of smoke, cinders still asmoulder, raining down from the sky, and the odd, new Rafal in pirate garb swam into Rhian’s vision—a Rafal curled in on himself, still convulsing with laughter, silent spasms racking his narrow frame, until he straightened up and inhaled deeply.

All that remained of Vulcan was one blackened, steaming tract of lawn.

Rafal sunk into a bow, arms outstretched behind him like a wide ‘V,’ like the wings of a tainted, blue swan, hair glinting brilliantly beneath the sun.

The Night Crawlers broke into rhythmless applause from their places.

And Rhian? Rhian gawped, sat in his puddle, almost catatonic with shock, spitting blades of grass, taking in the scorched clearing and… his brother, the actor.

That squid dye or whatever-it-was would never wash out, Rhian mourned without a second thought for his once-substitute.

The Evil School Master strolled further into the clearing, irreverently stepped over his would-be usurper’s spot, and strode past Rhian, greatcoat flagging. He left his Night Crawlers be on the Inagrotten, fixed his sleeves, and headed towards his School, towards Evil.

Dealing with everything else would be trifles.

He paused in his half victory lap, half impromptu inspection-to-be of student quarters, and glanced over his shoulder at Rhian—poor, feckless Rhian—still agape and paralyzed by shame and the prospect of his own mortality.

Rafal smirked. “Rhian? Now that our Schools, plural, it seems, are settled, why don’t we have a chat? You still have escapades to tell me about, to catch me up on what’s gone on while I was away, don’t you?”

Rhian gawked at Rafal vacantly.

Three…

Two…

One—

Rhian shook himself, wild, golden curls bobbing, and clambered to his feet.

His blue blur of a brother continued across the walkway to Evil.

Rhian gathered his wits about him and wisely decided not to mention the deadly Trial he’d been about to agree to. His soles suctioned up some of the muck and sod as he frantically chased after Rafal.

Before Evil’s raised portcullis, Rafal came to a dead halt, and looked back at Rhian sprinting across the clearing as it sank with the seawater. It’d have to be drained another day. A pity his brother couldn’t fly.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” He crossed the threshold and peered at Vulcan’s great hall. How garish. He’d have to alter all of it.

Rhian arrived, panting, doubled-over in front of Rafal.

Rafal waited for him to catch his breath. “Good.”

Righting himself, Rhian began to enter the dim antechamber, but Rafal held out a hand.

“Wipe your feet outside. I don’t want Vulcan underfoot,” he said pointedly. “And I don’t want his presence tracked anywhere near my castle, much less within it. Oh, and here’s a lesson: I take care against inviting strange men in.” He eyed Rhian’s now-drooping, feathered doublet. “Indeed, you’re rather strangely dressed, but today, I’ll make an exception. Just this once—knowing it won’t bring about ruin.”

Rhian sighed and obeyed.

Rafal hastened down the hall, and Rhian sped past his brother to face him.

“It’s not what you think! Vulcan was a temporary replacement—no, not a replacement!” Rhian rushed to correct himself. “No one could replace you! An inferior. An inferior figurehead—he occupied the position of Dean, originally! I never meant for him to campaign to become a School Master, but the students! It was them! The students were so taken with him that he snaked his way into their hearts and, and—” he rabbited on, “Or, Hell! It may be what you think, but I can explain!”

Rafal tilted his head, vaguely amused, and thought to himself that the situation was looking to be exactly what he thought had happened. He knew his brother well enough to guess that Rhian had succumbed to a misbegotten bout of infatuation. If not that, then Rhian had run afoul of the Rules in some way—that was for certain.

And Rafal knew better than even Rhian’s slip into old patterns from his taste of Seerdom. He’d had to wait around for Vulcan, to sufficiently irritate and thus, provoke him, so the cad struck first—all so Rhian wouldn’t blame him for an unlawful Attack.

That way, he’d just be parrying back—however disproportionately the man’s fate had turned out, it’d needed to be done. And besides, Rafal thought the scoundrel had deserved worse.

He also made a mental note to ask Rhian for the names of the Nevers who’d backed Vulcan, who’d favored a weak-willed imposter of a Never over him, those traitorous, little ingrates.

All the while, Rhian kept jabbering about strawberry salads, and Marialena, the conwoman, and bats.

Rafal shut his eyes and inhaled, trying to regain some semblance of sympathy for Rhian, but couldn’t take the prattling anymore. “Rhian.”

His brother jolted to attention, wide-eyed, like a scolded child.

Rafal sidestepped Rhian and continued down the hall, a purpose in his step. “I swear, not another word, or I swear I’ll sell you off to Bluebeard. At a discount,” Rafal deadpanned, a hint of mirth in his eyes.

Rhian gasped and spluttered, highly affronted. “N-No!”

Rafal bit back a smile and shook his head. “It’s that or a fair trade with the Night Crawlers for their services. Your pick. What will it be?”

“No,” Rhian held firm, glaring murderously at the back of his brother’s partly blue-clotted scalp.

Rafal swanned further down the hall. “Well—I doubted you’d assent to that. Proves you’ve got more than cats under that crown of yours. Fussy, fussy, in all your frippery, hmm? Regardless, if blue or piracy are what you’d want in a companion or savior, I suppose you’d best stay here, with the Night Crawlers and me,” he offered with mock-gallantry.

“JUST LISTEN TO ME!”

Rafal stopped abruptly on his course, and spun on his heels to face Rhian, wet boots screeching on the tiles, as if for mercy, his soles slapping down, echoing. “I already know most of what went on without me here.”

“Oh, really? For Storian’s sake! Why did I ever want you back?”

“Well, it’s what you once wanted, wasn’t it?” Rafal accused sharply. “You despaired when I left. And let’s just say: I’m never leaving you again, if this, this revolting disorder, is how you running the Schools by yourself is bound to turn out.”

“Fine! Good even!” Rhian agreed far too quickly with vestiges of vitriol. “That’s fair and absolutely fine with me! I’ll gladly put up with anything as long as you stay,” he vowed, attempting to appeal to Rafal’s Good side. He didn’t bother to consider that he’d presently rue the words he’d just spoken ere long.

Rafal grinned roguishly. He’d extracted all that he’d needed to proceed with his plans.

His pace became more brisk by the second as Rhian hurried to match his brother’s gait and racing mind. “Lovely. I suppose you won’t mind it if I make some changes. I’d thought I’d have a harder time convincing you, but it seems you won’t break your promise. That would be dishonorable. And Evil.”

Hostage to his word, Rhian swallowed his retort. Rafal would hold him to anything he said from here on out.

“Now, the first of the changes I plan to implement is a curriculum around discerning Good from Evil. With challenges. We’ll rank the classes from one through twenty. Disguises are far too prevalent these days, and I don’t trust you or your students to know any better. Besides, you are in need of remedial lessons.”

Rhian tried to interject, but Rafal held up a blue-stained hand to shut him down, and continued staunchly.

“Not only that—I require a moat. It’d be another line of defense against trespassers. Higher ground, too, of course. Also, a place to bury our dead.”

“What dead?”

“I don’t expect all the students to last long. The Evers almost expired under Vulcan’s reign, it seems to me, from the state of them, quivering like that, and the Nevers won’t last long under me. You can be sure now that some Nevers will perish—even once they’re out from under my regime—there are always failures in the tales, every now and then, no matter how well they’re trained. Ah, and let’s replace Humburg with fresh blood. I can imagine that dolt did nothing to stand against Vulcan, did he?”

Rhian’s eyes had grown wide now, and he was effectively silenced by shock.

“Also, I was thinking of a torture chamber,” Rafal added as if it were an afterthought.

His brother let out a questionable, strangled sound, but Rafal paid him and his antics no mind, and kept outlining his plans.

Rhian couldn’t expand his airways any further, but again, tried to steel himself, tried to marshal all his verve to contradict Rafal now. No, wait, what was he thinking? Opposing Rafal? He couldn’t! Not after Rafal promised to stay. Who knew if Evil upheld promises? Rhian himself certainly hadn’t, when he’d hired Vulcan against Rafal’s wishes that had been expressed long ago, and he was Good.

But before he ever got the chance to summon up the will to challenge Rafal, he lost his chance.

Rafal spoke up, “That should consolidate my power, don’t you think? It’s worked itself out neatly—the arrangement I have in mind. The Night Crawlers will be paid with the blood they’ll have drawn from our mutinous, young charges. No need to hire the Man-Wolves after all, at the high rates they’re demanding. It’ll all be self-contained, and we’ll spare fewer expenses in the long run.”

He continued on blithely as Rhian paled increasingly with every word, complexion turning bloodless.

Rhian swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat.

“And, remind me to replace that Marialena, won't you? I just know—ahem—suspect that she'll sow more chaos if we don't keep a close eye on her, and I'd rather get rid of the potential complication altogether. If we don't rid ourselves of her soon, she could cause a rift between us.”

No, Rhian thought tartly, lungs burning, the new Rafal was doing that all on his own.

“Fortunately, I’ve removed the other variables that could come between us,” Rafal assured himself, picking at the congealed, inky blue at his wrists. “And I know now: the best solution is the proactive one. We'll be far better off without her, trust me. All Seers are meddlers at their cores.”

Determined, Rafal nodded at his new vision for Evil and all that he had armed himself with for the future, and set his hands clasped behind him.

Rhian nodded along weakly, a thin smile gracing his lips, following several paces away from Rafal’s heels, like a puppet tangled in wire, almost running to match Rafal’s ever-accelerating pace.

SLOW DOWN, Rhian desperately wanted to shout. Slow down with all these ‘improvements.’ But he couldn’t get overly excited over these matters—Rafal might call him ‘hysterical.’

He locked his jaw, numbly. It could always be worse.

Then, at last, the twin School Masters reached Evil’s rear entrance, which looked out onto the seaside beyond.

Huffing and florid-faced, Rhian leaned on the doorframe and coughed—what sort of Storian-ordained exercise had his brother done at sea?

He was glad his brother was back. Really. He was grateful to be alive, grateful they were both alive. Yet, he still feared the worst for Rafal's students.

But that was a problem for another day. Best to just give up for now.

Rhian plodded down the polished, black-granite steps, onto the ashen sand after Rafal, who stood facing the shoreline of the Savage Sea, and then, finally took in Rafal’s new attire as a whole, during his first moment of calm in hours.

He really did resemble a swashbuckler. In fact, Rhian almost didn’t recognize his brother. Almost.

Gone were fine, scholarly, gold-trimmed robes of days past, the olden days—an open, militaristic coat in their stead.

Gone were the starched, white shirts—now replaced with a poet’s shirt, no, a pirate’s shirt, loose-fitting, with flaccid sleeves, laced-up with string.

Gone were the crisp, pressed suits and triple-mantled cloaks. The iron-creased trousers and slim, elegant boots had been banished, replaced by pantaloons, tucked into high, bucket-top boots.

And for the first time, Rhian found he didn’t want a pirate. Not this pirate, setting the ‘ship’ the Storian had entrusted them with on a warpath. This one was more like the warden of a brig besides—keeping him prisoner! He just wanted the old Rafal back. His brother, the School Master, his equal.

But the new Rafal… this was the new Rafal… he was here to stay.

Rhian tried to clear his head.

The Inagrotten was docked at shore, no longer blighting the clearing in front of Good. How considerate of Rafal.

See? The new Rafal wasn’t that bad.

Rhian ambled down to the shore, where Rafal had dropped down to kneel with a twig in hand, black greatcoat splayed over the pale sand, like a flag of oncoming death… or a penitent’s mourning robes.

After his ordeal, Rhian thought he deserved at least one proper question, and yet… what changed? seemed… too complicated. He didn’t want to pry, if anything had gone wrong while Rafal was gone. Perhaps—“Rafal, why are you dressed like a pir—”

The twig snapped. “Not a word, Rhian,” his brother choked out drily with warning in his voice. “My old clothes had blood on them, this was all the Night Crawlers had, and that’s all. End of story.”

Rhian needn’t know about his brother’s recently-acquired status as a Woods-wide felon. Rafal inhaled shakily and returned to leaning over his sand drawing.

Rhian watched, silenced for a moment. “But—”

Rafal sat back on his heels. “Rhian. Nevermind all that. I’ve had a thought. Look.”

Rhian stared down at the twin swans Rafal had etched in the wet sand.

A School crest. And he was part of it.

Was this proof? That the new Rafal still cared about him?

Yet something still needled at Rhian. Leave it be. No more detective work. Rafal’s trip is done. It’s over, he urged himself.

It was low tide though. The tide drew in and washed the sketch away, forever.

But Rafal didn’t care about the sketch. Another thing of his was ruined. Probably broken. For all his spectacle and pride about being early, he had probably been too late. Rafal frowned, hands cold as death, now flattened against the sand.

The tide receded again.

He didn’t say anything for a long while, staring out at the waters, washing in and out, his eyes unfocused, seeing nothing but blue.

Rhian placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “O Captain—” he baited.

Rafal’s voice revived itself. “Shut it.”

But he smiled nonetheless, truly, and slowly rose to his feet.

Rhian looped his arm through Rafal’s and Rafal locked hands with his brother. One more thing he wouldn’t be caught dead losing.

The Good School Master leaned into the Evil one’s side for support, and the Evil brother slackened for once, tension draining from his muscles.

For now, Rhian was just glad to have his twin back. Safe and in one piece.

That was all that mattered in the End.

Right?

⸻

Note:

I think this fic probably has the most “understory,” compared to all the others I’ve written. But you know more than Rhian does as a narrator here.

More accurately, this fic could likely have been entitled: "Rafal Is Essentially a Primo Uomo, Murdered Three (3!) People, and Treats Rhian Harshly > 70% of the Time." Yet, I wanted the title to sound serious in tone, so ideas such as these had to be scrapped.

If anyone wanted to know, I referenced this short poem: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45474/o-captain-my-captain

Of course, it cannot be taken literally or in its original historical context, but the captain being cold and dead fits Rafal having hardened more inside lately, and become more deadened/more like the probable undead, like the Night Crawlers themselves.

It’s some sort of “heroism” at a personal price, I suppose. Had to be done.

I’d love to play the audience (and respond to) to any feedback you have—any thoughts, feelings, reactions, or concrit you have.

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m always willing to elaborate!

Did anyone catch any of the other references I made? Anyone catch wind of my… implications?

I imagine that you’re probably wondering: What happened to James?

Rafal sealed the deal and allowed the Night Crawlers to kill James, but James’ death started off so harrowingly slowly that Rafal decided to intervene and “mercy-kill” him before the Night Crawlers got any further in their feasting. He couldn’t retract his orders. Not after he’d gone this far. Not after James was bleeding out beyond the point of no return. So he let it happen. All to get back to Rhian.

It’s the closest thing to a Face-Heel Turn Rafal could undergo, given that he’s already Evil/grey, I’d like to think, while not being completely amoral and having lost his mind.

Also, please be sure to correct me about anything, if I got anything wrong. I suspect I overly manipulated the setting to fit story purposes, if I did forget certain details.

⸻

Playlist:

“TICKING - SLOWED VERSION” - TIN

This one is like something emerging into your line of vision, gradually? At least the start of it conveys that. I thought it could mimic the beginning effects and the tension. Or slow, dawning horror.

“Darkness Falls” - UNSECRET, Cece And The Dark Hearts

Similar to the atmosphere.

“Natus Vincere” - Future Heroes

The title translates to “born to win.” Seems fated. Also, gives off a time-is-running-out and triumphant, overcome-it-all vibe.

“Future Heroine” - Ecca Vandal

Some lyrics, not all, fit, I thought. Admittedly, the tone doesn’t fit well.

“The Albatross” - Taylor Swift

These lines were particularly relevant (partly ironically with “angel”):

“Devils that you know / Raise worse hell than a stranger”

“Spread my wings like a parachute / I'm the albatross / I swept in at the rescue / The devil that you know / Looks now more like an angel”

“He’s a Pirate” - Klaus Badelt

“Haunted” - Taylor Swift

“i am not who i was" - Chance Peña

Potentially, some parts fit Rafal’s unwritten, internal monologue, to an extent.

“Behind the Sun” - Helgi Olegov

Strikes me as epilogue-esque music.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

Note

AITA for asking someone not to make my art about a ship I hate?

This happened a couple months ago, but I’m still kinda unsure if I handled it correctly.

Basic rundown of events: I posted some art of a character on their own in the evening, and when I woke up the next morning, someone had reblogged with an addition about a ship that’s a big notp for me. I messaged them to ask they delete it as politely as possible, because people had been interacting with that version of the post specifically and it made me uncomfortable. They responded by saying I was being immature and needed to learn not to police what other people do on the internet. We exchanged a couple more messages, and I tried to explain my position my throughly. Neither of us was overtly hostile or anything, but I felt extremely talked down to by their tone of voice. After our conversation, we both blocked each other, and that was that. They never did delete their addition.

Why I think I might be TA: we weren’t exactly friends or anything. Neither of us followed each other. I’d seen them around in the fandom, and they’d reblogged some of my art in the past, but I think messaging someone I didn’t know instead of just blocking them might have been a bit of an overreach. Plus the ship in question is canon, and not particularly controversial or anything, so most people in the fandom probably wouldn’t have minded.

On the other hand, the ship being so unavoidable is a big part of the reason it upset me so much. It’s hard for me to exist in this fandom without having to see it constantly, and I don’t even ever mention the other character in it for fear of this exact thing happening. I’ve had people be assholes on my posts about the ship I prefer, or go out of their way to interpret my romantic posts about them platonically, or add tags to my art about how they only like my ship as backstory and not endgame. I don’t want to have to put a disclaimer every single time I post about this fandom. I just want to enjoy the things I like without being negative all the time. Which is why I figured messaging privately was more polite than making a stink where everyone could see. I specifically mentioned that I knew they wouldn’t have known and wasn’t mad.

No one actually ended up reblogging their addition, which is also a strike against me, but I got a lot of likes on specifically that version of the post, which made me scared they were going to. I hated the idea of having to turn off reblogs on a piece I’d worked pretty fucking hard on because a version I found so upsetting was in circulation. If it was just tags, I’d have blocked, but it being an addition is different. I don’t think asking people not to make my posts about it is “policing what other people do on the internet”. You’re in MY house, on MY post with MY art I spent hours on. Making additions to art posts already seems somewhat rude to me, that’s just not something you do, but I guess that’s a matter of the corner of tumblr culture you’re used it.

Also, their response felt very aggressive and condescending. They implied I was, like, a kid, and I do think I’m somewhat younger than them, but the only information about my age in my bio at the time was that I’m an adult, so it felt like a rude assumption. My age doesn’t have anything to do with it.

Again, though, I do absolutely see how my initial message could read as entitled. During the rest of our messaging, I did lose my temper a little bit at one point; I said something about how I’ve had to deal with shit in this fandom before, and I don’t remember the exact words since, again, we both blocked each other, but I know I swore at them. That might’ve come across as more aggressive than I wanted, and probably didn’t exactly help deescalate. (Can’t say for sure, I don’t have their side of the story)

Like I said, this situation was a bit ago now, but it upset me pretty bad at the time, and I’m still not entirely sure who’s in the wrong. So, AITA?

(Also to get ahead of this: please don’t make this about shipcourse in the comments. It’s not about that. They and I have similar opinions on that discourse from what I’ve gathered anyway. Thanks.)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #ship discourse

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allurenamin-moved · 1 year ago

Text

if you're a minor, please go away.

just secretary!gojo with a good boy kink because why the fuck not

⸝⸝ tags: gojo x fem!reader, smut, car sex, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, oral (f. receiving)

⸝⸝ word count: 2k

⸝⸝ author's note: please enjoy another scrap as i cut and prune my way out of the thick vines of writer's block ♡

“Eight minutes, princess.”

“Fucking hell.”

You remain compliant, dismissive of your brain’s last tinge of amusement. Maybe it was the incessant self-reminder to take yourself seriously even when you put yourself in situations like this one.

What about it bothers you?

Well, for starters, your vendetta towards constant reminders of the time was always the flashiest additive to your briefings—you fail to recall this little blue-eyed shit being any kind of exception.

And secondly, there’s this thing…this sort of childishness; your hatred of such that denotes you as the typical child-hating gremlin in pantsuits. The sort of childishness that makes itself known by the unsubtle pursuit of control that one could only have for…eight minutes.

Eight minutes…just eight more minutes of aimlessly affirming your place on the corporate ladder whilst his dick is almost inside of you.

You’ll live.

“You said it yourself didn’t you? Something like ‘you know how the Lims get. Miss a minute and it’s your funeral.’ ” He mocks.

Right.

His funeral because it’s his job to keep reminding you what time it is. Silly you. And it’s too late to look back at it now, those notably cliche warnings about men who look like…well…this… from all corners of your unfortunate vicinities.

It’s on you for not preparing yourself. The resume of a handsome male applicant, probed with sunny rays of approval without the consideration of his charm. Your bad on that one.

It’s now your turn to charge. Offer your own judicious blow. If babbled curses count.

“But it’s not what you said that matters. It’s how you said it.”

“Fuck, Toru! Please—”

“That bad ass tone you always got on…”

“Satoru–”

“...always the perfect match with what you wear to work every morning.”

“Fuck, please,” you begin to beg, an instinctive mark of annoyance and a response to the newfound sensation of his tip circling against your clit. Not a sliver of enmity encourages you to take action; the sight of his hand wrapped around his cock is left to be. Still, you think you might actually go insane.

“Fuck, I never tell you how much I love being bossed around.” He masters it this time, purrs working hand in hand with the up-down patterns of his tip against your slit. “It’s always a pleasure to hear you threatening to punish me… ‘nd just seeing you in those pants that hug your ass so beautifully.”

Which is why it’s both a good thing and a shame that you chose to wear them today. Helplessly flung atop the passenger seat like a banana peel as your man indulges in the sight of something much, much better, they’re probably wrinkled by now.

You’d chosen to keep the blouse on, though. A generous array of something else, like the swells of your breasts, that’ll possibly make him come untouched. It was also he who showed minimal effort, only with a toned arm’s rule over your periphery through his hand resting against the car window for balance. That and how fucking beautiful he looked between your legs.

But this is not looking good for you.

“Five minutes, angel.” He hums.

Head no longer thrown back, you finally manage to retain your mystic audacity. “Then quit teasing me, asshole.”

“M’sorry.” His words escape with a juvenile drag that you would have rolled your eyes at had you been in the right headspace. Now, the slimming space between your bare crotches founds two things: his closeness to fucking you and a cheeky, cherry flavoured revelation against your lips—possibly a real reason this motherfucker makes you weak in the knees. “Are you mad at me? ‘Cuz I don’t ever want you to be mad at me.”

Inhibited by his length rubbing between your lips with an unmissable pattern of squelches, is a ‘yes, I am mad at you’ that only takes the form of a deep groan. Lord knows how long it would take for you to fully crack—spoiler alert: it’s not long.

“Are you?” He somewhat slurs, swelling his coquettish resemblance to a purring cat. You wonder if it’s deliberate, if not just the way he is.

You’re fucked either way.

“Satoru,” his name sounds heavy, deep and demanding, your breath fleetingly flat as you’d somehow managed to sustain your salacious spirit. Just how he likes it… apparently. “Fuck me now, and I won’t be.”

“But I like playing with you. I like playing with this pretty pussy,” pouting and trailing a fingertip towards your swollen clit, he shortens the distance between your hot and heavy faces - if that was even possible - finally making his rightful decision, “but you’re right. We’ve got four minutes now, and I doubt that you plan on telling those old geezers what you’ve been up to.”

Sly fucking fox. You mean what you’ve been up to.

You’re one hundred percent sure that his growing boldness would have remained in its static stage of timidity if it weren’t for your “If I can, I will” basis. He’d given too much away at this point. Only to please him, you’d tell every single body in that boardroom about what a dirty boy he is.

Only to please him. Your hot-as-fuck secretary. Because as far as board meetings go, missing those fifteen minutes of ungenuine pleasantries before a long-term project proposal that must happen won’t kill anybody.

It’s only how much the Lims absolutely love themselves. Well… you’d like to think they’re not overly fond of someone who’d rather have their pussy played with. Look at you, already demonstrating the self-given title of a professional sympathizer, which would’ve been more effective if Gojo’s cock wasn’t already effortlessly slipping into you.

“Oh f-fuck yes,” disregarding all semblance of self respect, your head is thrown back again, your updo blessed by God for preventing any car-door-induced concussions. “Satoru, you little fucking tease, I need you to fuck me right now.”

He coos at your demand, and how obviously devoid of control you are as your words escape as a bunch of blabbery slurs. “Oh, angel. Anything for you.”

That’s what they all say before a loophole assists in your orgasmic demise. Your head’s too far up in the clouds to scold him now.

His hips are now rhythmic, deliciously slow and welcoming to the single leg that wraps around him for support. The other one is content, flimsily resting against the leathery shoulder of the passenger seat .

“How’s this, hm? Does it feel good? Wanna tell me how good that feels, angel?”

“Oh, you- aunghhhh,” you’re fully certain that you’re drooling. Nonetheless, those unshed tears do nothing to help the fact that his abs are ten times more lickable now, their unattainability having an even bigger effect on you with you basically folded in half.

Yep, this really ain’t looking good for you.

“A little drunk there, aren’t we?” he quips, leaning forward to swipe his tongue up the collar of your throat. “Is that how I make you feel, hm?”

“Mmmfuck, Toru, you f-fucking–”

“Oh no, you’re mad at me,” his pouty reply is of some new, fresh fucking exigency. You should thank him. Any sly acknowledgement of what was truly stopping you from finishing that sentence? You’d fire him. Right after this. Right after the upcoming stage in which he is no longer rolling his hips like this. So. Fucking. Slow.

“Satoru,” you whimper one last time.

“M’kay, angel. I’ll be a good boy now,” he slurs - deeply - one last time.

But you knew better than to be relieved.

Through the cue of knees now reaching your shoulders, the jarring snaps of his skin against yours waste absolutely no time. He gets to hear more of your sounds, too and…dear God, your fucking sounds. Through lusty whines syncing with the makeshift rhythm of each hit, Gojo’s cock is seen to bring out the best in you.

Or you may consider it your worst. Depends.

“Fuck yes!”

“Mhm?”

“Fuuuuck…y-yes!” That’s what he truly takes pride in, your dragged utterances of “fuck yes”, brimming tears finishing it off.

“Oh, I know.” He almost huffs, thrusts boosting the difficulty of his replies being smoother. “I know, angel. You’re taking my cock so well.”

Well, that’s new.

Now’s not the time to assess the grade on your sexual journeys—you know yourself better than anyone else…speaking on how well you can, in fact, take cock.

But damn.

That’s new.

And sexy. So fucking sexy.

Maybe you should keep him around, since you now wonder how he’d managed to make the prospect of him rearranging schedules for you even sexier.

“Am I being good now? Am I a good boy?”

And he just keeps digging deeper.

Maybe this newfound futility of your iron-fisted demonstrations was a good thing. All things (recently) considered, he’ll get to keep fucking you like this, physique on display and not a care in the world for who might happen to walk past your car.

He’ll get to keep murmuring sweet nothings, so boldly as if you aren’t as well capable of bending him at knees every chance you get.

You’ll get to bask in the sight of two things: him, and the way your tits continue to bounce up and down with every thrust undeterred by the confinement of your bra. Just like today. Right now. Right before Gojo decides to slow down again after you deliver nothing but a breaky cry as a response to his question—or implorement, rather.

“Come here,” bringing both your legs back to either side of his hips, he murmurs as if he’s not the one already pulling you toward him.

“What are you—”

“Relax. M’gonna make you feel so, so good,” is the only form that his reassurance takes. Still, he confidently watches the state of your widened eyes to shift into that of total ecstasy, lidded and rolling back once again.

And he’s only a little slower this time. The skin slaps and heavenly clench of your pussy are still here to stay.

“Oh shit… shit m’gonna come. Please make me come.” Breakily, tearily, but surely, comes a request from you that you couldn’t hold back.

“Mhm? You wanna cum?”

“Fuck yes! Please!” You scream.

“Then why don't you come for me angel?” That smirk doesn’t hesitate. And neither do you, screams making tinnitus the new thing as your car doesn’t really have much of an echo to offer.

You can’t believe you’re about to ask this. You can’t believe what you’re about to put yourself through, all raggedy breathed with cum messing up your seats, “Satoru,” you take a moment to catch just a few other missing ounces of your breath, “How much time left now?”

You can’t remember when this was a thing, the little nab of his lip between his teeth reminding you of how good his hair looked. How violating unwritten codes of neatness was so sexy. Your desired answer doesn't make anything better, either. Not with that little smile.

“None.”

And that was supposed to be it, which is why the sight of him not buttoning up his shirt is beyond you. Which is why his sudden veer towards your bitten lips comes to you as an even bigger surprise.

Speech - potential scoldings that slowly lose their handle as the domineering kind - is instead dancing between your swirling tongues, moans, sighs, grunts and all. Kissing you, Gojo’s precipitous revolution is not missed—call it woman’s intuition or whatever. He pulls back, a lolling string of saliva soon breaking and picking his chin as its landing.

You’re seeing it all now, the salacious hunch towards you cunt that tells you that this is not over, one that he soon takes the initiative to confirm.

“But I think they can wait a bit longer, can’t they?”

You still tried. Words still had their eagerness; something along the lines of “Wait…” before Gojo’s tongue had beat you to it, slipping between your folds to clean just a meager chunk of his mess. Words go back to babbles. Sighs. Whimpers. Cries that don’t shroud his next siren-eyed form of reassurance.

“No need for them to fuss. Your ditzy little secretary just forgot what time it was.”

taglist: @honeybleed @elusivemoon @kamorikiri @ohkento

#writings. © by sana.#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x black reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x you #jjk fanfic #gojo scenario #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo x y/n #angelshubnetwork

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astonmartinii · 2 years ago

Text

play date | max verstappen instagram au

pairing: max verstappen x reader

max and his neightbour y/n have a play date for their babies - i mean, their cats.

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, yourbffname and 3,098 others

yourusername monaco's resident cat lady reporting for duty

view all 22 comments

yourbffname the way they all live better lives than me rn

yourusername sorry not sorry they're my babies

maxverstappen1 you, me, the cats - play date?

yourusername time and place, i'm there

maxyverstappen WHAT IS HAPPENING

yourusername added to their story

[caption: thinking about how i'm about to go on a cat play date with a man i've never met]

maxverstappen1 added to their story

[caption: jimmy is ready to make friends]

yourusername

liked by yourbffusername, maxverstappen1 and 5,129 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername new faces (and a lot of cat hair)

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maxverstappen1 i was not expecting you to pull up with a stroller full of cats but i'm impressed

yourusername they're princesses they don't like to walk

maxverstappen1 oh absolutely

lovelyverstappen oh wait they weren't joking? they actually met?

violetverstappen it's kinda cute

maxverstappen1

liked by redbullracing, danielricciardo and 705,247 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1 when in offseason, you have cat play dates of course

view all 11,763 comments

yourusername jimmy and sassy were the bestest playmates, thank you for having us

maxverstappen1 come back anytime

danielricciardo max we need to work on your flirting skills buddy

maxverstappen1 have faith, i know what i'm doing

redbullstan33 idk how this happened but i'm enjoying watching it

landonorris a cat play date might just be the craziest rizz i've ever seen

maxverstappen1 trust the process

yourusername added to their story

[caption: yoga buddy]

danielricciardo

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 662,389 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, yourusername

danielricciardo took a lil trip to the cat house - also known as the y/ln residence. great hospitality but made the mistake of wearing black - that's on me tho

view all 11,065 comments

yourusername they can't help it :(

maxverstappen1 not to victim blame but you literally led on the floor and waited for all of them to sit on you

maxieverstappen awwww max defending y/n and her kitties

landonorris where was my invite?

yourusername added to their story

[caption: additions to the household for the weekend]

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen, danielricciardo and 6,349 others

yourusername we're on the way ...

view all 101 comments

maxverstappen1 looking forward to seeing you all :)

yourusername we've missed you too

honeyricciardo okay this is so fucking cute

danielricciardo MY GODCHILDREN ARE COMING????

redbullracing

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 551,076 others

tagged: yourusername

redbullracing some special guests in the garage this weekend! y/n drove all the way from monaco with her and max's cats so they could see their dad in action.

view all 27,033 comments

yourusername thank you for having us :)))

maxverstappen1 the cutest orange army in the world

flowersformax so did red bull just confirm the relationship?

f1fan33 i hope so

babyyuki i hope so

pierregasly i hope so

danielricciardo i hope so

yourusername okay we get it

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, redbullracing and 922,478 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1 was never the best kept secret, but what started as a cat play date finished with the love of my life. i love you y/n, even if you do come with seven little devils

view all 33,067 comments

yourusername MAX THEY CAN HEAR YOU

yourusername i love you too

danielricciardo ur such a sap I LOVE IT

landonorris do i finally get to meet them now?

lovelyverstappen i love this so much

#f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen instagram au #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen

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bluejaysandblackbats · 1 month ago

Text

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Bruce survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 6/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne, Unsafe for Work

Chapter Six: Lyon

“Brucie, wait with Alfred for a moment. I want to talk to Isaiah about setting up your next appointment,” Thomas whispered. Bruce hesitated, and Thomas smiled at him. “I won’t be long. I got a table for the four of us tonight at Pasquini’s. I can’t get enough of that pesto stuff.” Bruce smiled as he let Thomas go.

Thomas took a deep breath once they entered the French doors and walked down the hall to Isaiah’s larger office. “Is everything okay? Is Bruce okay?” Thomas asked.

“I want to start out by saying, Bruce is highly intelligent. He’s observant… Strategic, but not manipulative which is surprising for a child his age—.”

“What do you mean?” Thomas interrupted.

“Bruce uses strategy to figure out whether or not people are trustworthy before opening up. He doesn’t try to manipulate a situation to get a desired outcome… He uses strategy as a means to assess threats. He was tense the entire time, never really relaxing… But given the trauma of the shooting, I can understand that. He’s in constant fight-or-flight mode…

“But I picked up on other things. Bruce’s laser focus on the game as we played it… No matter how serious our subjects of conversation, he never forgot about the game. He insisted on playing it all the way through to the end… And about Alfred… He’s an important fixture in your family… Am I correct in that assumption?” Isaiah asked.

Thomas nodded. “Alfred’s family. He’s been with me most of my adult life, and Bruce has known him his entire life,” Thomas replied.

“That’s good… It seems like Bruce is very emotionally attached to him. And I’ll tell you right now, Gotham Academy has nothing to worry about with Bruce. He’s not malicious… He’s got a strong sense of right and wrong, and he feels that although his actions were justified, he laments over being driven to violence,” Isaiah replied, “I think he’ll need long-term care to address the events of the shooting, but I think he finds a lot of comfort in his home life. He kept driving home that he felt safest when he was with you, Martha, and Alfred… How are you adjusting by the way?”

“Um… I’m doing a lot better. I was struggling with having to depend on Alfred and Martha to help me with things that I was so used to doing on my own… But now, I’m much more independent… I just—. It isn’t walking that I miss as much as the other things,” Thomas whispered.

“Sex?” Isaiah asked. Thomas blew out a breath.

“Yeah… I mean, we’re older and we were starting to slow down a little, but—. But we still liked to do—. We liked to set time aside to be intimate and warm toward each other, but I’m so worried that we’ll try something and it won’t… arouse me,” Thomas whispered, “And I hate that I can’t show that interest and love like I used to.”

Isaiah frowned and nodded. “You know, I’ll tell you something man-to-man. My wife and I struggled at first. I was ignorant of what it would be like to be with her. We had to adjust to each other… But it doesn’t have to be homework. It’s fun figuring out how to make up for the differences in a person’s body.

“For Maya and me, that meant incorporating mirrors and signs in our sex lives. For you, that might mean trying to find other ways to get stimulated sexually. Have a sense of humor about it. If something isn’t working, be patient with yourself. Maya used to tease me about mixing up signs or getting flustered at seeing my reflection.

“I’d say to try a little something this week if you can. Just ask Martha to do something different… Or switch roles. See how that works,” Isaiah replied.

Thomas’ cheeks went rosy as he let things sink in. “Thank you,” Thomas whispered. Isaiah nodded.

“I’ll contact the school, and they’ll probably let him return on Monday or Tuesday to make sure he’s had enough time to move on from what happened,” Isaiah reassured him as he changed subjects. Thomas smiled back and nodded.

That night after Bruce fell asleep, Thomas took Isaiah up on his advice. He entered the bedroom in his robe and took a deep breath. “We don’t have to tonight if you don’t—.”

“Of course, I want to, but you mustn’t speak so loudly. What if Master Bruce should hear you?” Alfred whispered.

Thomas offered a sheepish smile as Alfred leaned forward and kissed him. Their lips found each other, gently touching as they parted, and Alfred pulled away for a moment. “Martha?” Alfred asked.

“She said she’d sleep in Bruce’s room tonight to look after him. I think she’s too tired tonight anyway,” Thomas frowned, “I understand if you don’t think it’s a good idea… I just—. I’m tired of being afraid that I’m not enough.”

“You’ve always been enough, Thomas,” Alfred smiled as he stole another kiss from Thomas.

“Have you and Martha—? I just—. I feel guilty because I haven’t really been able to, so I—.”

“A few times… Not often,” Alfred answered, “Would you like to hear about it?”

Thomas smiled and shook his head as he transferred from his chair to Alfred’s bed. Alfred climbed into bed beside him. He used to ask about every little detail when Alfred and Martha were together out of a macho sense of competition, but he’d matured in the past few years. “I’d like to talk about Lyon in nineteen-seventy-one. Do you remember?” Thomas asked as Alfred untied Thomas’ robe, exposing his nakedness under the dim lights. Alfred kissed his neck and chest, rubbing Thomas’ freshly shaved chest.

“It was a lovely day. Sunny, but not too hot. I recall you feigning drunkenness after one glass of wine, so I could escort you back to your room. I was halfway through unbuttoning your shirt before I noticed,” Alfred trailed off as he kissed his chest. Thomas reached for Alfred’s cheek, only for Alfred to pin his hands above his head. “You were insatiable, Master Thomas.”

Thomas closed his eyes, listening to the gentle smack of Alfred’s lips against his bare chest between graphically erotic descriptions of what his body looked like in the hotel during daylight hours. “The beads of sweat forming on your suntanned thighs… How could I forget the way you begged me to expose your nakedness as I have now?” Alfred whispered. “Would you like me to remind you what you sounded like?”

“Mm… Mhm,” Thomas nodded.

“ Alfred… You can have me if you—. ”

Thomas chuckled. “I did not sound like that,” Thomas replied.

“Your hand guiding mine to your shorts. So desperate… Engorged and throbbing. Your face was a portrait of agony and lust… How long had you desired me in silence? In secret? How long—?”

“Alfred,” Thomas panted with his eyes shut, “Alfred, I’m ready.”

Alfred let go of Thomas’ hand and looked down at his hardon. Thomas reached for it, trying to control the throbbing, and drooling of his cock. “Master Thomas,” Alfred whispered as he touched himself through his pajama pants. Thomas groaned as he listened to Alfred moaning quietly, his voice sounding much softer than he was used to. “You haven’t answered my question. How long?”

“Alfred, I’ve wanted you every day since we met… I would’ve cum even if you hadn’t touched me that day… Oh, Alfred,” Thomas moaned as Alfred fingered him. “Alfred, don’t stop. Please don’t stop talking.”

“The way it felt when you were inside of me, Master Thomas. The way you moaned my name that day. How you trembled as you came inside of me,” Alfred whispered.

“Alfred, hurry,” Thomas whispered. Alfred nodded as he pulled his pajama pants down to his knees as he slid into Thomas. Thomas gasped.

“Are you about to cum?” Alfred questioned as he sped up his thrusts. “How does it feel, Thomas?”

“Alfred, please… I love you. I’m sorry, but I’m about to—. I wanted to—.”

“Thomas, do shut up and cum for me, darling,” Alfred grunted as he kissed Thomas’ neck. Thomas shuddered underneath him as he came. Alfred stroked Thomas until Thomas grabbed his wrist. Alfred offered a satisfied smile as he kissed Thomas’ cheek and rolled over to finish himself off.

“Alfred… Alfred?” Thomas whispered as he wiped himself off. Alfred turned his head to face Thomas. “I love you.”

“And I love you, Thomas… Would you like me to hold you tonight?” Alfred questioned. Thomas nodded as he stared at the ceiling. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know why I’m still so nervous… Alfred, I’m—.”

Alfred wiped off and rolled onto his side. “I love to look at you from that angle… You make a face… It’s quite beautiful,” Alfred replied as he tried to mimic Thomas’ expression. Thomas laughed as Alfred pulled his pants up and climbed out of bed over him. “You worry too much, my love. I’ll fetch your pants from my drawer. It’s far too cold to sleep nude in the house at this hour.”

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ghuleh-witch · 7 months ago

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Title: Memories Rating: Explict Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, p in v sex, Relationships: Copia x Female!Reader Characters: Copia, Female!Reader Additional Tags: ghovie spoilers, no beta WordCount: 1,935 Summary: After your promotions, you and Copia go back to where it all began. Author's Note: This fic contains spoilers for RHRN. This is part of a collection of one-shots.

Ao3 || Masterlist

The way he walked was different, you noticed. You’ve known him since he was a cardinal, and with each new promotion, his walk changed. It grew more confident—more sure of himself with each step. You knew the transition from Papa to Frater was difficult for him. He agonized about it for weeks, pacing his new chambers and worrying if he’d be the downfall of the Ministry. You held him tightly as he buried his face into the crook of your neck and cried, confessing that he didn’t know what he was doing and that he just wanted to be Papa once more.

The man approaching you now was a completely different person and it was hot.

You were proud of him and all that he had achieved. You didn’t think there were enough words in the English language to express the pride you had for him. He might have felt he didn’t know what he was doing, but he took charge of his new role and wielded it with certainty.

“Amore,” he said when he got to the table you were studying at. He looked at the books scattered around you, trying to make sense of what you were actually doing before his eyes rested on your face. “I’ve been looking for you. You were gone when I woke up.”

“Sorry, baby,” you said looking up at him. His painted eyes and upper lip were nothing new to you. It was his casual look as Papa, and now was his signature look as Frater. “I wanted to get an early start to this ritual.”

He hummed in response, looking over the books. “The blessing for the new Papa and the ghoul summoning?”

You nodded. “I wanted to ensure we have everything covered since this is my first time doing this.” With Copia’s new promotion, he promoted you to the head of the occult and magicks department within the Ministry, removing the person his mother had placed in charge. It was a position you wanted and never expected to get, but you supposed being married to the new Frater had its perks. But as much as you wanted the position, it was overwhelming. You had so much to learn and not a lot of time to learn it.

You felt his gloved hand under your chin, lifting it so you were looking up into his eyes. “You can do this,” he said.

“Can I?” You asked, your voice wavering slightly as your self-doubt made itself apparent.

“If I can do all this—” He gestured to his new suit. “Then you can do this. I have faith in you.”

And just like that all your worry and anxiety seemed to be lifted from you. You smiled as his hand left your chin to cup your cheek. You nuzzled into the soft leather of his glove. “I love you,” you said softly.

His eyes softened and it was like you were looking at the cardinal he was when you first met him. “And I love you,” he said, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Come on, take a break. Let’s go for a walk.”

You took his now outstretched hand and he gently pulled you up from your seat, leading the way out of the library and to the doors that led to the gardens Primo had once maintained when he was still alive. You watched as Copia’s eyes took in each rose bush and each lily along the path. You knew how much he missed his brothers and how much he once feared his fate would be the same as theirs. Neither of them talked about the one remaining brother Copia had left, his twin. Copia knew his twin existed and vaguely remembered him, but for the most part, they grew up separately and were strangers.

“I’m proud of you,” you said as the two of you walked hand in hand. “I don’t know if I can say that enough.”

“I know, amore,” he responded, his fingers squeezing yours.

The two of you came to a secluded section of the garden surrounded by brightly flowering bushes and hidden by the low-hanging branches of a weeping willow.

“Do you remember this place,” Copia asked, turning to face you and taking your other hand in his.

“This is where we first met,” you responded. “I was out here hiding because I thought I made the biggest mistake coming here.”

“And I heard you crying and found you sitting against the tree,” Copia said. “I think I fell in love with you then and there.”

“Even though I was ugly crying?”

Copia chuckled. “You could never be ugly, tesoro.”

You laughed. “Oh, I was definitely ugly that night,” you said. “But you were so patient and sweet. I knew you were special.” You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles. “And for the record, I think I fell in love with you that night too.” You dropped his hand and cupped his cheek, pulling him down to meet your lips. “And here we are, six years later, married and with you the head of the whole shabang.”

“It’s certainly been a ride, eh?” His lips met yours in a sweet peck as his forehead rested against yours. “I don’t think I could have done any of this without you.”

You smirk. “Definitely not,” you replied, teasing him and poking his belly.

“Oh-ho, cocky now all of a sudden,” he laughed, his mismatched eyes staring into yours. His hands found themselves on your hips. “And here I thought we were having a moment, amore. We shouldn’t let your head get too inflated now, eh?”

“And what are you going to do about that?” You asked, egging him on.

Before you knew it, he had you backed up against the wide trunk of the tree. His rested on either side of your head, caging you in.

“I’ll fuck that ego out of you,” he purred, head dipping to place a kiss on the spot just below your ear that always drove you wild. One hand left the trunk of the tree and ran up your thigh, pushing the skirt of your habit up as he did. “I know you’re already wet for me.”

“Look who has the ego now,” you breathed, heat flooding every part of your body as his lips continued to kiss your neck.

“Ah, but I’m allowed. I’m Frater Imperator after all,” Copia murmured as his hand left your thigh. Both hands began to open the buttons of your dress allowing your breasts to spill out. He was pleasantly pleased that you forwent your bra. He ducked his head to kiss down your chest and the tops of your breasts.

You let out a soft sigh, hands coming up to his hair. You felt the soft strands being held back with just of bit of gel and carded your fingers through them. He was grayer than when you first met, but you adored the way he aged.

His mouth left your skin and came back to your lips as his hand slid down your body. He hiked up the hem of your dress and found your panties. His hand cupped your mound, putting just enough pressure on you to make you moan into his mouth. He pushed the fabric aside to slip his fingers between your folds and to your clit. He broke the kiss, staring down into your eyes with a satisfied smirk.

“Knew you’d be wet already,” he said as his fingers moved over your clit.

“Copia,” you moaned softly, head falling back against the trunk of the tree.

“Yes, amore?”

You were at a loss for words. You felt like your brain was short-circuiting. “I—” you began but didn’t finish.

His chest rumbled in a chuckle. “You?”

You were so close already. Your moans escaped in breathy pants. “I’m close, baby,” you managed to say. As soon as you said the words, his fingers left you. You whined as your eyes popped open. “Hey,” you protested.

“I told you I was going to fuck the ego out of you, didn’t I? I don’t want you coming just yet,” he said, turning you around and positioning your hands on the tree turnk. He gripped your hips and moved your legs how he wanted. “I want you coming around my cock.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see him fumbling with his belt and zip of his pants. After a few seconds, his cock was free and his pants pushed down his thighs slightly. His hands returned to your body, pushing your dress up and pushing your panties aside once more.

“Do you want this?” He asked, leaning over your back and brushing your hair aside so he kiss your neck.

“Yes,” you said. He didn’t have to ask you every time you two were intimate, but you loved that he did. “Please.”

“ La mia brava ragazza (My good girl) ,” he breathed in your ear before gripping your hip tightly and pushing into you.

You moaned in unison as your nails dug into the bark of the tree. “Fuck,” you panted as he bottomed out in you.

“So tight,” he groaned, a hand coming up to palm your breast as his forehead rested against your shoulder blade for a moment. “Always so tight for me. Prendilo tutto (Take it all) .”

“Please move,” you begged, knuckles turning white from your grip on the tree. “Please, Copia, I need it.”

“Beg for it again, amore,” Copia said, squeezing your breast.

“Please,” you begged again. “Please move please.”

“ Sembri così carina quando implori (You sound so pretty when you beg) ,” he said before pulling out and thrusting back into you. Each thrust was punctuated, hard, and deep making your moans and whimpers grow louder and louder. You clenched your eyes shut, reveling in the sensation. You felt a hand leave your hip and come around to your front, circling your clit. The white-hot coil in your belly grew tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

“Copia,” you gasped. A desperate whimper left your lips. “Baby, I’m gonna come. Please let me come.”

“Feeling humble now, are we, tesoro? Vieni a prendermi bambina (come for me baby),” he growled as the pace of his thrusts quickened.

The change sent you over the edge. You came hard, eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in one long moan. Your nails were ruined by how hard they dug into the bark and your legs shook as they struggled to keep you up. Not even a second later, you felt Copia release in you, his thrusts losing the pace he established as he pulsed inside of you.

His arms encircled you as he leaned across your back. “You okay?” He panted.

“I’m perfect,” you said breathily as you turned your head to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied, eyes shining with adoration and warmth for you. He gently eased himself from you and pulled your panties back in place and your dress back over your hips.

You turned around slowly, leaning back against the tree as your heart rate returned to normal. Copia tucked himself back into his pants and redid his belt.

“How about we go get cleaned up and I’ll help you finish up your research,” Copia suggested, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead.

You smiled and nodded before intertwining your hand with his. “Let’s go,” you said before the two of you made your way out of the gardens and held even more memories now.

#copia x reader #frater imperator x reader #frater imperator #copia #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fanfic #my fanfic #copia x female reader #frater imperator x female reader #rhrn spoilers #ghovie spoilers

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late-to-the-party-81 · 7 months ago

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Love, Lies & Electricity

AN: Hi all - here is my entry for week 5 of @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer. This time it’s a Bucky x Reader fic. Thanks to all who voted in my poll a few weeks ago to decide who this reader should be.

Additional thanks and kisses to @drabbles-mc for beta-ing this.

If you would like to be added to my tag list, click here.

Moodboard by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Likes are loved, Reblogs are golden.

Master List | HBS Master List

Challenges and Bingos: HBS week 5 - We’re Exes

Summary: After Bucky Barnes broke your heart several months ago you never wanted to see him again. However, when he turns up and asks you to help him, Sam and Torres bring down a HYDRA base you can’t refuse as it will mean a chance to get payback on those who hurt you worse than he did.

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

CW: Angst, Revenge, Sexual Content

There was a reason why you’d taken solace on the rooftop of an abandoned building in DUMBO - you wanted to be alone. You’d hoped that the omnipresent drizzle would have deterred most of those who might wish to contact you, even if they did manage to work out where you were. Despite this, you weren’t surprised in the least when Bucky appeared.

Even with your back to him and your gaze unwaveringly fixated on the view before you, you knew he was there. He had an energy about him - probably something to do with the circuitry to his arm - that you’d found easy to pick up on when you’d first met him, let alone after you’d become attuned to it.

“I told you not to bother me ever again, Barnes,” you stated in a flat tone, still avoiding looking at him.

There was a moment of silence, probably so he could consider his response, although you’d be surprised if he wasn’t expecting this type of reception.

“I know,” he acknowledged, “but I - we - need you.”

Your lips twitched wryly. You should have known he wouldn’t be here of his own accord. You hadn’t had any contact from him since that day three months ago when you’d screamed and shouted and… he’d just stood there. Accepting your vitriol before turning and walking out of your life. The wound still felt raw.

When you’d first met him, you’d fallen hard and fast. Bucky just seemed to get you - understand you like no-one else, and you thought that you’d known him too. The nights you’d spent together, just holding each other and talking about what you’d gone through in your lives - finding comfort and companionship that transcended the physical connection that you had. However, like every other good thing in your life, it had come crashing down around your ears, but unlike other times, you hadn’t seen it - the hurt and the betrayal - coming.

Bucky hadn’t gotten involved with you because of who you were - he’d approached you because of what you could do - what you could bring to a new team of Avengers. Someone else who saw your value in connection to your freakish abilities. He breached your walls, then shattered them from the inside. You were still rebuilding them.

“What’s the job?” you queried, knowing that if you dismissed him out of hand he’d probably just push harder and you’d end up screaming at him.

“There’s a pocket of Hydra holdouts in a bunker in Massachusetts,” he rumbled and you closed your eyes, trying to control your physical reaction to his presence. “We can’t find a way in, and need the element of surprise. You’ve got the skills we need.”

You snorted. Of course it was all about your powers.

“Who’s asking? The White Wolf or Bucky Barnes?” You couldn’t keep the sneer from your voice.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t rise to it, instead asking, “Would it make a difference?”

A loud sigh left your throat. “I suppose you’re right. You knew I was in from the word ‘HYDRA’.”

You pushed yourself up from the roof ledge and finally turned to face him. The rain had plastered his dark brown hair to his face, making it look black. Droplets of water ran down the divot in his chin, before dripping off the end. Why did he have to be so beautiful? If you were that sodden you’d just look like a drowned rat, so you gave a quick thanks to the small electrical field you’d generated around you that stopped the rain from making contact.

“Let’s get this over with then.” Your voice - and heart - was already weary. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get back to never seeing you again.”

Bucky didn’t answer, instead just giving you a look you couldn’t interpret before turning and walking towards the stairwell. You followed in his wake.

The journey upstate to the compound hadn’t been too arduous. Both you and Bucky had ridden your bikes, which had the dual advantage of making it easy to slip through the traffic and also negated the need for small talk. You hadn’t actually said a word to him since leaving the rooftop and you were totally fine with that.

You’d greeted Sam with a clipped ‘Hello’ and just stared through Torres when he’d shyly raised a hand in your direction. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, you just didn’t know them.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Bucky had let out a small cough and suggested that you all go through to the briefing room and you’d nodded your assent. Now the four of you were gathered around the holographic blueprints.

“Our main issues,” said Sam, “are these gun turrets.” He pointed out the towers at each corner of the building. “Our intel says they are energy-based, which means if they can get disabled from inside the three of us should be able to get in easier.”

“That’s what we’re hoping you can do,” added Torres, his eyes still refusing to meet yours. It almost made you smile. Almost.

Sam continued. “Once we’re in, we aren’t expecting you to hang around. We know you aren’t a big fan of working with us.”

That was an understatement if ever you’d heard one, but there were bigger motivational factors involved. “You really think I’m gonna turn tail and not take the opportunity to get some payback?” you asked with a raised brow. “You don’t know me at all, Sam.”

A look of sympathy immediately took over his face. “I understand why you feel this way, but this isn’t what this mission is about. We need to shut them down and extract all the data.”

You frowned. You don’t know why you expected a different response from the new Captain America. “But you know that if we don’t stop them - neutralise every single one of them - then they’ll just regroup. Reform. We’ll - You’ll - be no better off than you were before and you’ll just have to hunt them down again another day.” The words came out sharply as your frustration grew.

“We’re not going there with the express intent of murdering people.” Sam bit back. “I’m a realist - I understand that there will be deaths - but I’m not going out of my way to create the highest body count possible.”

There was a moment of silence before you said, “You’re a bleeding heart, Wilson. No mercy should be shown to HYDRA because they sure as hell won’t show you any.”

You turned on your heel and stalked from the room, walking along the corridor until you reached one of the glass walls that allowed you to look out over the forest surrounding the semi-secret base. You weren’t even there a minute before you felt a prickle up your spine. Your hands, that had been resting on your ribs where your arms were crossed, curled into fists.

“Fuck off, Barnes,” you ground out between gritted teeth. He moved to stand beside you, leaning on the railing, and you could see him out of your peripheral vision.

“He’s a good man, you know. It’s why Steve gave him the shield and not me. He knew that for the mantle of Captain America you have to have some level of optimism.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. “But it just seems so pointless.”

“You know I get it. We have a different outlook, you and I. As much as Sam can empathise with what we went through, try his best to understand, he will never get it. Much the same way that I can’t ever fully understand what it was like for him, being who he is, to grow up in this America. We just have to stick to our truths, and bend once in a while when it’s prudent to do so.” He turned towards you then, flashing a wry grin and you couldn’t help but turn your head as well. “And besides, what Wilson doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

Bucky pushed away from the railing and started to walk back towards the conference room. Part way along he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “You coming? We’ve got some HYDRA ass to kick. And by kick, I mean shoot in the head.”

Large hands spanned your waist, gripping firmly but not cruelly. Your legs were hooked over the arms connected to them, holding you wide open. Your eyes, only open a crack, could see the way his dark hair flopped down in front of his face, could see the way his body glistened with sweat as he pumped in and out of you. His muscles strained and his jaw was set.

“Fuck, honey,” Bucky exclaimed. “Feels so fucking good.” Your only reply was a whine as you dropped a hand down between you to strum at your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself feel good. Wanna feel you come.” If you’d been capable of giggling at his statement you would have, because you’d come twice already - once on his face and once on his fingers. The man was insatiable for your pleasure. You weren’t gonna complain about it.

“Bucky!” you breathed out, not sure what you were actually trying to say, but hoping he could pick up on the tone. The air crackled, its molecules excited by your semi-conscious manipulation of the electric field around you. You could feel yourself rushing towards that peak, your core clenching - pulsing - around where Bucky was filling you with each delicious thrust.

He dropped his head, taking one of your pebbled nipples in his mouth and sucked on it. The sensation pulled tightly on the invisible thread that ran through your body to where the pair of you were joined. Tighter. Firmer. Higher…

You woke with a start, sitting bolt upright as you gulped in lungful after lungful of air. Your hands shook and your skin was sweaty and you silently cursed Bucky Barnes as you flopped back down and pressed one of the pillows over your face. You hadn’t had a sex dream about him in weeks, but it stood to reason that as he was back disrupting your waking hours he’d do the same to your sleep as well.

Frustration welled up inside of you, and with a grunt you threw the pillow across the room, hearing it thud against the generic dresser. You were in one of the ‘guest’ rooms at the compound. White walls. White furniture. Grey bedding, curtains and carpet. It was fucking depressing. You were just glad that you weren’t going to be here for long. Just a few more days of going through the reconnaissance intel and running some training drills in the state of the art suite downstairs and then you’d be on the mission for real. Then, when it was over, you were going to leave - leave New York. Leave the state. Heck, you might even leave the country.

You flipped over in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to go back to sleep in, but every time you closed your eyes your mind conjured the image of Bucky looking at you as if you were the only thing in his world that had meaning. Sleep was a long time coming.

Three mornings later and you were up early, just finishing getting dressed where there was a knock on your bedroom door. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know who it was. Lightly slapping your hands against your legs, you strode over and opened the door. Bucky stood there, his fingers all twisted around each other until he seemed to jump at the realisation of what he was doing and put them both behind his back. A smile played at the corners of your mouth. The highlight of the last few days had been the discovery that Bucky was as discombobulated by your presence as you were by his. The only difference was that you seemed to be able to hide it better. That knowledge had allowed you to sleep better the last few nights - the schadenfreude was delicious. And if you’d then played up to it - accidentally rubbed past him in small spaces, or laugh and flirt with a sweetly awkward Joaquin? Well it was exactly what Bucky deserved in your opinion.

You looked up at him with a raised brow and leant against the door, arms folded across your breasts, and you noted the minute flicker of his gaze down and then back up. “Can I help you, Buck?”

He scowled as you over-pronounced the start and end of his nickname. “I came to see if you were ready. We need to leave in twenty.”

“It’s not my first rodeo, Sargent, a fact you well know. As you can see,” you gestured down the length of your body with your hand, “I managed to get dressed all on my own. I can manage to achieve a surprising amount of things without your help.”

You pushed away from the door and snagged your go back from the floor. It didn’t have a lot in it because unlike the others you only relied on your abilities for both offence and defence. No guns, knives, vibranium arms, shields or wings.

Bucky didn’t move away as you exited your room, causing you to brush against him to get by. As you did so, pointedly not looking at him, his right hand shot out and snagged your upper arm. “Honey, please can we t-”

You shook your arm free angrily. “You don’t get to call me that,” you hissed. “You lost that right months ago. And no, we’re not gonna talk. I said it before, and I’ll say it again. After this mission we never see each other again.” With that, you turned your back on him and stalked in the direction of the hanger. He didn’t try to stop you and you wondered why you felt a lump in the pit of your stomach about it.

Chapter 2

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

@christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @crayongirl-linz, @nicoline1998enilocin, @king814318

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #hot bucky summer 2024 #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x female reader

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 2 years ago

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when it all comes Crashing Down

tags: 18+, afab!reader, childhood friends to friends(?) with benefits, codependent relationship

summary: it fascinates you how someone so manipulative and cruel can be so sensitive and needy

a/n: writing pro-tip, always write down random sentences whenever they come to you because you never know when it’ll be the source of inspiration for a story. in this case, an introspective think piece on makima’s loneliness that is also smut where neither of you are the good guy. also available on AO3.

If windows are eyes to the soul, you wonder what that means for someone like Makima.

Or rather, you wonder what people see when they look at them. You’ve known her for the better part of your life and at 25, you still aren’t sure what others see. That is at the forefront of your mind as gold eyes with red rings look back at you, a calculating smile accompanying them.

“Are you listening to me?” Makima tilts her head as she rests her chin on her palm.

You nod vaguely at your childhood friend, turning your gaze to your phone screen. “I heard you say a week ago that you have a partner assignment due this week and yet somehow you’re here at my place instead of doing that.” You have your apartment to yourself for once, your roommate gone for the weekend to stay the night at one of her girlfriends’ apartments. “Shouldn’t you be out doing your homework?”

“I can’t visit my best friend from time to time?” Makima implores as if she is surprised by your own inquiry

“That isn’t what I asked,” yet you already know the answer. You aren’t completely well-acquainted with Aki Hayakawa. He’s a friend of a friend and you see him from time to time when said friends throw parties or have other get-togethers. Those were enough encounters for you to know the man is absolutely smitten with the redhead in front of you, spooning a piece of the tiramisu she brought over. He’d do anything Makima asked of him with more enthusiasm you could ever produce.

Unsurprisingly, Makima confirms what you already suspect. “Hayakawa told me he could do the rest of it,” she replies lightly with a smile. And there we go. You wonder what the poor sap sees in her when you know Makima doesn’t see him as more than an amusing puppy chasing after her braid. “I wanted to visit because I thought you might be lonely. Here,” she raises her spoon towards your lips. “I made this for you.”

“Nah I’m good,” Makima’s baking isn’t necessarily the problem. It’s the measurements, her measurements just aren’t for you.

“You said you wanted to try tiramisu recently,” Makima counters, her hand not moving an inch.

“First, I mentioned that in passing,” you raise a finger and quickly follow it with another. “Second, I also said I was going to try it out with Quanxi next Saturday.” One of her girlfriend’s, Long, is having a birthday celebration at an Italian restaurant. “They say patience is a virtue, I can wait.”

“I think it’s a voluntary virtue when it comes to food,” Makima lowers her hand for a moment. “Are you just trying to say you don’t want to eat my baking?”

You snort, “that’s exactly what I’m saying, yes. I trust your cooking, not your baking. You have never gotten the right amount of sugar that I can stomach.” You’ve never been able to eat things too sweet. Even as a child you would scrape off most of the frosting on cupcakes, sliding it onto Makima’s plate who welcomed the additional sweetness.

“That’s a bit mean” that is hilarious coming from the undisputed Queen of Mean. You distinctly remember the time in middle school where Makima laughed at a scene of a protagonist crying over the death of a friend. That in itself was ironic coming from the same girl who, at the beginning of that same semester, clutched your shirt and sobbed like it was the end of the world when you found out you shared zero classes and had separate lunch periods. “I worked hard to make this for you. You should spoil a person more when you’ve known them since you were 6.”

You distinctly know the spoiling she is referring to is about herself. “I always spoil you,” I’ve been doing it since we were kids. It crosses your mind, not for the first time, that if it weren’t for your parents, you are sure you and Makima would never have become friends.

Your mom was her mom’s friend in university and by some chance, they ended up enrolling you both at the same school and found out when you were both picked up later after classes. There began your days of playing whatever game Makima desired and your possessions somehow becoming her possessions. Whenever you voiced your grievances to your mom, however, she always told you to be kind and understanding in a tone that let you know that you recognized even now. A tone that says “this has something to do with something we adults discussed”.

It didn’t take too long for you at that age to notice the traces of what your mother was likely referring to.

You never saw much of Makima’s parents when you were younger; you don't see much of them now.

School events, holidays and a few random things in between. It wasn’t Makima’s family that shared them with her but yours. That realization made you think back to the times you would complain about mandatory family time and your mother would rebuttal, “not everyone is lucky to have parents that love them so much, [First], you should be grateful.”

Indulging Makima became habit after that as long as it was in reason.

You’re sure there is a part of her that resents you choosing to room with a classmate rather than her though.

“Just try it,” Makima raises her spoon again and, with a sigh, you relent.

Almost immediately, you balk at the taste, nose scrunching in displeasure. “Like I said,” you grab Makima’s cup of black tea and down a large mouthful. “You always make things too sweet. This is why I’m gonna eat it at a restaurant with an actual baker.”

You lay your head on the foot of the couch, rejecting the too-sweet tiramisu in its entirety. “I’ll just make Quanxi pay for it when I order it. She owes me for what happened last weekend.” You aren’t one to knock someone getting laid but your roommate fucking her girlfriends loudly all night the night before you had a exam was evil. All she did when you banged on the door to keep it down was toss her noise-canceling headphones before closing it again. At least when I fuck in the house I have the decency to keep shit down, you grumble internally pushing away the fact Quanxi technically also offered to let you join in the fun.

You probably would have joined if you weren’t sleep-deprived and irritated.

C’est la vie.

“[First].”

“Hmm,” you hum in response without opening your eyes. Your eyes find themselves opening a moment later when you feel the distinct feeling of another body over your own, Makima placing her legs on either side of your hips as she sits on your lap.

Red frames gold as she looks down on you and you stare back wordlessly before her lips press against yours.

It fascinates you how someone so manipulative and cruel can be so sensitive and needy.

Cruelty comes easy to Makima, no different than a child experiencing troubles at home taking out their frustrations on a random kid at school.

She’s angelic in appearance, devilish in nature.

She wants to be treated gently when she is incapable of treating people gently herself.

By your second to last year of high school, you wondered what your relationship meant about you.

Knowing her ways yet staying her friend regardless which only birthed the question as to why you remained her friend. It donned on you not too long after that the reason was pity when you held a distraught Makima in your arms in your room when a former mutual friend stated his intentions not to associate with her any longer. You remember finding it strange that she was so upset when you didn’t think Makima even considered Madoka to be a friend in the first place.

She said as much when you asked her before the event transpired.

“He’s more like an acquaintance, they all are,” Makima had told you. “But not you [First], you’re my real friend.”

The only one she has.

It dawned on you then if Madoka wanting nothing to do with her could make her cry, you doing the same would make Makima undoubtedly break. It’s ironic how the loneliest people can be the most sadistic.

So she can be cruel; as long as that cruelty never turns to you, you will continue to be there even when you are sure you both know that your friendship has long since passed the expiry date. You’ll be there when she needs to cry, you’ll accompany her on walks for her dogs and you’ll lay her down in your bed when she wants to feel the skin of another on her own like you are now.

Makima’s arms tighten around your shoulders, hips bucking as the butt of your palm rubs against her clit as you thrust your fingers inside her. She’s absolutely soaked and you can’t help relishing that fact as Makima moans your name like it’s the only word she knows.

Maybe this was inevitable, the two of you like this, you think vaguely as you leave a trail of wet kisses from her breasts to her belly before settling between her legs. You lap at her core slowly, bringing one of your hands to clasp her own and Makima intertwines her fingers between yours tightly.

You press one finger in her pussy, sucking on her clit.

You add a second when you kiss her folds.

You continue thrusting your fingers once you add a third and Makima moves her hips to press into your ministrations. It takes a few moments to find a rhythm, alternating between licking and maintaining the movement of your finger. It doesn’t take much longer for Makima’s thighs to tighten around your head, coming with a soft cry.

You pull out your fingers, vaguely acknowledging the ache in your wrist and glance in her direction. From your position you can see her chest heave up and down, hand tightly gripping yours as she reels from the aftershocks. If she held it any tighter, you’re sure it would break.

With two light taps on her hip, Makima loosens her grip on your head tiredly and you kiss her inner thighs before finally moving to lay on your pillow beside her. It takes a moment to pull your hand away from hers, Makima’s grip iron tight. “Hey, I need that hand to hug you, weirdo,” is all it takes for her hand to loosen its hold and gently you take back your hand.

There is no fighting against your tugging as you pull Makima into your chest like you’ve done many times before holding firmly but gently, just as she likes. You don’t comment on the soft sniffle you hear, it’s an unspoken rule for you both not to point out when she cries during sex. Almost instinctively, Makima presses herself even closer as she wraps her arms around your waist. Sometimes you wonder if she is trying to live in your skin.

“[First],” Makima murmurs almost too softly for you to hear when she’s wound down.

You fiddle with a lock of her hair, “What is it?”

“Stay the night with me tomorrow,” her nails dig into your back and you note she sounds almost uncertain in her command. Desperate.

You close your eyes, tired. “We can go in the morning.”

#look she's writing #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #makima x reader #neither makima or the reader are the good guy in this because sometimes things are just morally gray for all parties involved #thanks tyler the creator for the title inspo lol

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rainbowmoonstonestories · 6 months ago

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Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 20

Chapters: 20/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92, @bridkesby If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Important notice: I am aware of the current allegations against Neil Gaiman and made a statement here.

With the Corinthian finally out of the picture, Morpheus could prepare to eradicate the Vortex from his realm without further interruptions. Rose's tragic fate weighed heavily on your heart, as Morpheus chose to remove you from the Waking World and bring you to the Dreaming for advanced protection.

Morpheus stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets and legs slightly apart. His stance conveyed irritation, disappointment, and a disconcerting level of worry.

You pushed yourself off the wall completely, nervously intertwining your fingers. "Hey.”

He advanced slowly but steadily, drawing his hands out and clenching them into fists at his sides. What could you possibly say to justify your actions? Fabricating a lie would be futile; with your Dreamstone emitting his energy and signaling impending danger, convincing him would have been utterly impossible.

And so, you surrendered to whatever fate awaited you.

"The Corinthian is her-”

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, his voice laced with anger.

You gulped, inhaled deeply, and released a trembling sigh. "Honestly? I don't have an answer to that.”

"Do you believe this to be a game for you to meddle with?”

"I never considered it a game. How could I?”

He shut his eyes and pursed his lips in frustration. "I did not give you that jewel just so you could chase my Nightmares."

You shook your head. "I promise you, that's not what I intended to do. I heard Rose was coming here to pick up her brother, and somehow I... I felt like something was horribly wrong. That she might be in danger.”

"I specifically requested that you stay out of it. For your sake.”

That he did, in his own way of speaking. It wasn't your burden to bear when you were meant to keep living your life in the Waking World. You should have known that he meant for you to never interfere, not even—and especially—in case of a negative development.

“Yes, but-”

Morpheus's eyes were piercing your very soul, a storm brewing within their depths. "’But’ what?”

"I care about you,” you said, your voice unsteady. “Whether you accept it or not, I couldn't stand by and do nothing."

Morpheus's face relaxed, though the tension in his posture remained. "Your concern is noted, but your interference could have dire consequences.”

"What was I supposed to do? Should I have acted like I didn't feel anything? Waited for the Vortex to destroy everything you’ve built, along with my own world?”

He took a step closer, his gaze intense. "You were supposed to trust me. To trust that I would take care of it.”

"You know that I trust you more than anyone else. But I can't just set aside my instincts, especially when I know what's at stake.”

Morpheus sighed, the weight of his responsibilities and his feelings for you evident in his grimace. "You must understand, your presence here complicates matters.”

With the Corinthian on the loose and his realm threatened by the Vortex in the Nightmare’s grasp, the last thing Morpheus needed was for you to add to his burdens. Although you didn’t truly expect to find the Corinthian in Georgia, acting on nothing but a gut feeling and venturing there alone inevitably made you seem like a pathetic wannabe hero with no real purpose.

Certainly, you weren’t expecting to end up surrounded by a cult of twisted serial killers on top of everything else.

And so, you nodded, absorbing the gravity of his words. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I acted on impulse without thinking.”

He reached out, cupping your face gently in his hands. "Y/N, your well-being is paramount to me. You must promise me that you will stay safe.”

You leaned into his touch, finding comfort in it despite the chaos surrounding you. "Let me help in any way I can. Even if it's just staying by your side.”

"No. Not this time.”

You bowed your head in resignation.

"Wait for me to return to you. Avoid putting yourself in danger.”

“But… what about the Dreamstone? Won’t it just—”

“I said, no.”

His refusal left a bitter taste in your mouth, yet, given the situation, you couldn't muster any offense.

He entrusted you with the necklace to guard you against any external threats, no matter their origin. It saved you from the fire explosion in the studio, and just moments earlier, from the Corinthian’s hunger for your eyes.

Clearly, there were no certainties left, with the Vortex on the brink of obliterating everything in its path. He stood firm, refusing to reconsider. All you could do was accept his protective nature.

"Fine," you sighed heavily. “I’ll do as you say.”

Morpheus tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes once more. "It is almost over, my love," he said solemnly. “Have faith in me.”

"I do have it, Morpheus,” you responded, reluctantly taking a step back. “Still, be careful.”

“I will.”

With one last lingering touch, Morpheus turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows. You watched him vanish, your heart heavy with love and worry, as you stood alone in the deserted corridor, pondering your options. Considering the Corinthian's conference on the lower floor, staying put might minimize the risk of running into any of his deranged followers. You also remembered overhearing him conversing with someone in one of the suites, though the wall had obscured the room number.

You mulled it over for a moment before it all clicked. Perhaps he had indeed trapped Rose, Jed, and Gilbert to carry out his sinister plans. If that's the case, finding your friends and the boy shouldn't be too difficult.

But just as you were about to move, your feet froze in place again, your stomach knotting up as a voice in your head formed words you knew you couldn't heed.

"Go to him," it said. "Find Morpheus.”

No, you were supposed to follow his instructions, staying far away from the Corinthian and any potential risk lurking nearby. While the Dreamstone around your neck provided a sense of security, Morpheus had been explicit, and disappointing him was something you intended to keep off your to-do list.

And yet, you kept scanning your surroundings, glancing back to where he had disappeared and then forward, ultimately yielding to the tug of your intuition. Because the question remained unanswered: would Morpheus be invulnerable now that his realm had continually deteriorated? You didn't doubt that he could stop his own creation from causing a dream apocalypse and prevent the Waking World from collapsing alongside the Dreaming, but there was a pressing need in your heart that compelled you to pivot on your heels and descend the stairs.

And so you did, walking as fast as you could, maneuvering your way through the convention area. You remembered passing by the conference room during your inspections, and navigating the space had now become quite familiar to you.

The crowd of attendees had visibly thinned, with only a few people strolling around, enjoying their break with a fresh drink by the pool outside, or chatting in the corners. None of them seemed to pay any attention to your distress, allowing you to walk undisturbed.

Morpheus was going to be livid, you could already predict it. But that was insignificant compared to the enormous chasm of fear forming inside you.

When you arrived at the large double doors, you took a few deep breaths and grasped one of the cold bars to push your way through. The door emitted a soft creak as you opened it, prompting you to pause and listen for any reaction on the other side.

Nobody seemed to have heard you; the distant voices of Morpheus and the Corinthian filled the silent atmosphere. A large group of people sat motionless in front of the stage, all oddly immobile, holding the same, identical position in their seats.

"Look at you, walking this Earth for over a century, infecting others with your joy of death. But what have you given them?”

Morpheus was confronting his creation, standing inches away from the false man who exuded an air of overconfidence and menace.

“What have you wrought? Nothing. Just something else for people to be afraid of. That is all.”

"So what now?" the Corinthian asked. “You send me back into their dreams?”

You saw him draw his dreadful knife, pulling it from inside his jacket. “’Cause I won’t go willingly.”

Morpheus, on the other hand, appeared completely unperturbed. The faint, amused grin on his face underscored his strength and commanding presence as he walked forward. “A knife… against a Dream?”

“You don’t think Dreams can die? Let’s find out-”

“Enough.”

Fed up with the Corinthian's theatrics, Morpheus raised his right hand to put an end to the entire ordeal. Sand magically formed from his palm, extending toward the Nightmare in a trail of golden grains.

Contrary to your expectations, and against all you had hoped for, things didn't go as planned.

In one quick, fluid motion, the Corinthian pierced the Endless's hand with his blade, the sharp metal slicing through his skin. The sand completely dissipated, leaving only the monster's knife lodged in his master's palm. Morpheus grunted in pain and surprise, dropping to his knees.

You were terrified, your eyes burning at the sight of your lover on the verge of defeat. How could that even be possible? How could he be losing his power and strength again, all because his own creation was exploiting a mortal's power?

No, that was too much for you to endure. You couldn't let it happen a second time. Unable to witness the horrific spectacle any longer, you shouted.

“Morpheus!!”

You ran to the stage, passing through rows of humans who appeared to be asleep, their eyes shut as though under hypnosis. You ascended the platform with a mixture of dread and disbelief, immediately pressing one hand against Morpheus’ back while carefully wrapping the other around his wrist. He traced the line of his evident gash, now marked by the redness of his blood.

You didn't care about the outburst he would most likely direct at you later. Because, for the umpteenth time, your inner voice had guided you to the right course of action. Of all the times you could have left him on his own, that was not the day to do it.

You expected Morpheus to regain control and shake you off, ordering you to leave. You were quite surprised to see he neither said a single word, nor attempted to disentangle himself from your hold.

Instead, he raised his eyes back to the Corinthian, lips parted in shock. "How...?”

Although you couldn't see the Nightmare's eyes through his black lenses, you noticed the way he tilted his head to look at you. His grin was victorious, utterly vicious, and positively nauseating.

“I’ve got Rose Walker getting stronger every second while you get weaker,” he answered. “She’s taking your place at the center of the Dreaming.”

You shuddered. Was that the so-called grand plan he had mentioned the day before?

“She’s bringing the walls down between the sleepers’ minds. And now they’re all dreaming the same dream.”

Your fingers instinctively tightened around Morpheus' hand, feeling him grow colder by the second, vulnerable and exposed.

“A dream that I inspired.”

“No,” Morpheus countered.

“It’s already happening. There’s nothing you, or your precious little human here can do. She’s asleep and dreaming.”

“Then she’s not beyond my reach.”

“Oh, I think she is. Now that she knows you’re planning to kill her.”

And then you felt it—that strange sensation of losing your balance, your head feeling floaty and light as the air around you grew eerie and darker. Your eyelids suddenly felt as heavy as boulders, dropping over your eyes until all you could see was black, with random shapes taking form in front of you.

“You need to wake up.”

Morpheus’ voice echoed next to you. You saw Rose appear and withdraw as soon as she noticed him, maintaining a protective stance over a little boy who you assumed was the lost brother she had been searching for. A creepy scene materialized around you, with strangers seemingly cutting and chopping flesh on the tables with their own blades and surgical instruments.

There was blood, skinned corpses, and body parts everywhere you looked.

“Don’t listen to him, Rose bud,” The Corinthian interjected, appearing right behind her just as Morpheus stood back on his feet. “You’re the one with power now, not him. This is your dream.”

“It’s his dream, for your world,” the Endless corrected.

“Then let’s make it yours. Whatever you want, Rose. A blank canvas.”

Right after the Corinthian's declaration, the boy was enveloped in a bright light and was instantly gone, leaving nothing but emptiness in his wake.

"Where's Jed...?" Rose asked, her voice filled with worry.

“Jed’s fine. He’s upstairs, asleep. He’s right next to you.”

The Corinthian's words were becoming increasingly infuriating. With each sentence, you felt a growing urge to expel him forcefully from his own nightmare.

“This dream is yours now. The Dreaming is yours now.”

“The Dreaming is yours. Is that what he told you?” Morpheus inquired.

“He told me you were gonna kill me,” Rose responded.

“Did he tell you why? When a Vortex brings down the walls between dreams, she creates a single volatile dream that will collapse in upon itself, and take the Waking World with it.”

"Rose, he's right," you declared. "It's more complex than you realize.”

“Y/N…? I….”

“Your world. Everything and everyone will die,” Morpheus elaborated.

“Don’t believe him, Rosie.”

You were boiling like a steamed pot, feeling the figurative smoke explode out of your ears. "Can you just shut up and leave her alone?!”

The Corinthian smiled, relishing what he evidently considered the pinnacle of his existence. He craved power, control, and freedom—a freedom that would cost your kind its very life and the King of Dreams his position and domain.

Thankfully, Morpheus promptly continued his explanation. “It’s happened before. I failed my duty, an entire universe was lost.”

You subconsciously reached for his sleeve, gripping it as if your life depended on it. It was vital, absolutely essential. You wanted to be there, you needed to be there. With him, with them, within Rose's dream. Alongside the King of Dreams.

Because it felt right, there was nowhere else you belonged.

“He can’t kill you if you kill him first.”

The impatience in the Corinthian's voice was escalating rapidly, and you heard the sound of his knife being extracted one more time.

“Killing me may save your life, but it won’t save the lives of those you love.”

Whenever Morpheus spoke, the Corinthian tried to sway Rose to his side. The poor girl was caught between two formidable forces, scared and confused, unable to decide what or whom to believe.

“I’m trying to keep you alive here.”

Morpheus. “I’m trying to keep your world alive.”

"Rose, if you feel like you can't trust him, then trust me," you pleaded.

“You have to choose one of us Rose-”

“Enough!”

Rose's voice echoed, spreading in all directions. A magical energy formed around her, converging toward her body as if pulled by a magnet. Morpheus's eyes immediately sought out the Corinthian, who now seemed suddenly at a loss for words or actions.

“If I am powerful as you say I am, then I will find my own way. In the meantime, the walls go back up.”

She tentatively raised her right hand, and as soon as she did, the dream in front of her completely dissipated, revealing a gloomy, empty room coated in metal.

“Because I’m not dreaming anymore.”

She turned and repeated the gesture, scattering the remnants of the Corinthian's nightmare. Morpheus observed her with pride and satisfaction, feeling both relieved and pleased by the unforeseen outcome.

“Thanks to you two, I’m wide awake.”

A bright flash blinded you as you were catapulted back to the Waking World, where you found yourself still standing next to Morpheus. He was examining his palm, watching as the knife wound healed and his skin regained its smooth complexion.

When you looked at the Corinthian, you saw him trembling, breathing heavily, and reaching for his glasses, a sign of utter annihilation.

“If you think I’m going back to the Dreaming with you—”

You almost jumped back in shock. The instant you saw his eyes, you understood why he always kept them concealed behind those dark lenses. Rather than having human-like eyeballs with irises and pupils, his sockets were filled with teeth, looking like two smaller versions of his mouth.

“You’re not going back,” said Morpheus. “I brought you in this world to serve humanity. Not to feed upon it.”

He was profoundly distraught, disappointed in himself for having created something so terribly wrong. Yet, despite all the evil the Corinthian had unleashed over the past century, you could still see the brilliance in him. As terrifying as he was, at least he served his intended purpose.

“Do you know why I do it? So I can taste what it’s like to be human.”

The nightmare's confidence had shattered, replaced by pain evident in his fractured voice.

Morpheus remained silent, listening intently.

“And you don’t care about humanity. You only care about yourself and your realm and your rules.”

He was seething with anger, harboring the same grudge that Gault had expressed.

"You really don't know anything," you intervened. "There's so much you fail to see.”

"And what else is there?”

“I contain the entire collective unconscious,” Morpheus answered. “Without my rules it would consume me.”

A pause followed.

“Humanity would be consumed.”

You exhaled, feeling the weight of his emotion. Despite his eternal power, he was not immune to the risk of being erased from existence, as the Vortex had just demonstrated. How had he managed to endure for millions of years, relying solely on himself?

The Corinthian, however, was not going to be convinced.

“Or you might actually feel something. I am not the problem, Dream.”

“You’re right. This was my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then.”

If the Corinthian had eyes, tears would have spilled from them, trickling down his cheeks. For as he listened to Morpheus's words, he understood that his time in both realms had come to a tragic conclusion.

“So I must uncreate you now.”

The Nightmare wept, appearing so innocent and tormented that it was hard to believe he had threatened you in the hotel corridor, killed all those people, and ripped their eyes off to feast on their humanity.

Even a Nightmare can dream, my Lord.”

Except that sometimes, dreams could become seriously twisted and tainted.

Morpheus tried again, letting his power flow from his outstretched fingers. The Corinthian began to burn, glowing a deep red, rotting and decaying like a vampire consumed by the sun. Before he could be destroyed, he summoned the strength to hurl one last venomous remark at his master.

“̘͌̅I a̔m̺̠̦ͩ ǫ̘̹ͥ̔͞͡n̳͎̪ͨ̇ͧ͠ḷ͔̊́͢y͊ s̫ͅỡ̶̟͍̻̞̦ͬ͛ͦr̩͙̀͜͝r͇ͤ̓y̢̿̾̏ͫ͜ I̴͚̥̘̖̓͊ͨ͒̚̕ w͖o̘̒͂ͤn̵̪̑̒͋’̗͓͐̒t bé͉ h̡̳͝e͇͈͛̎͌͐̋͜͢͠ŗ̩͚ͮͯẽ̷͂̅͜ t͚o̴͑̐̎̽̏ͨͨ̒̅̍ se̟͑e̳ R͂oş͖̺̾̿́̐̍͟e̹̙̤̙͎̋͒̂͆ͬ͝ W̤̤̬̕al̨͙̀̏k̆͜é̜̟̂̄͛r ḑ̢̜̦͚͕͎̜ͦo̵̶̶͈͐̋͢ t̴̯͕̱̳̃̌̇̃͜͞h̸ͥͩḛ͛̿̉̐ s̤ͦ̉a͎̿̅̆͟ͅm̱̟̮̆e̴̪̖͓̎͗̐ t̵̸͚͔̬ͧ̾̓ͬ̕͝o̊_̭̈́_̠ y̭̆̎o̽û̸͕͕̩͔ͦ̆ͪͅ.͋̎ͦͫ̆̚”̮̓̽

And then he was reduced to a pile of ash, with a small skull falling from the air and landing on top. Morpheus stepped forward, knelt down and picked it up, gazing at it in the palm of his open hand before rising a moment later.

“Next time I make you, you will not be so flawed and petty, little Dream.”

His fingers sinuously closed around the skull, and all you could do was watch the scene, immobilized and unable to find the right words to express. There was so much to analyze, too many things to register all at once.

“And you…”

You felt your gut squirm, bracing yourself for the second reproach of the day. But as he continued speaking, delivering an impassioned speech, you realized he was addressing the awakening crowd and not you. One by one, the people seated in the rows opened their eyes, fully returning to the harsh reality they needed to confront.

“…who call yourselves ‘Collectors’. Until now, you have sustained fantasies in which you are the victims, comforting daydreams in which you are always right.”

Their expressions were filled with painful realization, the stark truth of what they had committed.

“But no more. The dream is over. I have taken it away. For this is my judgment upon you, that you shall know, from this moment on, exactly how craven and selfish, and monstrous you are. That you shall feel the pain of those you have slaughtered.”

You were getting shivers, running all over you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“And the grief of those that mourn them still, and you shall carry that pain and grief and guilt with you until the end of time.”

They all rose to their feet, abandoning the conference room like a troupe of zombies, walking along the scaffold to an unknown, but certainly dark and devastating future. You watched them leave as your heart pounded like an uncontrollable drum, absorbing that view as a lesson about humanity—one that wasn't really a novelty, but thankfully had the best possible conclusion.

It saddened you, once again, to see your kind so corrupted and easily manipulated. The Corinthian might have played a fundamental role in their formation, but he only drew out and exposed what was already thriving within them.

"I told you to wait for me," he said quietly. This time, you were definitely the focus of his attention.

"You did,” you confirmed.

"And yet, you have decided to follow me regardless of what I asked.”

“I did.”

You turned your head to the side and met his eyes. He looked somewhat stern, but not as furious as you thought he would be. In the end, his lips curled into a subtle smile—barely noticeable, but as usual, evident enough for you.

You mirrored his expression, offering him a larger, much brighter grin. "I know I shouldn’t be here," you said, taking his right hand in yours and gently touching his previously injured palm, now perfectly immaculate. "But there's nowhere else I'd rather be right now.”

"My love, your bravery is one of the things I adore about you, but it also makes me worry. Immensely so.”

"I know, but what kind of girlfriend would I be if I couldn't even stand by your side when you need me?”

Morpheus did, in fact, need you more than anything in existence. He tightened his grip on your hand, pulling you slightly closer. "You matter to me more than you can imagine," he murmured. "Your presence brings light to the darkest corners of my realm.”

"Then let me be your light, always. Wherever you go, whatever you face, I’ll be with you.”

To you, it was more than a promise. It was a reassurance that, no matter how things evolved from that moment onward, you wouldn't sit on the sidelines and watch him handle the most arduous matters alone.

It was ambitious, given your human nature and limited lifespan. But for now, you didn't want to think about outliving him.

He swallowed, feeling both touched and uptight by your unwavering support. With a gentle touch, he guided your hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss on your knuckles. "As long as I can keep you safe.”

"I don't doubt that you can.”

You kissed his lips and gave his hand one final squeeze before letting go. His eyes betrayed the doubt and fear of failing you, of losing you like he had lost everyone else he ever cared for.

"You ought to leave this place," he stated.

You wished there were more reassurances you could offer him, but for now, you could only nod and follow him down the stage, out of the conference room. You perceived the lingering emotions of those who had departed, the hotel corridors now desolate, the rooms empty. You unpinned the stolen badge from your shirt, unceremoniously tossing it into the first trash bin you passed.

The sky outside was dark, and cars parked in front of the building were leaving one by one. A few remained, their owners inside, crying out their desperation for the dreams they had lost. One of the vehicles seemed to have what looked like fresh blood splashed over the windows, indicating that the murderer inside couldn't handle their newly formed guilt.

It was unnerving, as dark and sinister as a scene from a horror movie. But this was no movie; it was your reality.

You spotted Rose and Jed driving by, heading down the road for a safe return. And yet, there was no trace of Gilbert anywhere. Odd.

Your phone buzzed in your bag, and a quick look at the screen showed Andrew's name. His concise message stated that he was finishing up a few tasks and that your next meeting would be in three days. You appreciated the extra time off, as focusing on work was currently not an option.

Matthew landed gently beside Morpheus' feet. He gave you a polite nod before shifting his focus to Rose's car, which had become a distant speck.

“You want me to follow her?”

“No,” Morpheus replied. “When she is awake, she is not a threat. Tonight when she sleeps, I will find her. And we will end this.”

Your heart sank at that moment, for his words could only mean one dreadful thing: Rose had to be stopped, killed, and torn away from her friends and her newly reunited young brother. It was unjust and incredibly difficult to accept. She was still so young and kind, with so much to offer the world. But no matter how hard you tried to think of a way to save her, you realized that the Vortex within her had already grown exponentially, consuming parts of the Endless' realm and the dreams contained in it.

“Come with me,” he said, extending his hand toward you once again, inviting you to take it.

"Where?" you inquired, lifting an eyebrow as you accepted it.

“To the Dreaming.”

You didn't have time to comment as you noticed your surroundings changing. A sudden gust of cold air enveloped you both, and the hotel blurred away, swept aside like dust. The parking lot twisted and transformed, replaced by familiar bookshelves from the library. Your head spun, and your heart raced as you went through the sudden transition. Before you knew it, you found yourself transported to the world of dreams, leaving you partially disoriented.

It took a moment for you to fully acclimate.

Morpheus let go of your hand and stepped aside, allowing you a moment to fully grasp and absorb the situation.

"Wait. I'm not asleep, am I?”

“No.”

“So… I’m actually here? Physically?”

“You are.”

You could barely tell the difference between being awake and dreaming. Perhaps there was an added layer of awareness that intensified all five of your senses.

“Why did you take me here?”

"It is not safe for you to sleep in the same house as Rose Walker," he explained. "If you stay here, I can preserve your dreams. You are my guest.”

You smiled, noticing the details with renewed clarity. Everything seemed sharper and more mesmerizing than in your unconscious mind. It felt like returning to a known place, one you now considered a second home.

“In that case, thank you for having me.”

He brushed your waist with a delicate touch, seeking your closeness, and promptly placed a tender peck on your forehead. "This place is yours to explore. If you wish to rest, I will have a room crafted just for you.”

His thoughtfulness was awe-inspiring. "Thanks, but I don't think I could sleep right now."

You wondered if it was even possible to fall asleep in the realm of dreams. How did it truly function with your physical body already there?

"I have preparations to make. You can trust that Lucienne will attend to all your needs in my absence.”

You pressed your lips together. "Actually, I'd rather come with you.”

"Y/N, what I am about to do is something you should not witness."

"I know you have to kill Rose, and I'm not trying to stop you. Just... please, let me be there. I don't want her to feel completely cornered and alone.”

Morpheus considered it, lowering his gaze thoughtfully.

"I promised to stand by your side, and I intend to keep my word. I can see how much this pains you, so... let me come. For both of you."

“You will not change your mind.”

It wasn't a question, but a clear realization.

“Sorry. It’s not going to happen.”

He exhaled through his nose in resignation. "Very well, but stay close to me. Do not interfere.”

You wished for Rose to continue living, to care for her brother, and to write the novel she once dreamed of creating. You wanted her to stay with Lyta, providing companionship and support for the arriving progeny. You longed for her to fulfill every wish she ever had, but there was no hope left for any of that.

Sometimes, fate could be unbearably cruel.

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to,” you reassured him.

He reached for a strand of your hair, letting it slip through his fingers in a loving caress. "I will return shortly, my love. And then we will end this, together. For now, my castle is at your disposal.”

Your hair settled back into place, but his touch left it feeling electric and vibrant. You watched him walk away, his coat—now reverted to its long, simpler form—billowing behind him.

You sighed, feeling a blend of contentment and desolation for what awaited Rose. You touched the bookshelf in front of you, savoring the scent of wood and leather, and the rough texture beneath your fingertips. Being in the Dreaming while conscious was hard to fathom—a unique experience you hadn't thought to explore and didn't know you had secretly hungered for. It made you crave more, to be absorbed by it, to dwell within it. Not as a Dreamer, no. Not in the way Lyta had envisioned.

More frankly, you wanted it to be an integral part of your existence.

Suddenly, a loud throat-clearing sound echoed from the opposite end of the row of books. Your eyes narrowed as you took in the familiar figure standing just a few feet away, seemingly gauging your reaction to his unexpected arrival. There was no mistaking him; only one person could sport those distinctive little glasses, wear such refined attire, and carry that peculiar cane in his left hand.

“Gilbert…?”

"Hello, Miss. Fancy seeing you here in the Dreaming.”

"You… how....?”

"Ah, my dear. I'm quite certain you already know.”

You were momentarily speechless, your mind slowly beginning to churn again. Simply being with him provided a rare tranquility, a mixture of the known and the enigmatic. He was correct; deep down, you had always sensed that the answer lay right before you—hidden and elusive, yet undeniably real.

"You're a Dream, aren't you? You are Fiddler's Green.”

"Yes. Please accept my apologies for not revealing myself sooner. I knew from that Dreamstone that you were... different, so to speak, but I couldn't be entirely sure of your role in all this.”

With a soft, kind smile, you shook your head. "There's nothing to apologize for. I completely understand.”

Gilbert advanced, his heavy footsteps echoing through the space.

"You know, I was absolutely delighted to learn about your... relationship with our Lord. It is quite refreshing to see him with someone who brings him joy.”

You couldn't help but broaden your smile at Gilbert’s words. "It's really more the other way around. He’s very special to me.”

Gilbert nodded, his eyes twinkling. "And you to him, it seems. He is not one to easily let others into his heart, you see.”

It was astounding that you, a simple mortal, had been chosen by Morpheus as his life companion, surpassing all expectations. Being with the King of Dreams felt as natural as if a treasured childhood fantasy had come to life.

It was unique, enchanting, and felt perfectly fitting.

"I assume you have heard about our friend, Rose Walker.”

You gave a solemn nod. "Yes, I know she is the Vortex. I was really hoping things would take a much brighter turn.”

"You and I both wished for that. I hadn’t even realised.”

You crossed your arms, as though subconsciously shielding yourself from the shivers brought on by the prospect of witnessing her death. But your choice was made, and there was no turning back.

"Is there truly nothing we can do?”

"I'm afraid not. When a mortal becomes an active threat, Lord Morpheus must do whatever is necessary to stop them.”

"It's not as if she asked for it.”

"I know. It's rather sad, isn't it?”

You gave his wrist a gentle, amicable squeeze. "Quite so.”

Gilbert's moustache curled upwards as he smiled. "Well then. I have been away from my place for far too long. I suppose it's time for me to resume my duties.”

"I hope you had a splendid time in the Waking World, Gilbert. I know that human beings are not always the best example, but...”

"Quite the contrary. Humans are extraordinary in their own ways, some more than others.”

You chuckled, recognizing that his wink was hinting at people like yourself. “Perhaps you’re right.”

"Now then. Do feel free to visit me the next time you enter the Dreaming.”

“I’d love to.”

He tipped his hat, bowed courteously, and ventured deep into the library, moving with purpose. His long, Victorian-style coat swirled around him, shifting from side to side as he walked away. You watched him vanish behind the shelves, his footsteps becoming increasingly faint.

You hadn't asked about the type of dream he embodied, but you sensed that you would find out soon enough either way.

Once again, alone in the comforting silence of the library, you began to wander aimlessly, uncertain of where your feet would lead you. For the first time, you had the chance to explore Morpheus' home without the fear of waking up. The experience was exhilarating, akin to visiting a long-desired destination for the first time. Although you had dreamt of that place many times, being physically present in the heart of the Endless' realm felt like an immense honor.

The library was even more immense than you had imagined. With countless aisles and dead ends, you found yourself lost within the first fifteen minutes of exploring. It felt as though some of the books were whispering your name—not in a strange, creepy way, but like a group of old friends warmly welcoming you.

When you finally walked past Lucienne and spotted her among the many sections, she seemed genuinely surprised to see you in person, removing her glasses in astonishment. You greeted her warmly with a hug, gave Matthew a gentle scratch on the back of his head, and asked about the state of the Dreaming following the recent disturbances. As Morpheus had predicted, the tremors had completely subsided, and no new chasms had appeared into the ground. The library still bore a few cracks in the wooden floor, but everything was swiftly returning to its original, pristine condition.

Although you were aware of the significant impact on the Dreaming, you asked Lucienne for a place where you could appreciate the scenery without encroaching on Morpheus' privacy. With a warm smile, she recommended a delightful terrace in the eastern wing, just above the library—a serene spot offering a stunning view of the landscape. From there, you could admire the rolling hills and the shimmering river, a place she cherished whenever she sought tranquility.

While the spectacle had probably altered in light of recent events, you still chose to witness it, leaving your bag behind (you had your doubts that your phone would function in another world, anyway). Following the librarian's directions, you navigated your way out of the labyrinth of books, ascending a long staircase and entering a room you had barely traversed before. The place was quiet, as beautiful as a royal palace from a fantasy story, appearing as shiny and dreamy as you remembered it.

You quickly located the terrace Lucienne had described, and as soon as you stepped onto it, you felt your breath hitch at the stunning magnificence. It was large and sturdy, displaying beautifully carved arches with intricate designs and gothic architecture. It was adorned with delicate, silver hanging vines that shimmered softly in the light, adding a touch of ethereal beauty. Black roses were a central feature, symbolizing mystery and elegance, interspersed with deep blue and dark purple flowers that provided a rich contrast. What made it even more enchanting was the set of lanterns emitting a golden glow, their lights gently flickering like stars.

It was no wonder that it happened to be Lucienne's favorite place in the entire castle. Simply standing in front of it made you feel like a princess.

But what stood out the most was how that corner resonated with Morpheus's essence. As you looked at it, you could vividly picture him; every color and design element seemed to reflect his aura.

You put your hands on the marble railing, its height giving you a sense of security and a perfect shield from the vastness beyond. The scenery ahead was truly breathtaking, despite the scattered dark, gloomy spots that occasionally emerged. Not even the Vortex, with its destructive force, had diminished the Dreaming’s splendor.

Partly relaxed, you breathed in the mixture of scents the air carried with it. You could detect a subtle, sweet fragrance of night-blooming flowers, fresh moss and ferns, undertones of amber and cedar, as well as the acrid smell of charred wood and ash, reminiscent of a forest fire.

In some way, all of that made you feel an even deeper connection to the realm, allowing you to witness both its marvels and its frailties.

And you savored every moment of it.

You remained on that terrace, feeling as though an hour or more had slipped by, trying to gauge the passage of time in the Dreaming as a conscious visitor.

Though it was objectively impossible and absurd to spend your entire life in that world as Lyta intended, you could certainly understand the allure. The wish to reside in such a beautiful place with the man you loved was far from a foolish aspiration.

Engrossed in your solitary reverie, you failed to hear Morpheus' footsteps as he approached the terrace. His hands gently settled on your arms, their touch soft as they glided from your shoulders to your elbows. His lips brushed lightly against the tip of your ear before moving to your temple.

"Hi," you murmured, tilting your head to the side.

“Hello.”

His voice was a melody, smooth as liquid honey.

“It’s really beautiful here,” you commented.

"The view is even more sublime with you in it.”

You felt bashful, your cheeks warming at the compliment. “Not as sublime as you make it.”

With softened eyes, Morpheus guided you to face him entirely. "My love, there are countless wonders within the Dreaming. Each corner of this realm holds a unique beauty, a reflection of the myriad dreams that shape it. Yet, none of these compare to your presence.”

Just when you believed your heart couldn't race any faster because of him, he proved you wrong.

"Words alone cannot capture your beauty. You illuminate both your world and mine."

He took your hand, tenderly stroking your fingers with his thumb, kissed your forehead and rested his own against it.

"You weave a new layer of marvel into the fabric of dreams. And for that, I am eternally grateful.”

Your lower lip quivered, and the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes made you blink repeatedly. “Aw…”

He smiled, a rare and genuine expression of his deep affection for you. "I hope you know, my love, that you will always be the most beautiful dream I have ever known.”

His heartfelt and poetic expressions only made your emotions burst forth. "I... I don't know what to say.”

"You needn't say a thing."

"No, I do. Because I don't know if you realize just how much you mean to me.”

“You matter to me more than you can imagine.”

Your words echoed his statement, proving how strongly connected you were to his heart.

He gently touched your face with his index finger, catching a tear that was about to fall, and gazed at the crystal drop with deep contemplation. "I do, I can assure you.”

"I love you," you reiterated. "So much it makes my heart ache.”

"And I, more than words can express, love you. I have found something that transcends time and space in you, a spark that fills the voids and quiets the storms within me.”

"Keep saying these things, and I won't be able to find the will to leave.”

"Then perhaps I shall continue, for I find I have no desire for you to leave my side.”

You laughed, snuggling closer into his embrace, your face resting against his collarbone. Minutes drifted by in tranquil silence as you both listened to the sounds of the Dreaming, remaining intertwined in a knot you never wished to untangle.

As your relationship progressed, you found it increasingly difficult to stay away from him. Your life had blossomed into magnificence, and you wouldn't want to exchange it for anything. Still, despite the natural, profound attachment to your reality, you couldn't deny that a part of you always lingered in Morpheus' dimension. It was bound to happen, and you had every reason to be attached to it.

Regrettably, there was an urgent matter that could no longer be postponed. His hold on you weakened, and you could only accept the separation with a somber acceptance.

"It is time, my love.”

The thought sent a jolt through your heart. “Already…?”

"Rose Walker is currently asleep, causing disruptions in the dreams of others.”

"Then we need to get to her before it is too late.”

"I would still suggest that you remain here with Lucienne.”

"No. I said I would go with you, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

"If that is truly what you wish, then follow me.”

You had no idea what to expect, knowing you were about to witness a murder. Given the nature of Morpheus' power, you were certain it wouldn't be conventional, but that didn’t make it any less painful. The Vortex had to be stopped; of that, there was no doubt. You just hoped for a way to separate the girl from the destructive energy she never chose to have.

In an instant, you were no longer inside Morpheus' castle but out in the midst of a storm, with the wind tearing at your hair and clothes. It was sudden and unpredictable, so fierce that it could have swept anyone away in the Waking World. Morpheus tightened his grip on your hand, giving you a reassuring nod to indicate that he had everything under control. In the distance, you could hear the familiar voices of Rose, Hal, and the others from the B&B, their cries getting swallowed by the Vortex's voracious energy one by one. Rose repeatedly called out for her brother as you and Morpheus pressed on.

Your pendant remained inert, and you appeared unaffected by the explosive force in front of you. Apparently, being awake had protected you from the peril the Vortex would have posed if you were asleep.

Snow blanketed the entire area in a soft white layer, yet the chill felt more psychological than physical. Rose knelt on the ground, consumed by an overwhelming wave of dread.

Letting go of your hand, Morpheus advanced towards the girl. “You’ve caused a great deal of damage,” he announced. “Nothing that I cannot repair, a least at this stage.”

Startled by the commanding tone of the King of Dreams, Rose sprang to her feet. “What happened to Jed? To my friends?”

“They’re asleep in their bed, but they’re not safe. No one is. Not until the Vortex is dead.”

Your jaw tightened, and the intense storm seemed to quiet down, unveiling a dry, desert-like landscape made of rocks. It looked so desolate, so dark and impoverished.

“Death is not always such a bad thing,” Morpheus continued. “You could stay here if you like. My raven was once a mortal.”

You furrowed your brows. Lyta's husband had turned into a ghost and secretly taken refuge in the Dreaming, unbeknownst to Morpheus and the realm's inhabitants. Since he fathered a child with his wife in her dreams, Morpheus was compelled to banish him, returning him to his rightful place. However, his words hinted that, under certain conditions, humans could remain there after death if Morpheus assigned them specific roles.

It was a completely new perspective for you, sparking a flurry of questions in your mind.

And then, a frantic voice called out as someone ran toward the three of you.

“Wait! Sir!”

Gilbert was sprinting with all his might, while Morpheus' face contorted in bewilderment.

“Gilbert? What are you doing here? “ Rose asked.

“This is Fiddler’s Green,” Morpheus corrected.

“You…? You’re a Dream?”

Gilbert confirmed with a slight head bow. “I am. I-I left my post here to experience life as a human being. A life which I humbly offer in exchange for yours.”

"Gilbert..." you murmured. "What are you doing...?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Morpheus dissuaded him. “For the Dreaming and the Waking World to live, the Vortex must die.”

“Then what’s the point of a Vortex?” Rose protested. “Why do we even exist?!”

Morpheus shook his head, unable to deliver a proper explanation. “Honestly…”

"I have a theory," Gilbert offered. “When a human is at the center of the Dreaming, is it not to remind us that we exist because humans dream, not the other way around?”

Ah, there it was—the familiar wisdom you had come to appreciate.

“The miracle of humanity itself should always be more vivid to us than any marvels of power.”

You could see Morpheus' eyes becoming redder and wetter, his lips forming a small, relieved smile. “I cannot find it in my heart to punish you for leaving, Fiddler’s Green. But it is time you took up your appointed position once more.”

“It would be my honor, sir. It was never my intention to abandon my role.”

“What was your role? Who were you?” Rose questioned with curiosity.

“Oh, my dear, Fiddler’s Green is not a “who”, it is a “where”. I was not a person, I was a place.”

A place...? That could explain why you smelled those pleasant fragrances of nature when you had tea together at night.

“And, after your… death, if you stay in the Dreaming, visit me. Walk in my meadows and my green glades. Rest beneath my trees.”

Rose's expression was a portrait of pure sweetness as she listened to his gentle invitation. Morpheus looked at Gilbert with a blend of respect and satisfaction, much like an artist admiring their masterpiece.

"Farewell, Rose Walker. It was a privilege being human with you.”

Rose blinked, her tears resonating with your own emotions.

When Gilbert looked your way, every fiber of your being wanted to rush over and hug him. Nevertheless, you maintained your composure, recognizing it wasn't the right time for such an impulsive outburst of affection.

"Y/N Y/LN. It was a great pleasure making your acquaintance.”

"Thank you, Fiddler's Green. I thoroughly enjoyed our time together."

You observed as Gilbert took a deep breath, spread his arms wide, and extended his fedora. A flock of colorful butterflies, pink petals, and green leaves emerged from his entire form, rising up to the sky and swirling around. Gradually, he vanished in the same manner as Gault and the Corinthian, far from dramatic and certainly more graceful, leaving his hat to gently fall to the ground.

What truly made your jaw drop was the spectacular metamorphosis of the bland, rocky area into a vibrant environment with trees, grass, and a splendid lake with waterfalls. Yet, there was no time to admire it, as Morpheus was already looking at Rose again.

"I do not wish to take your life. But we all have responsibilities and this is one of mine.”

The energy that had enveloped Rose in the Corinthian’s nightmare returned, ready to unleash even more. The sky began to darken, heavy clouds floating above, with lightning preparing to strike in response to it.

"I am sorry,” Morpheus conveyed.

“Just do it. Whatever it takes to save my brother and my friends. I’m ready.”

She was so brave, so mature and receptive. Any other human would have tried to run, to struggle, to resist Morpheus in a futile attempt to escape certain death.

On instinct, you touched Morpheus’ arm before he could act, and his eyes, full of sadness and tangible regret, questioningly shifted to you.

"To be sure, is this truly the only option we have?"

“You know it is.”

“So, you have no other choice.”

“No.”

It didn't hurt to try one last time, but you knew better than to expect any improvement. With a long, weary sigh, you gazed at Rose, who stood rigid like a soldier, bracing herself with a mix of fear and determination.

You moved forward cautiously, led by your heart, as Morpheus called out your name. His voice was filled with alarm and concern for the consequences of your choices, but your modest humanity offered no means to alter the course of events.

“I won’t cause any trouble, don’t worry.” Your voice carried both resolve and weariness. "Allow me this one moment. Please."

And so he did, no longer hindering you, for he understood that the compassion woven into your DNA was prevailing.

You stopped just a few inches away from Rose, offering a wistful smile. "I'm so sorry, Rose. I wish I could do more for you. But I have no power, no means to save you from the unfortunate circumstances that justify the end.”

"It's okay," she replied faintly. "I understand.”

You envisioned her taking care of Jed, studying, graduating from grad school, writing, and enriching the world with her wonderful stories. You saw yourself talking to her on the phone, exchanging emails, and chatting online, keeping each other updated about your respective lives.

A simple daydream that, this time, not even Morpheus could make come true.

Cradling her face with your warm hands, you pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, your lips resting there as you fought back a lump in your throat. Engaging with others in your dreams was one thing, but now, for the first time, you were experiencing it from the other perspective.

It was profoundly unacceptable, yet there was nothing you could do to rectify such an injustice.

Then, you hastily pivoted on your heels and returned to your spot, standing beside Morpheus with your hands clasped together. The Endless sensed your turmoil, the sorrow you felt for what he was about to do. The empathy. The anger.

He wished he could shield you from all that suffering, which you should never have endured.

"If you wish to leave, if you do not want to see this...”

His persistent concern for you was undeniably charming, but you held firm. “I’ll stay.”

He scrutinized you briefly but decided not to pursue it further. Resuming his serious demeanor, he lifted his right hand to absorb and destroy the Vortex as he had with the Corinthian’s essence. Rose closed her eyes, ready to surrender everything inside her.

You clutched the fabric of your shirt, careful not to tear it, keeping your eyes fixed on the scene. Tempted to look away, you chose instead to stay strong for Rose, Morpheus, and yourself. You watched as he absorbed what she had trapped in her body, the Vortex being drawn in by his will as her life slowly ebbed away.

You anticipated Rose might dissolve or collapse on the ground, but neither occurred because Morpheus was interrupted for the second time.

“My lord, stop!”

Lucienne arrived, stopping Morpheus in his tracks, and with her was a woman you had never seen before. She had long, dark, graying hair and wore what seemed to be a blue nightgown.

All that tension and the repeated disruptions were starting to give you a headache.

Rose was taken aback. "Unity?!”

"This is Unity Kincaid," Lucienne elucidated.

What…?

The woman, holding a tome between her hands, introduced herself. "I am Rose's great-grandmother. And according to this book, I was meant to be the Vortex of this age."

Unity Kincaid, the sole survivor of the Sleepy Sickness, was the only human who awakened after so many years, defying death and looking much younger than her actual age.

“But because you were imprisoned and locked out of the Dreaming, that fate was handed down to my descendants.”

“I don’t understand,” Morpheus remarked.

Unity regarded him with a hint of amusement. "You're not very bright, are you?”

Hey. Rude.

“Come here, Rose.”

Handing the book to Lucienne, Unity approached her great-granddaughter, who stepped closer, profoundly confused and visibly fatigued.

"I want you to reach down inside yourself and give me whatever it is that makes you the Vortex.”

“But h-how?”

“You’re dreaming, darling. Anything is possible.”

Having slumbered for what felt like an eternity, it was no surprise that Unity Kincaid exuded such confidence in the dream world. One couldn't help but wonder what it must have been like for her to return to the Waking World as an older woman when, the last time she had closed her eyes, she had been as young as Jed Walker.

Rose lowered her eyes, deep in thought about her next move. She extended her hand to her chest, passing effortlessly through her shirt, skin, and ribs. When she pulled it back, she held a dark red glass heart, absorbing all the surrounding power. The center glowed with a lighter hue, with the storm captured inside flickering and flashing.

"This?" Rose mused aloud.

Unity didn't falter, taking the crystal from the girl's hands. "Oh, thank you, Rose, love.”

Straightening her posture, the woman turned and locked her resolute stare on Morpheus. "I'm the Vortex now, Dream King, as I should have been long ago. So, leave my great-granddaughter alone.”

It was clear she harbored no genuine resentment towards him. She understood that his obligation to take Rose's life was driven by a higher purpose, safeguarding both realms from a devastating blow. However, her decision to become the Vortex to protect Rose highlighted the profound strength and sacrifice inherent in familial bonds.

Morpheus stood in stunned silence, mouth agape, watching her. The heart pulsed and trembled between her hands, rumbling and roaring, until the crystal began to crack. A burst of red light exploded as it shattered, enveloping everyone in a blinding flash and a powerful gust of air.

Before Unity could fall, Morpheus steadied her by holding her right arm. Rose, noticing the woman's frailty and dizziness, called out in concern.

"What happened...?" Unity asked, forcing her head up but struggling to keep it steady.

"You died," Morpheus replied with a surprising gentleness. "So that Rose might live.”

Panic consumed Rose, rendering her unable to fully absorb the tragic news. And understandably so.

“I’m so sorry!”

“No, don’t be. I’m not. I was meant to die a long time ago, Rose. But if I had, I would never have met my golden-eyed man.”

Something stirred in Morpheus. When he and Lucienne exchanged a knowing look, it became apparent that whatever it was, it didn't bode well at all.

“And we would never have had our beautiful baby girl, and you would not have been born.”

“Wait,” Morpheus stepped in. “The father of your child had golden eyes?”

“I’ve never seen anything like them,” she affirmed.

After a momentary silence, Morpheus stated, "I have."

A man with golden eyes. Why did that spark a sense of recollection in you? To the best of your knowledge, you had never encountered anyone with eyes like those. After all, such a color was not something any human could possess in the Waking World. It was unnatural, a phenomenon unachievable without contact lenses or special visual effects.

Except…

…That stylish, flamboyant individual you had mistaken for the company's sponsor, whose irises had seemed to flash gold, which you dismissed as a mere trick of the hall's lighting.

You still didn't know who they were since the original sponsor couldn't attend the appointment. Could they actually be the man Unity Kincaid had a child with during her century-long coma? How was this person connected to Morpheus and the Dreaming? What compelled them to approach you that day, speaking about your deepest desires and those cryptic things you could barely comprehend?

Your brain was trying to process all that information like a computer, but it was clearly encountering a fatal error.

"Goodbye, Rose, darling," Unity's farewell was heartbreakingly poignant.

As comforting as it was to know Rose would continue living, against all previous odds, seeing her succumb to her tears and embrace Unity was something you could hardly bear without letting your own sadness overcome you.

“Mr. Holdaway will see to it that you and Jed have everything you need.”

She gently stroked and patted Rose’s back, and the girl had to gather all her willpower to let go of her great-grandmother.

"You and your brother are children of the Endless," Morpheus declared with incredible calmness, almost contentment. "You have suffered enough. You may leave this place.”

And just when you beieved you couldn't be more perplexed, your mind went blank at the mention of "children of the Endless" as you tried to piece together its significance.

Unity Kincaid met a man with golden eyes in her dreams, which eventually resulted in the birth of Rose and Jed. You sensed that the individual you encountered before the Fashion Show had an aura reminiscent of Morpheus and Teleute, leading you to deduce that they must be another one of Morpheus's siblings. Or at the very least, that seemed to be the most logical conclusion.

Which, in theory, would make Morpheus Rose's great-great-uncle. Truly, a headache for you.

Oh, Morpheus had quite a bit of explaining to do now.

“Goodbye, Rose.”

Shaken and traumatized, the girl instantly disappeared, reuniting with her brother in the Waking World. Meanwhile, Unity Kincaid stood up on her own, taking a deep breath and gazing around in wonder. At last, she was finally at peace.

Who could have imagined that your trip to Cape Kennedy would have unleashed a cascade of extraordinary events?

It was still uncertain whether Unity Kincaid would remain in the Dreaming. Lucienne had brought her back to the castle, where she could stay as long as necessary until a suitable role was found for her, either in Morpheus’ realm or somewhere different.

You and the Endless had stayed, strolling through Fiddler's Green grasses, until you reached the refreshing lake at the path's end, made of the clearest water you had ever seen in your entire life. The sound of its waterfalls left you enchanted, the atmosphere was as pure as mountain air, and if anything, that paradise managed to soothe your nerves, strung as tightly as violin strings.

Still, the King of Dreams noticed your distraction as your mind wandered, waiting for you to speak, only to see you getting lost in your confusion.

“Y/N, what is it?”

“Mh?”

"You look troubled.”

Could you even bring it up, considering how much he loathed the idea of you being so close to the Corinthian in London, and then again in Cape Kennedy? Could you inquire about his sibling without him dissuading you from seeking further information?

Despite your efforts to keep it secret, you had already recognized that you were incapable of lying, especially to him.

"There's something I need to know.”

“I can see that. Go on.”

“Who’s the man with golden eyes?”

Just as you had predicted, Morpheus faltered and averted his gaze. "This is not something we should discuss."

"I'm asking for a reason," you insisted. "Because I believe I’ve seen those eyes myself.”

And with that, his composure, his calmness, and the relief he had just acquired from having saved his realm, completely dissipated. “How…?”

"Well... I don't know why I'm drawing these entities like a magnet, but the fact is, someone approached me recently. I was supposed to meet the company's sponsor, and I thought that was it. But it turns out the man in question couldn't make it, and I never really knew who I ended up talking to.”

The irritation, the fury that ignited in his eyes.

“Describe them.”

You focused on the memory, replaying it as vividly as you could. "Tall, bleached blonde hair, elegant. White suit, manicured hands, red lips… and naturally, eyes that flashed gold.”

And if you needed any confirmation, the way he stiffened left no doubt in you.

"Morpheus, please tell me.”

There was no reason to conceal the truth from you any longer, so he finally unveiled it. “You have met Desire, another of my siblings."

"I'm surprised that you wanted to meet. Do you have any specific questions you'd like to ask me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. You could say that I'm interested in your... desires.”

"Is that what you desire? Greater wealth and recognition?”

Now you understood why they felt so peculiar and out of the ordinary. Why they made you feel so puzzled and intruded upon. Desire intended to allure you, to pull you in.

As for the reason, you were still in the dark.

"They came to you because of their animosity against me," he concluded. "To punish me.”

"Why would they want to do that? Aren't you family?”

"Their hatred for me is multifaceted, combining elements of sibling rivalry, jealousy, and grievances. They want to assert influence and demonstrate control over aspects that traditionally fall under my domain, like the subconscious desires of mortals.”

Was it truly just envy that Desire harbored for him? Was it all about dominance and the classic 'who has more power' game?

"There's more to it, though, isn't there?”

“Throughout our long existence, we have interacted in ways that have bred many grudges. Desire has a tendency to interfere, sowing chaos into my affairs.”

"What did they do?”

His nervous pout returned. "Desire's nature is manipulative; they have created the circumstances that led to the tragic outcomes of many things I was involved in.”

How could any family member ever want to harm him?

"So... Unity Kincaid...?”

"Desire knew the child would become the Vortex and that I would be compelled to kill it."

“But why?”

Morpheus remained quiet, observing the growing anxiety on your face. You could perceive there was something much more sinister, something you wouldn't really want to hear, but that you were desperate to know for your own sanity.

"For an Endless, the consequences of killing a member of their family are grave and significant. We are bound by cosmic laws and responsibilities, and our actions can affect the fabric of reality.”

You swallowed, waiting for him to continue.

"If an Endless spills family blood, they are subject to the wrath of the Furies.”

“The Furies?”

“You already know them as 'The Kindly Ones.'”

Those three again. The ladies who warned you about Morpheus and the secrets he was withholding. The ones who toyed with your mind and hinted at the existence of Paregoros without ever revealing her identity to you.

"They are ancient entities that punish familial murder. Their vengeance is relentless.”

He was carefully choosing his words, but his effort to protect you from the brutal revelation couldn't obscure the actual meaning.

"So you're saying they could destroy you. They could take your life away.”

“The killing of a family member is a severe breach of the natural order.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

You turned around, one hand on your hip and the other covering your mouth as you walked aimlessly.

“Y/N.”

Had Morpheus killed Rose to permanently end the Vortex, his realm would have faced yet another onslaught, with the Furies exacting their vengeance upon him. All because of a single deed prompted by his sibling, a deed that could have resulted in Morpheus' demise.

"My love—”

"Let me get this straight," you interrupted him. "Desire sees your rivalry as an excuse to provoke you into breaking the laws and ultimately causing your own downfall?”

Your voice was rising, your blood boiling and coursing through your veins like hot water steaming in a pot.

"Do they really understand the consequences that would bring?”

“They do.”

You snapped, turning to face him again, your eyes red and darkened with seething anger. "Why would they, or anyone in this fucking universe, ever wish such a horrifying fate upon you??!!”

For just a fleeting moment, he was visibly stunned by your expressed frustration. But as he absorbed the extent of your support and the defense you were mounting just for him, Morpheus' shoulders slumped, and his lips formed a subtle smile.

"Now what? Are you going to tell me that Desire was responsible for Roderick Burgess capturing you as well?”

He turned grave, your ironic question striking a chord, his expression shadowed with grief. "It is possible. Desire's machinations are intricate and far-reaching. They revel in chaos and thrive on the misery of others, especially mine. Their interference in my capture would not be beyond them.”

Your eyes widened, and your heart ached as you envisioned him in that glass prison, stripped of everything he was. Could the torment he endured for so long really be the result of his sibling's cruelty, using a gullible mortal for their own satisfaction?

“Oh, that's just... that makes me so... uuughhh!!"

Your growl echoed throughout Fiddler's Green, and your breath quickened as you paced back and forth, vehement, and intensely incensed.

Morpheus watched you with appreciation and melancholy in his stare. "Your anger is justified, but it must not consume you.”

"How can it not?!" you retorted, stopping in your tracks, fists clenched at your sides. "How can I not be furious knowing what you’ve been through, all because of Desire's games? I was there Morpheus. I saw what those humans did to you.”

He was ethereal and beautiful, yet hollow and desolate.

“I swear, from the moment I met Desire, I felt so awful in their company. Now I know why.”

Morpheus stepped closer, his presence calming yet still carrying the weight of the cosmos. "Desire seeks to disrupt, to provoke such reactions. We must be smarter.”

You took a deep breath, attempting to steady yourself. “Smarter? Morpheus, I could have lost you today!”

The raw emotion in your voice brought a flicker of pain to his eyes. "I am deeply sorry for the anguish this has caused you.”

"It's not just about being sorry. It's about preventing it from happening again. If they're truly behind your capture, if they created a new Vortex just to have you face the Kindly Ones, who, by the way, are not really that kind to my taste, how can we be certain they won't try something else?”

He placed his hands on your cheeks, grounding you with the cool contact. "Do not let Desire's activities influence you. Rest assured, I will have a word with them.”

"Would that even suffice, considering what they've done to you?”

"Speaking with them may not change their behavior, but it will serve as a reminder of the boundaries they should not cross.”

How could a simple reminder be even remotely suitable after all they had put him through? You had been so close to seeing the love of your life eradicated from his own existence without even knowing it.

That ordeal couldn’t be stopped, could it? You were destined to witness Morpheus continually battling for the survival of his realm, facing one challenge after another, all because the universe seemed determined to punish him no matter what he did.

Well then. If nobody could stand up for the King of Dreams, if not even his own family was willing to put his well-being first, then you would.

And it was paradoxical, seeing how Unity had sacrificed her own life for Rose's sake, while her former lover had merely exploited them for his vengeance. If you had considered the Corinthian a despicable monster, if you had thought that Mister Burgess was the worst, most rotten example of humanity, Desire was by far a step ahead of them.

Pouting like an offended child, you crossed your arms over your chest. "In that case, I will protect you.”

Morpheus looked at you in astonishment, his expression melting with tenderness. He extended his hands, gently uncrossing your arms and clasping your fingers in his.

"Your spirit is admirable, but you must think of yourself. I would not see you harmed in an attempt to keep me safe.”

"I'm not asking for permission, Morpheus.”

Another small, satisfied grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You remind me of the mortals who have stood against the odds, driven by love and conviction.”

"And you’re worth every bit of that fight."

Pride illuminated Morpheus's expression. “Very well. But promise me you will be cautious.”

“I will.”

And with that, you succumbed to the urge to hold him in your arms, wrapping your hands around his neck and planting a loud, strong, affectionate kiss on his cheek.

"Mmhh. I just want you to be happy,” you murmured, humming affectionately against his neck.

The vast expanse of the Dreaming seemed to hold its breath. The touch of your lips against his skin was both a promise and a plea, a gesture of love that spoke louder than words ever could. To him, it wasn't new, but every intimate touch and loving declaration from you ignited a fire in his depths that he couldn’t quite describe.

"If I am to measure my existence by moments of true contentment, then I find the greatest ones with you.”

You tightened your grip around his shoulders. "Really?”

"I can guarantee it.”

You pulled away from him just enough to bring your face close to his. "So, are you happy with me?”

“Are you?”

You exhaled, giggling with the delight of a schoolgirl. "I'm the happiest woman alive. In this world, in my world, and in every timeline that exists.”

"Then yes, my love. Your courage, your unwavering support—they are the essence of my happiness.”

"Ah, now you've done it, I'm afraid.”

“Done what?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"You just made me want to hold you even more, and never let you go.”

His genuine, delighted smile spread across his face as he wrapped his arms around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off the ground. The motion was fluid and filled with a surprising, playful energy, revealing a side of him that only you could witness.

You laughed, a sound that rang through the atmosphere like the purest melody. You tightened your embrace around his neck as he held you securely, his eyes twinkling and casting a glow over the entire Dreaming.

He pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was soft and filled with all the nuances of his love for you. As the kiss deepened, you felt the strength and warmth of his hold, a silent promise that he would always keep you close, even across the barrier separating your two dimensions.

One that he could always cross to reach you.

Author's note: There is more to come. While the Vortex segment has officially ended, there are things that I want to cover and we haven't seen in the show at all. Also, the very last part of the story will begin soon, and it's going to be particularly important and also very intense. You will need tissues.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 21 ->

#the sandman #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless #the sandman morpheus

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nycbabyjoey · 2 years ago

Text

The Mysterious Stranger

NSFW 18+ Only

Contains ABDL/MDLG/MDLB Content

This short story is inspired by one of my favorite ABDL captions of all time, The Mysterious Woman by BabyTB. So, all credit for the concept goes to them! Click the link and read their caption if you haven't already!

Edit: The Tumblr overlords decided my story tagged as sexually explicit was TOO sexually explicit. I've removed an image.

The whirr of the buzzing vacuum cleaner was so loud that Daniella almost didn't hear a knock on the door that would change her life forever.

She had been lost in thought as she did her chores, maintaining the home she shared with her husband Jack. It was the same routine as Jack went to his job as a powerful stock broker; she would spend the days scrubbing on her hands and knees and slaving away in the kitchen all for her husband to return home as they silently ate dinner together. Their marriage had lost its spark and life for Daniela just wasn't exciting anymore.

That's what Daniela was thinking anyway when the sudden knock came to the door. No one typically visited during the day. She wondered who it could be.

She turned the vacuum off, setting it against the armrest of the couch.

"Coming!" she shouted, as she briskly made her way through the living room and to the front door.

Daniela's face turned red, both out of embarrassment and anger, once she saw who was behind the door. A woman she didn't know at all was stood on her front lawn wearing a pair of jeans, a pair of glasses, and nothing in between, leaving her firm breasts to visibly wobble with every little movement.

"What's the big idea?!" Daniela shouted at the stranger.

"Is Jack home?" the stranger asked innocently. "I've heard he's been a really naughty boy."

That two-timing jackass, Daniela thought to herself. I should've known he was cheating on me this whole time, but I can't believe this little tramp has the audacity to show up when she knows he's at work!

"Jack happens to be my husband," Daniela responded firmly. "And he's not home right now, so why don't you take your skanky ass off of my front doorstep and never come back!"

Daniela went to slam the door, but the stranger's hand caught it and pushed back. Daniela marveled at how strong this woman was, despite not appearing so.

"Seems like Jack's not the only one being naughty," the stranger said, less smiley this time.

"Look, you have three seconds to get off my property or I'm calling the police," Daniela said, pushing the front door with all her might to no avail.

"Now, now," the stranger responded. "Is that any way to talk to your babysitter?"

Babysitter? That wasn't the response Daniela expected. What the hell was this lady on about?

"Fine, you asked for it," Daniela threatened, letting go of the door. She marched into the house to grab her phone.

"Daniela Gabriela Villafani," the stranger shouted with a harsh tone that stopped Daniela right in her tracks, "You come back here this instant!"

The sound of her full maiden name stopped Daniela right in her tracks. She tried to tell her body to keep moving, but she couldn't stop herself from turning back around and opening the door for the stranger. The woman's words had struck fear into her and, as if by some sort of magic, she was under her control.

The stranger grinned as she entered the home. "That's a good girl," the woman praised, petting Daniela as she walked past as if she were now her pet.

"Wh- what's going on?" Daniela managed, quivering in the open doorway.

"You and Jack have a new babysitter," the woman stated. "And she's going to make a few changes around here."

Daniela blinked and, by the time she opened her eyes, all the changes had been made. The house was the same, but with a few very noticeable additions. Across the foyer in the dining room, two chairs that normally sat at the large dining table had been suddenly replaced by two large highchairs. The living room where they stood had toys splayed across the ground - dolls, fairy princess wands, and a glittery unicorn hairbrush. A baby gate separated Daniela from her staircase. None of these things were here before, Daniela thought. We don't have any kids!

Daniela looked down at herself for the first time. She gasped at the sight, causing something to fall out of her mouth that hadn't been there before. She watched as her pacifier hit the ground, falling past a bunny-covered onesie and a short pink skirt before it the floor next to her fluffy, pink-striped, thigh-high socks! That's when Daniela realized - she was the kid!

As if to confirm, Daniela lifted her new pink skirt to see what was underneath, completely unconcerned that the intruding stranger would see her undergarments (she would be seeing them a lot anyway). Sure enough, her underwear had been replaced with a pink pair of briefs decorated with the Powerpuff Girls.

"Aw, don't like it as much as your sexy wittle thong?" the stranger teased. "And you thought I was the slut."

The woman cackled as tears formed in Daniela's eyes. She couldn't help but feel scared and intimidated like she really was the age she was dressed as.

"Come on, dear," the stranger instructed, extending out her hand. "Let's wait for your brother to get home." Daniela couldn't resist taking the woman's hand and following her past the baby gate to the upstairs bedroom.

"Honey, I'm home!" Jack shouted, placing his keyring on the hook next to the front door. "What's for dinner?"

No response.

Jack was puzzled. His wife usually had dinner ready to go for when he got home at 6:30 p.m. Not only was his wife nowhere in sight, neither was his food!

He looked around at all the toys thrown across the living room, leaning down to pick up a baby doll. "Change me!" its recording cried as he gripped it. This is odd, Jack thought. Had Daniela been watching one of the neighbor's kids?

At that moment, Jack heard a muffled thwap followed by wailing coming from upstairs.

"Babe, is that you?"

Again, no response.

Jack dropped the doll and began to make his way upstairs, eyeing the baby gate suspiciously as he stepped over it. As he made his way closer, the sounds became clearer. Whack! Whack! Whack! Over and over again like the sound of a whip being cracked, followed by a woman's sobbing. And it was coming from the master bedroom.

Jack opened the door to discover that their bedroom had completely transformed. Their beautiful king-sized bed was now a twin, with pink pillows and a Disney Princess comforter surrounded by a pink sparkly canopy fit for a fairy princess. Sat on the bed was a shirtless woman that Jack had never met and across the woman's lap was Daniela with her Powerpuff Girls underwear around her ankles and her pink skirt lifted up, exposing her bare bright red butt to her husband.

The whipping sound continued, which was simply the woman's hand lightly hitting Daniela's backside. Despite the light amount of force, Daniela kicked her legs and bawled uncontrollably, begging for the punishment to end.

"What the fuck is going on here?!" Jack shouted. "That's my fucking wife! Get your sick kinky crap and get the hell out of my house!"

The spanks stopped, but Daniela looked at Jack in desperation as if to say "save yourself." The stranger just turned to Jack and said, "Well, well, well. You have an even worse potty mouth than Little Dani. No respect for authority, you two."

"Get the fuck out," Jack demanded, pointing at the bedroom door. "Last chance."

Maintaining unwavering eye contact with Jack, the woman tapped Daniela on the right butt cheek causing her to sit straight up. The woman stood up off the bed and paced slowly over to Jack. She was about the same height as Jack, but somehow with each step she took towards him, Jack felt smaller and smaller despite how confident he had been a second ago. He tried to stand his ground, but his legs shook in fear and by the time she had walked over to him, tears were streaming down his face.

"This is your last chance, mister," the woman shot back at the trembling boy. "Say sorry to me this instant for your rude tone."

Jack knew he didn't want to apologize - it was him who was wronged! And this woman shouldn't have been intimidating to him anyway, but yet... she was! Jack couldn't explain it, but he would've said anything in that moment to avoid being on her bad side. "I- I- I'm s-sorry!" he stammered.

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm s-sorry f-for my rude tone!" he shouted, bursting uncontrollably into tears on the last syllable. He had tried to be tough - he was a power player, goddammit! But this strange woman had made him into a blubbering mess. And not only that...

"And look," the woman said, gesturing at Jack. "You went and had a little accident."

Jack wiped the tears from his eyes as he looked down to confirm. It was true! His work khakis were soaked and not from his tears. He had pissed himself.

"Don't worry," the stranger continued. "I'll take care of everything."

She snapped her fingers and Jack was on the floor. His business suit was completely gone, replaced by just a shirt and a large diaper to hold any further accidents. A bright blue pacifier muffled his sobs.

"Even your older sister kept her pants dry," the babysitter said condescendingly. "Guess you'll be the baby of the family."

Jack continued to cry as his babysitter picked him up for the first of many diaper changes.

"Jack, stop crying!" Daniela pleaded. "You know I'm not allowed to change your diaper on my own."

Daniela rolled her eyes as her husband rolled around on the nursery floor in his dirty diaper, banging his fists on the soft play floor.

It had been six months since the mysterious woman claiming to be the married couple's babysitter had entered their home and made it her own. And it had been six months that the two adults had found themselves unable to resist her control. She simply told the two that they could never leave the house, sometimes confined specifically to their nursery, and that was enough to render the pair unable to walk out the door and escape their new lives.

The husband and wife had now become baby brother and older sister. Jack stayed in diapers, was spoonfed baby food, played with blocks and stackable rings, and was tucked into his crib at night, belly full of the woman's breast milk. Daniela got the privilege of cartoon briefs, mac and cheese and apple juice, and her princess bed, but it wasn't any walk in the park. For one, she had to stay in the nursery with baby Jack, who couldn't keep his diaper clean for more than a couple of hours.

As she played with her Barbies on the nursery floor, she thought about her marriage six months ago. It hadn't been perfect and she had certainly complained about the lack of passion. But in retrospect, it had been nice. Sure, they didn't have sex SO often, but when they did, wow! She dreamt about sitting on Jack's big fat cock, up and down, until she just couldn't take it anymore and she just...

She sighed at the reality that that hunk was currently the man who was weeping next to her over his soiled diaper. Both her and Jack had been told they couldn't touch Jack's diapers and, like all their babysitter's demands, they were forced to obey. That juicy cock was imprisoned forever behind a pair of Pampers.

Daniela was lost in thought so long, she hadn't even realized that she had been absent-mindedly bashing her Barbie's genitalless crotches together, giving her butterflies like it had before she had discovered sex. Her unicorn panties started to dampen. She wasn't allowed to touch Jack's pants, she realized. But she could touch her own.

She used one hand to continue scissoring her Barbie dolls and she used the other to pull down her childish panties and touch herself for the first time in a year. The sensation was electric and thrilling. She had never become aroused this quickly in the past, but now she was like a starved animal. She continued to rub her clit as her husband's cries faded in the background.

The babysitter sat downstairs watching TV as she heard the mixed chorus of Jack's whines and Daniela's moans.

She shook her head. "Those two are always misbehaving," she muttered to herself.

For six months, she had been wrangling the two rugrats. Whether she'd catch them trying to climb over the baby gate (which was several feet shorter than either of them, but hilariously they were unable to step over) or throwing food in protest and begging for a piece of ribeye steak, she had had to deliver spank after spank after spank to get the couple to behave. But, they just would not accept that they weren't adults anymore. They were her playthings.

She had broken them in rather well despite all that, she thought to herself. Sure, she had obviously used her magic to make Jack have a little accident. But, most self-respecting men would have at least tried not to use their diaper after that. She had given him the option; she didn't use any magic! Regardless, little Jack was a big diaper-filler.

And now, here was Daniela trying to do big girl things. It was such a shame - she had been the good one! Oh well... this inappropriate behavior couldn't go unpunished.

The babysitter snapped her fingers again and smirked from ear to ear as she heard "No. No! No! No! NOOOOO!!!!!" echo from upstairs.

Just as every nerve in Daniela's body was shooting off and she was about to finish, the exhilarating rubbing excitement had stopped entirely. She looked down to realize that she wasn't rubbing her princess parts anymore; she was rubbing the front of a big, thick diaper. All her clothes were gone except for it.

"Don't you know I have eyes in the back of my head?" a voice said. Daniela turned to see the stranger stood in the doorway of the nursery. She simmered in anger, tears streaming down her face. How could she do this to her? Why was she doing this to them? What had they done to deserve this? Their life had been boring, sure. But, they weren't bad people and this was NOT the kind of excitement they had been looking for. And now, one brief moment of ecstasy stolen away. Daniela hated her.

Nonetheless, the babysitter rubbed salt in the wound, "Maybe if you stop being naughty, you can get your potty privileges back. But for now, I'll keep you both as baby twins. And you know what that means? Both of you can breastfeed for dinner. That's why I have two boobs, after all. Now, you two grind on each other before then. I want to watch you get all frustrated, unable to feel anything through your thick, puffy diapies!"

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