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chososdiscordkitten · 8 months

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Obsessive!Choso♡ pt 9

pt 8 here

content: stalking (duh.) overdone sick trope 👍🏽, FINALLY something happens Jesus Christ, reader hates school, Choso can't THINK, reader HAS siblings but doesn't consider them family, not so much stalking in this one, more just progression and Choso being cute hehe (a.n) yayyy I finally finished this!!!!! sorry I was bed ridden for three days straight and finally felt the sun on my face yesterday.(depression) I know I indulged a little too much of my thoughts and feelings abt family in this one but I HAD to. Wrote this listening to 'This town- Niall Horan'

Taglist: @eristi @sunaumi @ex-ria @just-pure-trash @kha-0s @iluvreinah @iamboredowo @integers @waytootiredforthisss @1arminsimp @hannas16 @chosowhore @tojicvmslut @ofalcaodacolinablue @thesharkcollector @mochipip @hotvillianapologist @ziklope @saeline @morinuu

Obsessive!Choso who remembered how angry you looked earlier talking to your roommate, almost like you were arguing with them but he didn't know why. You seemed perfectly fine when he asked you if you were ready to go. He looked over at you, basking in the light of the moon. “Can I ask you something?” he blurted, making you look over at him. Bright eyes and a slight sneer on your lips, humming a quiet ‘mhm’ before looking back up to the sky. “What was your roommate telling you?” he asked, making your eyes turn tight, “Before we left- I mean.” he clarified. You didn't bother looking over at him, you kept your eyes on the sky before answering him. “They were telling me how rude I was being. ‘First day back and you're already running off with god knows who’ I think they said.” you repeat what they told you in a sarcastic tone, “Telling me that was sooo unlike me.” you mumbled, being able to feel his stare on your skin.

“I dunno,” you spoke up, knowing he wasn't going to say anything till you expressed your opinion on the topic. “I certainly didnt miss their lengthy lectures or their opinions on my life.” you murmured, hands in your pockets as you hummed. “Lectures?” Choso spoke up, questioning why your roommate was lecturing you. ‘Of all people in the world I refuse to believe they lecture you on your choices.’

“Mhm. They love chastising me for such stupid things. It's like I live with my mother again.” You frowned, looking over at him to see if he had heard what he needed. “And that's a bad thing?” he pinched his eyebrows, “If you grew up the same way I did, you'd never want to see your mother again, let alone live with her.” you laughed, “16 years was more than enough time living with that woman.” You joked, scanning his face and seeing he did not comprehend what you were saying.

Obsessive!Choso who blamed your words on your boozy state, making sure to remember the topic so he could ask you later. Seeing your flushed expression and thinking it was time to get you home, in hopes you’d sleep off whatever they gave you. “C’mon. Let's get you home.” he mumbled, seeing a tinge of disappointment on your face. You hummed, “I'd rather stay here forever.” swishing your torso as you looked up at the moon. It was clear from the tone you took that you were clearly inebriated. But he’d much rather have you here, tipsy and refusing to go home, than with another man who would've just hurt you. “You stay out here any longer and you'll get sick.” He took a step forward. In the state you were in, you had found confidence looming inside you, a small smirk forming at your lips before you looked at him. “I didn't know you cared.” you teased. Eyes half lidded when you saw his face turn bitter. Furrowing his eyebrows and looking at you with a hand placed flat against his chest, almost clutching his pearls. “Of course I care-” serious tone as he saw you try to suppress a laugh.

You sighed with a smile, looking down to your shoes and humming in response. Looking up at him with a hazy smile, “Take me home.” you wirred. The words that fell from your lips made a chill run down his spine, the tone you took didn't help either. Choso only nodded his head quickly before taking a step away from you, suddenly feeling like you were too close. You only raised your eyebrows at him, almost waiting for him to start walking in the direction of your house. He inhaled sharply before turning to take a step, seeing you walk right next to him. Silence. Usually the silence that fell between you two was comfortable, knowing he wasn't a man of many words at times. But this kind of silence made you want to laugh at how awkward it was. Especially anytime your hand brushed against his, he'd flinch away as though you were made of glass.

“You're so strange.” you mumbled with a smile, being able to see the side of his profile as you walked. “Strange?” he asked, looking over to you with his hands in his pockets to keep from touching you. You laughed at the way he said that word, almost like it was the last thing he was expecting to hear from you. You remembered a picture you had seen on instagram. Of a cat looking sad and apologizing for being strange and off putting- which you found hilarious because he looked exactly like that cat right now. “Yes- strange and off putting.” You smiled, mimicking what the photo said. Choso mentally was scolding himself for being that way, not knowing why you were calling him that- but thought there had to be a reason behind it.

Obsessive!Choso who took a few seconds to process what you had said, seeing you look up at the stars as you walked on the sidewalk. “I'm sorry...?” he asked more than stated, making you look at him with a confused smile. “For being ‘strange and off putting’?” he mumbled seeing you not understanding why he was apologizing. You wrapped your hand at the ditch of his elbow with a small laugh, “That's okay. I like you even if you are.” you joked, making Choso feel a warmth flood his cheeks.

Walking across the street and stepping up the small steps of your porch. Seeing the porch light turn on, scanning his face. Noticing his flushed cheeks and blaming it on the weather. “You wanna come in? My roommates won't be home till late.” You smiled, looking at him through your eyelashes with a cheeky smile. Choso widened his eyes at your words, thinking of how forward you were being. Too forward. He nodded his head ‘no’ before speaking. “I think you're a little too tipsy right now.” He grumbled, seeing you disagree with your head. “I'm not- you're just a little blurry right now.” You smiled. Seeing him give you a feigned ‘is that so?’ raising your eyebrows in response. Mouthing a small ‘Okay, okay.’ before turning to unlock your door.

You opened the door to your house before feeling a certain itch in your brain form. “Before you go-” you turned around, the door cracked open with the door knob in your hand. “Do you...” you hesitated, suddenly feeling very embarrassed by what you were thinking. “Do you not like me or something?” You gave a forced smile. Knowing the words you had been thinking for the past few days were finally out in the open. The expression that formed on his face was something you never expected to see from him. He looked like a deer in headlights. Eyes wide and mouth struggling to find words to say to you. “I-” he started, you tilted your head with raised eyebrows waiting for him to say something. “Because I like you, Choso.” you hummed, batting your eyelashes. Hoping that your own words would motivate him to say what you wanted to hear.

The seconds you stood there felt like an eternity- maybe it was. The porch light had turned off from how long he took to answer you. Choso’s head was reeling from the words you told him. ‘As a friend? As a stranger? As something else-’ his mind was racing with questions only you could answer. He mouthed a million words, trying to say something but hesitating before he actually voiced them. “I-” he managed, seeing you part your lips and the shine in your eyes start to dim. “I lo-” he started, catching himself before stuttering. “I like you too.” He shuddered, the feeling of words falling from his lips without permission.

Obsessive!Choso who nodded his head ‘no’ almost in disbelief at what he just said. “Really?” you asked, cheeky smile on your lips, fishing for more words from him. His face showed you everything you needed to see, he looked nervous. It was almost funny, looking horrified yet elated. He only nodded his head yes, seeing you look away from his gaze. “Do you really like me too?” he asked, feeling a frog was in his throat. Heart thumping so hard in his chest he swore you could hear it. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, dim lighting making your eyes sparkle once more. Nodding with a small ‘mhm’. “Even if I'm strange and off putting?” he whispered, feeling hazy as though this was a dream. You gave him a lushy smile, cheeks starting to hurt from how much his words delighted you. “Especially if you're strange and off putting.” You giggled, making him look down at his shoes. Noticing just how close you were to him.

‘This is wrong. I shouldn't be here.’ he thought, looking back up to inspect your features. Taking advantage of how close he was. Even if he knows he’ll feel guilty for it later. ‘I don't deserve to be here with you.’ His gaze was heavy on you, feeling like he was staring into your soul. You exhaled, looking off to the side before speaking, “I've never felt so seen before I met you.” you whispered, feeling like he could see every crack, every secret and every moment of doubt in your life. Even if the plentiful amounts of liquor you had earlier were clouding your judgment. It was the truth, a truth you hadn’t admitted out loud till now. He called your name, making you look back to him with swelling eyes and a wavering smile. “-I see you,” he hummed, the horrified look on his face now gone, looking at you with warm eyes and a softened expression. Calling your name once more, “-I always have.” you furrowed your eyebrows, lip quivering and looking to him with expectant eyes.

“You sure you don't wanna come in?” you grinned, wanting to talk to him surrounded by the warmth of your bedroom. Choso softly nodded his head no, “Another time.” he grinned. Even if he had turned down your offer, you found comfort in knowing that he at least liked you. Choso straightened his posture, looking at you with a toothy grin. “Lock your doors-” he started, half laugh caught in his chest. “Lock your windows, close your curtains.” he lectured, making you smile in response. “I will. I will.” you mumbled, stepping into the doorway and looking at him as you leaned against the door frame.

Sappy smile on your lips as you watched him take a step back, “Goodnight.” he grinned. Looking at you as though this was some shitty rom com from the early 2000. If you paid any more attention, you'd see his pupils in the shape of tiny hearts, hands in his pockets as the porch creaked beneath his heavy boots. “Goodnight Choso.” You hummed, waiting till he turned around to walk away. Making note that he looked back once at you when he was at the bottom of the stairs, and once more when he was walking on the sidewalk before closing the door. You found it sweet he looked back twice at you, if only you knew he kept looking to see if you closed the door so he could stand in the spot he usually stood at to watch your house. To watch you.

Obsessive!Choso waited to make sure your roommate got home before he left you alone. To make sure they didn't bring back one of their ‘friends’ with them. Not trusting your roommate or their shitty friends. But his fears were eased when he saw they came back alone, stumbling out of a car and tripping on their own shoes, sure. But thankful they came back alone, especially since they seemed frustrated when they saw the doors were locked. Having to fumble with their unused keys just to get into the house. Thankful that you listened to him, looking up and seeing you did in fact close your curtains. Smiling to himself at how you acted on your promise. Even if you were going to do it already, Choso couldn't help but think you did it just because he told you to.

Making sure to gently lay on his bed when he got home, on the brink of falling asleep before hearing his phone ding. He wanted to ignore it, but thoughts of what if it was you flooded his mind. Picking up his phone a staring at it with squinty eyes, seeing you had sent him a photo. ‘ik its late but i wanted u to know this is what i was referring to btw’ he read, waiting for the photo to load. Seeing it was a very sad cat, ‘oh god did i look like that ?’ he typed, trying his best to sound coherent. ‘yes u did!!! thats why i told u that’ he read hearing your voice in his mind. ‘im sorry if u were sleepin’ you double texted. Making Choso roll over slowly on his bed and hug his pillow with a small blush on his cheeks. ‘i wont lie, i was about to’ he replied, seeing you start to type. ‘ok ok ill let u sleep, text me in the morning ok?’ you asked, your coherence made it clear to Choso that you probably ate something to soak up what was in your stomach. ‘ok’ he sent, typing with one eye open, ‘goodnight :)’ before shutting his phone off and snuggling into his pillow pretending it was you.

Obsessive!Choso who’s assumptions were true, you had finally eaten a sad grilled cheese and had a cup of coffee before your roommate got home. Suddenly regretting every single thing you had confessed to Choso. Worrying you made him uncomfortable or offended him by your slurred words that had no meaning behind them. Even if it was embarrassing recalling all the things you had said to him, you were glad they were said. Knowing that if you hadn't found the confidence to tell him, those words probably wouldn't have been spoken till you were frustrated with the lack of progress. But now the looming thought of ‘Did he mean he liked me in a friend way, or in another way?’ was heavy. Frustration creep back into your mind, feeling like you haven't made any progress at all.

Sunday was spent in bed for Choso, feeling a little under the weather. Watching the small red dot on his phone move anytime you needed to run an errand for your roommate. It worried you- him feeling ill. Knowing how long he spent outside just to get you home. You tried asking him if you could come over with medicine. But the mere thought of you standing in his apartment, inches away from the shrine he had in his closet. Various photos of you in small frames around his apartment. It made him shiver at the thought. Clearing his throat before assuring you. “I’m fine- I'll be fine.” holding back the itching cough that tickled his throat. He did find it endearing that you would have risked your own health for him. The anxiety just thinking about you coming to see him was 50-50 with the heart aching feeling of actually letting you see him.

There was nothing more Choso wanted than to have you at his side, be it the rising fever or his feelings. But he struggled to deny your attempts to see him, feeling a certain ache in his heart to be doted on. It pained him to say ‘no’ to you, it really did. But he couldn't risk you coming here. Almost crying by picturing you being upset at the things he had stolen from you, telling him he was your stalker the whole time. Monday came like a grade four hurricane. Choso woke up feeling like death came for him in the night, blinking his eyes open and seeing the time. Knowing one of the three classes he had with you started in an hour. If he was being honest, Choso knew he’d get sick eventually. Cold weather and an unheated apartment have never made the greatest combination. What he didn’t expect was to wake up on the day of classes and feel like a victorian child being eaten away by the plague.

Choso dreaded sending you that text. It sounded like a lame excuse, like a lie. ‘im too sick to go to class, im sorry’ he felt like he was failing you in some way that you'd never forgive. But your quick replies of ‘i knew it’ and demanding his address and apartment number made his heart warm. When he didn't reply; you called him. He picked up on the first ring, “I was just about to text you back.” he croaked, his voice raspier than usual. “I sent those texts like 10 minutes ago.” you scolded, hearing him give you a half laugh from his chest. “I fell asleep.” he played coy, smiling as he pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Don't lie!” you smiled, being able to hear him let out a small huff. “I would never lie to you.” he muttered, cozying into his blankets as he closed his eyes. His incoherent words made you smile, telling him to send his address now.

Obsessive!Choso who felt his brain pound in his mind. “No. Go to class. And pay attention.” he mumbled quietly letting his inner thoughts slip, making you sigh dramatically. “I’ll think about it.” you muttered, being able to hear his breathing steadily over the phone. Whispering his name and hearing small heaving. Thinking he probably fell asleep. You sat in your living room contemplating actually going to class. Hearing your roommates leave the house one by one. With a loud sigh you sat up, knowing there wasn't anything you could do unless he gave you an address. Sitting in your intro to humanities class. Knowing this was one of the classes you were to have with Choso, you were fiddling with a pen in frustration. Staring at the screen of your computer as you heard the professor talk on and on.

Something the professor said made you remember Choso had sent you a photo of his courses for that semester. Opening it on your dimmed phone, scanning the photo and seeing the upper corner showed the street name of where he lived. Knowing that there was only one small apartment complex; if you could even call it that, near the campus. And coincidentally it was on the same street that the photo showed. If you were being honest, this made you feel like a stalker. But you were doing it for good, you just wanted to help a friend.

Smiling to yourself before gathering your things mid class. Walking to the grocery store close to your house. Surprisingly, the weather wasn't as bad as it had been the past few days. Today it was surprisingly sunny and not as cold. Picking up any kind of medicine that looked like it would work, not caring what it cost or if it was a name brand. Coming home to an empty house and packing a few things into a duffle bag, ordering an uber to take you to a small restaurant. Picking up a small bowl of chicken soup and riding to his apartment complex. Furrowing your eyebrows when you stood in front of the two story building, knowing that Choso was bed ridden in one of the 8 studio apartments. Suddenly realizing you had just come without warning, you called him.

Hearing the phone ring, and ring, and ring before he picked up. Nasally and hoarse as he mumbled a quiet “Hello?” gaining a small smile from you before you spoke, “Which apartment is yours?” you asked with an obvious smile in your tone. You heard silence before he spoke, “What?” he asked, being able to hear the confusion in his voice. “I said-” you trailed, “Which apartment is yours? I'm outside.” you laughed, hearing silence on his end.

Obsessive!Choso who felt like his whole world would come crashing down if you even stepped into his apartment. Finding a sudden burst of energy and sprinting across his apartment and collecting everything that could look suspicious. Muttering various ‘what do you mean’ and ‘why’ trying to distract you from what he was doing. Finding a black photo box big enough to fit all the things you gave him that he had hidden in his closet. Standing in the middle of his apartment, “H-how was class?” He tried changing the conversation. Hearing you exhale dramatically, “Boring.” you mumbled. His eyes went wide when he found an old vent big enough to fit it in. Hearing you tell him to hurry up while he undid painted over screws with his hands. “No- really it's a mess-” he tried deterring you, only hearing you sigh before shouting at him playfully. “Choso, I don't care! Let me in.” Slipping the box into the vent as quietly as he could, closing the vent and standing up. Quickly scanning his apartment trying to see if he missed anything. “You take any longer and I'll go knocking on every door till you answer.” you teased, hearing him let out a low cough.

“It's on the second floor- number 4.” he exhaled, gulping down as much of the coarseness he had in his voice as he could. Standing against the door as he heard you hand up the phone, not even bothering to check what he looked like as he waited. His heart beating faster and faster as he heard footsteps outside of his door. A small knock before his hand hesitated to reach the door knob. Unlocking the lock and wrapping his hand around the brass knob, turning it slowly. Cracking the door and seeing you, hands full and already beaming. Hearing you gasp, “You look horrible.” You grinned, scanning his state. Disheveled hair, squinty eyes, and cheeks derived from any color, looking paler than normal. He let out a phlegm riddled chuckle, “And you look great.” he smiled, feeling his brain turn to mush by just looking at you.

“Let me innn.” you hummed, knowing he was speaking nonsense. Seeing him nod no while his hand was firm on the doorknob. “No-” he gave you a weak smile, “I'll get you sick.” He scoffed, looking at you through the small crack. “I don't care. Besides-” you gave him a toothy grin. “If you don't let me in your soup’ll get cold.” You hummed, seeing him close his eyes and look to the floor. Looking back up at you with soft eyes, letting go of the doorknob and pushing the door open. Taking a step inside, scanning the four walls of his so-called apartment. Placing the duffle bag on the counter of his small kitchen. “You were right-” you trailed, seeing he didn't have much decor, or really anything on his walls. “It's colder here than it is outside-” you joked, looking over to him and seeing he looked almost bashful.

Obsessive!Choso who heard you unzip the bag before he apologized, “I know- I’m sorry-” seeing you turn to him with a miniscule space heater in your hands. Letting out a small laugh at the way you displayed it between your hands. Seeing him slouched over himself, almost trying his best to stay standing upright. “Go lay down, you look like you'll keel over if you keep standing.” You smiled, unpacking the small tub of soup as he shuffled over to his bed. Sitting down gently as he watched you make yourself comfortable. Turning on the small battery operated heater and hearing him give a pained laugh. You muttered a quiet, ‘Shut up’ as you looked to his kitchen, “Bowls?” you asked, looking over to him watching you on his side.

“In the cupboard above the stove.” he grumbled, seeing you nod and reach up to open the cabinet and seeing a single bowl. “Choso, if I open up one of these drawers am I gonna see just one spoon?” your tone was already accusatory, “Definitely don't open the drawer closest to the microwave then.” he smiled, closing his eyes as he heard you open the drawer with a gasp. Smiling when he heard you stepping to him, placing the glass bowl on his nightstand. “Eat. Then I'll give you medicine.” You demanded. Seeing him open his eyes and look up at you.

You turned around and pulled out the chair that was at his desk, rolling it to face the bed. Humming quietly as you walked back to the kitchen counter. Hearing him shuffle out of bed and sit up against the wall, “I thought you couldn't cook?” he smiled, taking a small sip of the warm soup. “I can’t- if I did cook for you, you'd end up even more sick.” you mumbled, walking back to the chair and sitting on it. Placing the medicine on his side table as he ate. He looked over at you with hazy eyes, “Why didn't you go to class?” he hummed, looking over to you. “I did-” you assured him, “-but I left like 20 minutes in.” you laughed.

Obsessive!Choso who wanted to scold you, nodding his head ‘no’ in disapproval. “Why?” he mumbled, feeling his throat sting. “I kept picturin you all alone, dry heaving in your cold-” you laughed, “- apartment and I felt horrible.” You tilted your head, seeing him stare at you with the bowl in his hands. “Especially since you're always so nice to me-” you hummed, “I thought it was my turn to do something kind.” crossing your ankles and seeing his hazy eyes look at you as though this was the first nice thing anyone had done for him.

“How did you find out where I lived?” he asked, setting the bowl onto his nightstand. You widened your eyes slightly, leaning in closer to him. “I stalked you.” You whispered, seeing his smile fall and scan your face. He mouthed a small ‘What?’ before you leaned back into the chair. “No, in the uh- picture you sent me of your classes this semester-” you grinned, “it had the address in the corner.” you looked at him disapprovingly. “Ah.” he smiled, “Either way- when I feel better I'll find a way to repay you.” He promised, seeing your delicate hands pick up the bottle of cold medicine and shake them in his direction.

Seeing him pop the bottle open and take them dry. “You can pay me back by taking me out.” you whirred. Choso froze up, looking at your face to see if you were being serious or not. You raised your eyebrows when you waited for him to reply, “Well?” you asked, looking at him while blinking slowly. “I can't focus on what I want to say to you right now.” He mumbled, turning away from you and feeling goosebumps form on his arm.

“Don't think about what to say. Just tell me what you think.” You assured, wanting to know what thoughts he hid from you. “I think-” he started, wanting to avoid this conversation in its entirety. Seeing his cheeks flushed as he avoided your gaze, you scooched the rolling chair closer to him. ‘Hmm?’ you hummed, placing your hand atop his that was on the edge of his bed. All but flinching when he felt you. “What do you mean by-” he gulped, looking back at you with pinched eyebrows and shy eyes. His ears burning, mentally blaming it on your tiny heater. “...Take you out?” his eyes showing you how unsure he was asking you that. You gave Choso a small giggle, “You’re a lot less intimidating when you look at me like that.” you teased, seeing him close his eyes at how embarrassed he felt. “I meannn-” you droned on, “Like on a ‘date’ or something.” You leaned back into the chair, making this conversation sound way too casual. “You want me to take you on a date?” he asked, unsure if he heard you correctly. You nodded your head ‘yes’, seeing him think about it. Finding it very difficult to process what you were saying. “...As friends?” he asked quietly, voice hoarse and cheeks pink. You let out a laugh, seeing his expression fall. Settling down a little and looking at him with warm eyes. “You're impossible.” your tone endearing with a smile on your lips.

Obsessive!Choso whose face looked horrified. “No Choso. Not as friends.” You grinned, tightening the grip you had on his hand. The blush roamed down his neck. “I suspected so- b-but I didn't want to assume.” he stammered, reddening cheeks feeling lightheaded by hearing your words. You furrowed your eyebrows, standing from the chair and pressing your hand on his forehead. Leaning over slightly, Choso lightly inhaled, feeling your hand on his face. Pressing the back of your hand to his cheek and humming. “You're warm-” you mumbled, seeing him close his eyes. “It's the heater-” he smiled, lifting his hand and wrapping it around your wrist. Hearing you scoff at his accusation, pulling your hand from his face. Looking into your eyes and blinking up at you.

“Don't blame my heater for your blushing.” You joked, rolling your eyes before sitting down. His hand falling from your wrist as you saw him stumble over his words. “M’not blushing.” he huffed, fiddling with his thumbs. “Sure. Blame it on you being sick.” you teased, seeing him look over at you. Not even bothered by the conversation at hand, treating this as though it was some casual topic. Finally being able to gather his thoughts, ‘You're going to kill me one of these days, you know that?’ he thought to himself, seeing you look rather pleased with how flustered he was.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing on his night stand. Seeing your eyes look down to see who it was, “Who's ‘Yuuji’ with a heart emoji?” you asked, looking up at him with a perked brow. Picking up his phone and seeing it ring, “My baby brother.” he whispered, clicking the small green button and raising the phone to the ear opposite to the one facing you.

Obsessive!Choso who answered “Hello?”, hearing his brother ask him questions. “No- No i'm better now.” he smiled, looking down to his lap. Strands of his hair falling and blocking your view of his face. “Yes Yuuji, I took medicine already-” he was cut off. Feeling your fingers push the hair from his face behind his ear, pads your fingers grazing his earrings. Looking over at you with a shocked expression before stuttering. “Y-yes I ate-” feeling his blush return. “I-I’m alone-” He stammered, you furrowed your eyebrows. Leaning in closer to hear what his brother was saying, so close the air he inhaled was sweetened by your perfume.

‘You never stutter- who's with you?!’ the voice from his phone asked him, making you smile. Choso tried leaning away from you, only for you to lean on the edge of the bed trying to hear. “My friend is here-” he irked, seeing you give him an offended look. Squinting your eyes as you feigned offense, ‘Friend?’ you gasped quietly. Making Choso nod his head ‘no’ in defense as his brother scolded him for making someone else sick. Even hearing his brother ask, ‘You have friends?!’ with a laugh before he exhaled harshly. “I will call you later Yuuji.” his tone stern and authoritative as you settled back in your chair. Silence in the air as you hear- ‘Tell your lover i say hiii-’ his brother teased before Choso hung up. Your perfume still stuck in the air close to his face.

It was quiet, sure. But you heard him clearly, making note it was the second time; that you knew of, that his brother referred to you as that. He looked over at you hesitatingly, seeing a smug look on your face. “Your brothers must be my biggest fans.” You tease seeing him give a pained laugh, clutching his ribs as he leaned against the wall. “They really are-” he grumbled, seeing you from the corner of his eye. Seeing you hesitate before asking. “You really love your brothers huh.” You asked, Choso turned his head to look at you.

“There aren’t words that could come close to describing how much I love them.” He declared, noticing a hint of sadness in your eyes at his words. “That's really sweet Choso.” You replied, giving him a warm smile. “And you? Do you have any siblings?” he asked, mentally scolding himself for not having asked you that sooner. “I do-” you replied without thinking. “Did- I did.” you nodded. Furrowing his eyebrows, “Did they…pass?” he pressed, not liking the look on your face. Almost like it pained you to speak about this. “Last time I checked? No, they're very much alive. Just not family anymore.” You shrugged, seeing the confusion in his eyes.

“I don't understand.” He blurted, not seeing how that was possible. “They're only a blood relation.” You trailed on, looking down to your hands on your lap. “They were always just random people I lived with.” You slouched your shoulders, “But they're your family.” he mumbled, snapping your head to look up at him. “They've never been a family to me. Not now, and they never will be.” You declared, looking back at him with furrowed eyebrows. Tone more stern as you saw his face, full of pity and sorrow.

Obsessive!Choso who wanted to hear more, asking you- “Older or younger?” hoping to know why you hold such disdain towards them. “Both.” You mumbled, looking at his face. Feeling like he was staring right into the largest crack you had in your heart. Choso took your hand, making you look at him with pinched eyebrows and soft eyes. Running his thumb over your knuckles.

“That's why I think it's so sweet how much you care for your brothers. Mine never cared the way you do.” You grinned, seeing him look at you with a soft smile. Choso couldn't help but feel his chest swell with pride. At being a good older brother, and from receiving a compliment from you. “I'm sorry.” he apologized for nothing, you gave him a prize winning smile. Scoffing before speaking up, “It's fine. I'm fine, I'll live.” You assured. ‘I am still sorry. I'm sorry you weren't cherished the way you should’ve been.’ Choso thought, blinking down to his hand holding yours. Feeling his heart throb in his chest from how much progress he had made with you.

pt 10 here

the past few days I was writing this it felt like it was never ending omg- THANK U FOR READING. I know I took a hot second in writing this- unfortunately life kicked me in the butt. ANYWAYS. im alr writing next part- (lets pretend im not the author of this) EVERYONE CALM DOWN THINGS ARE HAPPENING HEHE

#jjk #choso kamo #choso my beloved #jjk choso #choso x reader #jjk x reader #choso x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen choso #sfw jjk #emo choso #college au #non curse au #choso #kamo choso

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

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Request: wrong number au, Eddie texts Gareth something personal but puts in 1 wrong number & ends up texting Steve. The two of them hit it off & start chatting & then when they meet IRL they are completely head over heels in love & its cute as fuck

MY LOVE MY LOVE MY LOVE!!! LOVE A GOOD WRONG NUMBER AU!!! I can't believe I've never written it before now. I also had to actually include Gareth because I am actually obsessed with him lately, and I just think it's really neat that we can make these characters our own. This was such a fun and cute request! I didn't do the inappropriate route because I thought this was hilarious so sorry about that. I made up for it with something else! - Mickala ❤️

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GARE BEAR! You won’t believe it but i dropped my phone in a sewer. Lost everything.

He had never been so happy about having his closest friends’ numbers memorized. His phone was somewhere under the streets of Chicago, floating through dirty water and sewage, dying a slow and painful death.

He texted everyone else one at a time, let them know he had a new number and to completely delete the old one because it would never be recovered.

They were used to things like this happening; He lost his phone annually at this point and it was cheaper just to get a new number than transfer everything to a new one.

He went to dial Wayne, the old school part of him insisting on phone calls instead of texts still, when Gareth’s name popped up with a new text.

Not sure who Gare Bear is, but sorry about your phone. That’s shitty.

Eddie let out a loud laugh.

did you mean to make a pun?

Did it make you laugh?

yes

Then yes.

Eddie sat down on a bench, entirely focused on his conversation with this stranger.

Did you find your Gare Bear yet?

Not yet but i think i’m pretty happy talking to you for now

Smooth, Eddie.

Admittedly, he was in a hell of a dry spell.

Going on almost two years, actually.

A little flirting with a stranger never hurt anybody, not when he clearly needed some practice.

Not sure if your Gare Bear would like it very much though

Wait, what?

Eddie stared at his phone, trying to comprehend what that could mean. Why would Gareth not want him talking to a stranger?

I hope you find your partner though!

Oh.

Oh!

Eddie hit the call button in the corner before he could even register what he was doing.

“Hello?”

Oh no, he sounded hot.

“Hi. So, Gareth is very much not my partner. He probably actually wishes I would really forget his number,” Eddie rushed out.

“Um. Okay?”

“He’s been my best friend for ten years and he thinks I’m a mess. Not a partner,” Eddie further clarified.

“Got it. Not a partner.”

“Yes, exactly.”

They stayed silent for a moment before Eddie coughed.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Steve. Sorry about your phone, seriously that sucks,” he sounded genuinely apologetic, like he personally threw Eddie’s phone in the sewer.

“Oh, no big deal. I lose my phone more often than I go out with someone,” Eddie said.

Why did he say that?

Steve let out a laugh and it was like music.

Eddie couldn’t help the smile taking over his face at his laugh, already knew he wasn’t gonna be able to let this guy go without learning more about him.

“So you’re, what? Celibate?” Steve asked.

“Far from it. Well, maybe not far from it. Temporarily, maybe. It’s been a while,” Eddie admitted.

“How long?” Steve asked, a loud bang coming from his end of the phone. “Sorry, I had to go outside for some privacy.”

Eddie wasn’t going to read into that. He wasn’t.

“Two years give or take. I mean I’m not counting shitty dates that ended before they got worse. So, yeah. Two years.”

“Been a year for me, but. Yeah, I get it. My last relationship didn’t end on the best terms. She decided I was too in love with her I guess,” Steve sighed, voice sounding pained.

She.

Steve was probably straight.

There was no way he’d be lucky enough for Steve to like men.

Or for Steve to like him.

“I can’t really imagine breaking up with someone because they loved me too much. I’m usually the one who falls too hard,” Eddie admitted.

“Yeah, well, same here,” Steve sounded sad, a bit withdrawn.

Eddie wanted to hear him laugh again.

“I doubt either of us have ever fallen as hard as my phone did down a drain,” Eddie said sadly.

Steve let out a loud laugh and Eddie smiled.

“This might sound crazy, but I’m kind of glad your phone decided to live in the sewers,” Steve said when he finally calmed down. “And maybe a little too happy that you typed your friend’s number wrong.”

“Oh really? Why’s that?”

Was this flirting? Was he successfully having a flirtatious conversation with a potentially very hot guy?

“So I can be bold and ask if you maybe wanted to meet up somewhere?” Steve asked hesitantly.

“So you’re in Chicago?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“For the last five years, yeah.”

“You busy tonight?”

Eddie’s heart stopped.

He was really going to meet up with a stranger just because he liked his laugh and hoped he was hot.

He’d done more with less.

“Yeah, actually. I’m getting dinner with this guy I accidentally texted,” Eddie smirked, looking down at his feet.

“Dinner? What a lucky guy. Where are you going?” Steve sounded amused.

“Well, it depends on what he likes. I’ve been craving some pierogies. Ever been to Staropolska?” Eddie asked.

Gareth’s family owned it, and he used to eat there two or three times a week while they were in college, usually working off his bill in the kitchen doing dishes after.

He hadn’t been in a couple months, work keeping him busy and his budget being pretty tight when he moved into a studio apartment by himself.

He had enough to treat himself tonight though.

“The one on Milwaukee? Yeah. One of my favorite places to get devolay,” Steve sounded surprised that he knew it.

“You won’t believe this, but the friend I was trying to text when I got you, his family owns that place.”

“No way! Then we have to. We owe it to the guy who has almost my exact phone number,” Steve responded.

“Meet you there at seven?” Eddie asked, suddenly more nervous.

“Seven sounds good.”

“Okay.”

Steve giggled. Eddie fell in love.

“We should probably hang up.”

“Should we?” Eddie asked, not wanting to stop talking to him yet.

“Yes, I have to do my hair. Gotta impress the guy who drops his phone in the sewer and texts strangers about it.”

“He sounds like a loser. Don’t put too much effort in,” Eddie sighed. “But okay. See you at seven.”

“See you then.”

They both stayed on the line for a minute.

“Okay. For real. Bye,” Steve laughed.

“Bye, Stevie.”

He hung up before he could convince himself to talk to him for the rest of the afternoon.

He breathed out a loud sigh, smiling as he realized he had a date.

He dialed Gareth’s real number immediately.

“Gareth, I have a date!”

“What is this number, Eddie?”

“Oh, I dropped my phone in the sewers. Not important. I have a date!”

“Jesus Christ. Okay. Come over then.”

—-----------------------------------

Gareth had been his pre-date hype man since high school, though he wasn’t very good at it.

Mostly he calmed Eddie’s nerves and helped make sure his hair didn’t look like he just woke up, which was often its unfortunate state of being.

“So, you don’t know this guy,” Gareth said from his bed.

“No.”

“And you talked for like two seconds and decided you’re in love with him,” he continued.

“Yes.”

“And you think this is totally normal and sane?”

“I didn’t say that. But we just…I dunno. We clicked. I haven’t been that at ease with someone in a long time. It felt natural,” Eddie fell back on his bed, starfishing so his arm and leg hit Gareth’s legs.

“Dude, I’m not discouraging it. I’m happy for you. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it isn’t as easy when you meet,” Gareth said softly.

“Yeah, thanks. I think it’ll be okay, though.”

“Alright. Tell babcia I’m coming by tomorrow for lunch.”

Eddie sat up and gave Gareth a quick hug.

“Thanks Gare Bear!”

—-------------------------------------------

He arrived 20 minutes early so he could sneak in the back to say hi to Gareth’s grandmother, who still insisted on getting her hands on the food every day for a couple of hours despite being nearly 80 years old.

“Babcia!”

“Eddie! My kochany! You forget to visit and I forget what you look like!” she rushed over, flour and oil stains all over her apron.

He should have kept some distance so his shirt didn’t get ruined, but he ignored the part of his brain telling him to look perfect for his date so he could get a hug.

“You know I have to watch my money,” he said against her shoulder.

“And you know I feed you for free if you clean up after yourself. No excuse,” she pulled away and looked him over. “You look handsome. Why?”

Eddie put his hands on his hips.

“What? Don’t I always look handsome?”

“Of course, but this is different. Your hair is smooth and you smell like the perfume store,” she smirked. “Is it a girl? Or a boy? Or a someone?”

“It’s a boy. We’ve never met in person, so I wanted to make a good first impression,” he admitted.

“Oh! How lovely! What’s his name?” She was back to kneading dough, but kept her eyes on him.

“Steve. He actually has been here before, loves the devolay?”

Babcia froze.

“Steve? Oh goodness.” She turned to the sink and washed her hands, muttering under her breath about something.

Eddie’s heart sank. Babcia didn’t seem happy about this.

“What’s wrong? You know him?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Is he not a good guy? Has he been mean to you? I’ll call and cancel right now,” he insisted, reaching for his phone in his pocket.

“No, no. Nothing like that. He is a very sweet boy. He got broken up with in this restaurant a few months back. Tore me to pieces. He just sat here for hours crying. I moved him to a corner booth for his privacy and he left me a $100 tip and ever since then when he comes in I make sure to give him as many szarlotka as he wants.” She touched Eddie’s shoulder. “You be good to him. He has a nice heart.”

Eddie’s mind raced.

Why had Steve agreed to come here for a date if this is where he’d been broken up with? Why did he even bother coming back if it held such bad memories?

What if he didn’t see this as a date?

The front door chimed and he heard the employee at the front welcome someone.

“He will be good for you, drogi.”

Eddie nodded before making his way to the front, stopping in his tracks when he saw the most beautiful man he’d ever seen standing at the podium, talking to the employee with a smile.

“That’s him,” Babcia said from behind him. “Go get him.”

She shoved him forward, nearly making him trip, which caught the attention of Steve.

He looked over with a curious smile, and then realization seemed to hit him.

“Steve?” Eddie managed to ask, loud enough to be heard over the few full tables in the restaurant.

“Eddie?” he asked back, hesitantly moving towards him.

“I, um,” Eddie started, then cleared his throat. “I usually sit by the window, if that’s okay?”

“That’s perfect,” Steve nodded.

It was cliche, like the room around them closed into just them existing together, like the stars had aligned exactly right for this moment to happen.

They sat down at the table Eddie usually sat at, staring across the table at each other in slight awe.

Eddie really hoped that Steve was having the same feelings he was.

But one thing was stopping Eddie from being completely enraptured.

“Is this a date?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” Steve seemed surprised by his question. “I mean, yeah. I’d like it to be. I thought it was.”

Eddie nodded once, but remained quiet, thinking.

“Oh God, it wasn’t, was it? You were just being nice. What is it with this restaurant? If I didn’t love the food so much or babcia, I would never step foot here again, I swear-”

Eddie put his hand on Steve’s to calm him down, frown on his face.

“Woah. What?”

“I just. I don’t have the best history with dates here and I guess I didn’t learn the first time something bad happened, and now I’m being too much too fast again in this place and-”

Eddie pulled Steve’s hand up to his face, placing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“Stevie, calm down. This is a date. I’ll have as many dates here as you want to to get rid of whatever negative stuff you associate with this place. Babcia would hate that I ruined this place for you,” he said quietly.

Steve seemed to relax at his words.

And if you wanna tell me about what happened, you can. If it’ll help,” Eddie offered.

Before Steve could reply, Gareth’s cousin, Ben, came to take their order.

It was a quick order, both knowing exactly what they wanted, and then Steve looked back at him.

“It’s just. My last girlfriend, who I was with for almost three years, dumped me here. It was kind of out of the blue for me, and I had a really hard time that night.”

Eddie felt his heart break.

How could someone do that to Steve? He didn’t need to know him better to know that he didn’t deserve that, especially not if babcia had taken him under her wing so quickly.

“She must be awful to have let you go like that,” Eddie squeezed Steve’s hand in his, resisting the urge to go to his side of the table and hold him.

Steve shrugged and looked down at their hands.

“I mean, I should have known. She was never much for romance or spending time together that didn’t involve work or school. I was looking at engagement rings and she was looking at apartments to get away from me. I was just…really blinded by what I thought was love,” Steve smiled sadly at him.

“It wasn’t?”

“Well, it may have been a type of love. It was more comfort than anything. She was kind of all I had for the first year we were together, and I think I just ignored how unhealthy that was for both of us. And then I met Robin in college, and she was like the opposite of Nancy in every way. A few months before Nancy broke up with me, I told her that Robin’s parents kicked her out when she came out to them and that she needed a place to stay until we graduated. She agreed, then never made any attempt at getting to know her. And I didn’t read into it, Nancy isn’t like, super talkative with people she isn’t already close with, and Robin just kinda stayed to herself when Nancy was home.” Steve took a shaky breath. “But it turns out she didn’t bother getting to know her because she already knew she was gonna break up with me and leave the apartment to me and Robin, so.she just. Didn’t bother. Robin warned me, but I didn’t listen.”

Eddie wanted to cry.

Steve’s voice was full of pain, but not in a way that told him he still loved her, or still hoped they would get back together. More that she broke a part of him that he still hadn’t been able to fix no matter how hard he tried or wanted to.

“Was she jealous?” Eddie asked, trying so hard to understand what could have happened.

“I dunno. I mean, Robin’s a lesbian, and I definitely never had feelings for her anyway. Nancy was always so sure of herself, I can’t imagine she’d be jealous.”

“It sounds like she didn’t appreciate you very much.”

“What do you mean?” Steve didn’t sound mad, just curious.

“Well, she didn’t even make an effort to get to know your best friend, right? And it sounds like she was too busy focusing on her future to even think about what you looked like in it, and instead of trying to plan it with you, she made a future for her. She sounds a bit selfish,” Eddie shrugged.

Instead of being upset, Steve laughed.

God, Eddie loved that laugh.

“Sorry, it’s just that you sound exactly like Robin. You’d probably be two peas in a pod.”

“Tell me about her,” Eddie genuinely wanted to know more about the person who kept Steve going.

Their food arrived in the middle of the story of how Steve and Robin met, but it didn’t stop him from continuing.

Eddie listened with a fond smile, filling in Steve’s gaps of silence as he chewed a bite of food with questions or something related to what he’d been talking about.

It was easy.

It was fun.

Halfway through the meal, Steve’s foot rested against one of his and it felt like electricity shooting through his bones.

Eddie told him about Gareth, and his family who had pretty much adopted him when they both moved here from a small town in Indiana. He talked about his uncle who raised him for most of his life, who visited every Christmas despite being on a really tight budget.

Time passed quickly, but not at all.

They hadn’t realized how long they’d been sitting there until babcia came out without her apron to hand deliver an apple tart.

“You boys enjoy. I’ll see you both soon!” she said as she smacked a kiss on top of each of their heads.

Both of them blushed, but tried to cover it up with a bite of food.

As they finished, Steve looked outside to see how dark it was, how few people were left walking the streets.

“Guess we should head out,” he muttered, sounding like that was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Would you wanna come to my place? We don’t have to do anything except talk, I promise. I just don’t really want this to end yet,” Eddie suggested.

“Really? I haven’t bored you?” Steve asked, just a hint of self-deprecation in his tone.

Eddie shook his head.

“Not at all. I’d really like to get a chance to love you the way you deserve,” Eddie said.

Steve’s eyes widened.

Eddie should back up, should say something less intense.

But if this ruined it, then at least he said what he was thinking.

“You think you could love me?” Steve asked, barely more than a whisper.

“I think I already do a little,” Eddie admitted.

Steve blinked at him for a moment, mouth slightly agape.

“I need to kiss you,” he finally said.

“Now? Here?” Eddie smiled.

“Now. Here.”

“I won’t stop you.”

Steve stood from the table and stood in front of Eddie, placing both hands on his cheeks and leaning down.

Their lips brushed in a barely-there kiss, softer than Eddie expected.

Steve stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, and Eddie couldn’t help the words tumbling from him.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

If someone had said it to him, he would think they were just trying to get him into their bed, but that wasn’t the case here and he hoped Steve knew that.

“People used to call me a charmer, but I don’t think I’m half as good at it as you,” Steve whispered, his breath ghosting against Eddie’s lips.

“Just honest.”

“Take me home,” Steve said, opening his eyes and staring at Eddie, his eyes glowing with something close to love.

—-------------------------------------

They stayed up all night, never doing more than kissing and mapping out patterns on each others’ skin.

They talked about everything, even the painful parts of life, even the parts that they hadn’t shared with anyone else.

It didn’t make any sense that someone who had been a stranger not even 24 hours ago could already mean so much.

When the sun started to shine through the curtains of Eddie’s apartment, Steve sighed and buried his face in Eddie’s neck.

“I have to go to work,” though he burrowed his entire body further into the bed and Eddie’s side.

“You could call in sick,” Eddie suggested, pressing a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

“Robin would kill me.”

He and Robin worked together as team teachers at an elementary school. When one of them missed, it left the other with 34 kids alone.

Plus, Steve loved his job, worked hard to be a teacher, and hated missing a day if he didn’t need to.

“Maybe you could bring Robin here after work? I can make dinner?” Eddie’s job was pretty easy, marketing for an Indie record label based out of New York remotely really kept him busy for a couple hours a day and the rest of the time was spent writing his own music.

Steve sat up and looked down at him, his hair ruffled from Eddie running his fingers through it for the last eight hours.

“You’d wanna meet Robin?”

“Yeah, if you want me to. She sounds like fun.”

Steve started crying.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry. Good job, Munson, already ruined something good,” Eddie was reaching for a tissue from his bedside table.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I’m just tired and emotional. And just. It means a lot that you’d wanna meet her,” Steve said between gasps for air as he continued to cry.

“Of course I do. I could even invite Gareth over, too, if you want. He won’t believe that our date went well,” Eddie joked, brushing the tears away from Steve’s cheeks.

“I’d love to meet him,” Steve said, sniffling.

“When can you guys get here?”

“Usually we’re done by four, but sometimes we stay later to finish grading stuff. Maybe we should say six?”

“Got it. Any allergies?”

“Robin is allergic to shellfish. She says she is. I think she just doesn’t like them,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“No shellfish, got it. Any preferences, my love?”

Steve blushed at the term of endearment, looking down before he leaned in to kiss Eddie softly.

“Anything you make will be great.”

“You wanna borrow some clothes for work?” Eddie asked.

“Do you have any business casual stuff?”

Eddie gagged.

“Unfortunately, it’s required for the job sometimes. Far left of the closet should have something,” he nodded towards the small closet by the bathroom.

Eddie watched as Steve walked over and picked out his only pair of khaki pants and a navy button down. Steve looked back at him and winked before he nodded towards the bathroom.

“Could use some help working the shower if you’re willing to,” he smirked.

Eddie jumped up from the bed and ran into the bathroom, ignoring the way Steve was laughing.

“The hot water is tricky sometimes. I should probably get in there too to make sure it stays hot,” Eddie said as he stripped off his pants.

“Definitely. Wouldn’t want me to get cold,” Steve put a hand on his shoulder to slow him down. “Kiss me?”

Eddie leaned in to kiss him slowly, letting his tongue brush along his lips just to get a taste.

“Okay?” Eddie checked in.

“Yeah. You remember what you said last night? About loving me like I deserve?”

Eddie nodded.

“I want you to. And I want to love you back.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #gareth emerson #wrong number au #modern au #ficlet #request #getting together

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aperrywilliams · 2 years

Text

Pandora’s Box (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer gets called for work on his day off while having breakfast with his wife. He doesn’t know this day will end worse than he thought.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mention to prison. Mention of kidnapping. Cat Adams. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Written for this request. Two parts: this is the angsty one (sorry). How should Spencer make it up to Reader?

Part II

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Reader's POV

I always knew Spencer's job had its quirks. Granted, being an FBI agent is a dangerous job, and with my husband, this statement tends to be yet worse. Spencer has been kidnapped, drugged, shot in the knee, shot in the neck, framed for murder, incarcerated, and so on.

But after everything we've been through, one would expect things to settle down over time. Is it too much to ask?

I knew what was coming when the damn cell phone chimed that morning. It was Spencer's day off, and we had decided to go for breakfast at our favorite coffee shop since I had the day off too. It was rare we could match in our free time, and since we had both been very busy with our jobs, we wanted to enjoy that day.

Spencer gave me an apologetic look before answering the call.

"Reid," he spoke dryly. He wasn't happy about the interruption either.

While Pelenope surely told Spencer he should go to Quantico as soon as possible, I just stared at him—a glint of anticipated disappointment in my eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Spencer said, confirming my suspicions.

"Don't be. I know how it works." My answer was not reproachful, nor did I want to make him feel bad; instead, it was to clarify that I comprehended and accepted how our life's dynamic goes. "Don't worry, baby. I'm going to my dad's today and staying there. He's been asking me when I would have a sleepover with him," I commented. I knew Spencer would feel less guilty if I didn't spend too much time alone.

"Okay. That's good. And I promise I'll make it up to you," Spencer stated, getting up from his chair before planting an affectionate kiss on my forehead.

Don't make promises you can't keep, I thought.

Here is the thing. Spencer has good intentions, but time isn't on our side lately, so I only hoped we could have a chance to get at least a day to spend together with no interruptions upon his return.

After leaving the coffee shop, I stopped by the apartment to grab some clothes and headed to my dad's.

My dad greeted me in a tight embrace at the front door.

"I thought you would spend your day off with Spencer?" He asked once we parted from our hug.

I knew he was picturing a bad scenario. I'm not keen on sharing my marriage issues with my father, but he could tell there was something.

"Uh. Well. Spencer got called from work," I explained. My dad hummed, not saying anything. I regretted how I worded it because I hate portraying Spencer as the bad guy.

"What?" I asked.

"Everything is okay? I mean, between you and Spencer?" My dad questioned, concerned.

"Yeah. We are fine. Don't worry about us. Come on inside; you promised me movies and hot cocoa," I smiled at him, lacing my arm with his and heading inside the house.

Spencer's POV

Cat Adams. That name only means disaster. I should have known that. This time I hoped she only had ruined my day off with my wife- something a little more bearable than being framed for murder and incarcerated.

Arriving at Quantico, Prentiss and Rossi explained to me what had happened. Cat's associate kidnaped a family and demanded the release of Cat Adams.

Really she thought that could be possible?

Emily told me they were bringing her in a few hours and that I should talk to her.

I didn’t know if I was ready to do that, but a family was in danger. I had to.

She looked so pleased to see me that I felt nauseous, and my mind flew to Milburn. She knew what she was doing, but I needed to control myself and have the upper hand somehow.

My entire demeanor changed when she voiced her demand: a date with me.

The mention of a 'date' with Cat Adams sounded twisted and insufferable. But not going could have been a mistake. Cat knew I wouldn't refuse, not after she said my wife's safety was in danger too.

Frantically I left the room to dial (Y/N)’s number, and it went straight to voicemail. She never turns off her phone. I called her dad, and he said she left the house for a job emergency without explaining too much.

I looked at Emily, who had already told Garcia to track my wife's location. Minutes later, Penelope told us she wasn't at her workplace and was nowhere to find. Her phone's signal went dead after she left her dad's house.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I didn’t know how, but Cat had her.

Rushing inside the room where Cat was, I slammed the table, demanding my wife's location. Cat, of course, laughed in my face.

"I guess now no one could interrupt our date," she dared with a smug grin.

Against all my judgment, I agreed to a plan I wasn't even sure about.

Reader's POV

After Milburn, we talked with Spencer about the real danger we can be exposed to as a couple realizing the kind of job he had. Not that we didn't discuss it before, but the threat became real after that. We had a plan: if something happened, he would contact me directly - or through someone from the team - and if the communication could be compromised, I should get rid of my phone and not tell anybody my location.

When my phone rang that afternoon, we were watching a movie with my dad on the couch. I stood and answered in the hall. A sternly Spencer spoke: "This is an emergency. Met me at my old apartment. There is a key under the mat. Get rid of the phone and not tell anyone. Don't open the door to anyone, and wait for me there."

When I was about to ask what had happened, the call ended. I doubted for a moment. Spencer sounded so out of himself, but after what he had been through, I knew his job could stress him like that. So I just did what I was told.

I lied to my dad, telling him I had a job emergency, and left.

In my mind, I ran through all the possibilities, and none helped me stay calm. Everything could go wrong, like when Spencer went to Mexico without telling me.

Arriving at the apartment, I noticed the key was under the mat, as Spencer told me.

We always talked about what to do with his old place. Since we married, we got a new home, and Spencer rented his apartment. It happened that the last couple who rented it left a month ago, and we were still looking for a new tenant.

The place was almost empty. But still, some of Spencer's old books remained on the shelves. I took one to pass the time until Spencer could arrive. I didn't have my phone, so the only thing I could do was wait.

Spencer's POV

The last thing I thought I would do was ice skating with the woman who framed me for murder and kidnapped my mom and now my wife. Cat enjoyed every minute of my torture, and I just wanted to end it. My mind ran fast to catch any lead that could help me, but Cat knew me better. I don’t like to say it, but she, indeed, knew me better.

"So, I wasn't shocked when I discovered you married to that girl. I was shocked, though, knowing how neglected you have had her," she said casually, doing spins on the ice.

"You don't know what you are saying," I scoffed, trying to sound calm, but I hated how she dared to talk about (Y/N) and me.

"Don't I? So you will tell me you haven't canceled dates or left her for cases very often? That isn't good, Spencie, nothing good," Cat mocked.

I didn't want to give in that much, but how the hell this woman always managed to get under my skin? It's not that I wasn't aware of my messy schedule, but we always agreed with (Y/N) that it was my job, and she understood. Lately, though, things have been getting worse in that matter, and on that, Cat had a point.

When we married, I promised (Y/N) to slow down my job rhythm. After Milburn, I thought I had had enough, and it was time to focus on my life. It worked initially, but as the honeymoon phase ended, I did not slow down and even started overworking myself.

Everything I have been doing in the past months seemed like a stupid decision that had (Y/N) in danger because of my job now. If something terrible happened to her, I would never forgive myself.

“I know you’re waiting for me to slip a clue. But you will not get anything if you don’t show me your old apartment,” Cat demanded.

Now I was utterly confused. Why Cat wanted that?

The thing with Cat is always this way. She has a secret agenda you can’t decipher until it’s too late. I was afraid of that, but not giving up on her demands would put people in danger. I hadn’t an option.

“Why did you marry, anyway? You know you can be with anyone,” Cat spoke as we were being driven in the van. I snapped my head up. Cat shrugged. “What? I am right. Your job is everything to you, Spencie. Don’t lie to yourself; you can’t have a normal life. Not when we know we are so alike.”

“You don’t know anything. I love my wife,” I stated. Cat scoffed.

“I know enough. Tell me, does your wife know where you are now? Does she knows you are with me?” She asked, looking at me intensely. I averted my gaze. Cat was right, but her reasoning was wrong. I don’t like to tell (Y/N) much about my job because it’s not fair to put that burden on her. Not after we have been through. It’s not a matter of trust.

We got to the building and got out of the van. Cat took my arm as armed FBI agents escorted us—a show worth seeing, and I just wanted to forget.

Arriving at the apartment door, I took out my keys to open the lock, but before doing so, Cat stopped me.

“Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“That you love your wife?”

“Of course I do!” I replied, exasperated.

“Show me,” she demanded. But I didn’t understand what she was asking. My confusion was evident. “Show me how you love her. Kiss me the way you would kiss her,” Cat requested. My eyes widened.

“What? No! I will not do that.”

“You will. If you want to see your wife and that family alive again, you will,” she retorted.

I was about to lose my patience. In the last three hours, Cat had just made me go in circles. But I knew what she could do, and I was terrified that her threats would come true.

I took a deep breath before leaning to kiss her. I knew it was wrong, but I just wanted to end this night and find my wife and the missing family. Before my lips reached hers, Cat stopped me.

“I told you, Spencie. Do it like I’m her. Make it good. I will know if you are pretending,” she warned.

Fuck. What a twisted mind.

I gathered my composure, and I tried to imagine that it was (Y/N) in front of me and not Cat. I cupped her cheeks, the way I like to do with (Y/N), and leaned again. This time with no hesitation. It had to look real.

Reader's POV

I heard a commotion outside; I couldn't determine who was talking in the hallway. I froze in the spot, my eyes fixed on the entrance door. Then I noticed the handle turning and the door opening wide.

What I saw made my brain stop working.

Spencer was on the threshold kissing a woman.

Did I say kissing? Scratch that. He was devouring her mouth. And they were enjoying it, I could tell. She was the one who ended the kiss, and I swore I saw Spencer follow her lips for more. The woman turned to see me. Then Spencer noticed I was inside, witnessing how he- my husband - kissed a woman that wasn't me. His eyes widened, leaving his grasp on the woman's cheeks to walk to me.

“(Y/N)? What- what are you doing here? I thought you- that she has-" he stuttered.

I can't tell if it was for nerves, shock, or the fact he had been caught. It didn't matter, though. I was not in a condition to say anything. I just stood there, looking like a kicked puppy. I hated it.

“Fuck!” He cursed as if he had realized what was going on. The problem was I didn’t know anything, and my mind ran with the worst scenery possible.

"Ups," the girl teased. That's when I truly focused on her. I knew this woman. I'm sure I did. Then it hit me. Cat Adams? Seriously?

"What is this?" I barely articulated, shifting my gaze between Spencer and Cat.

"I - I thought she had kidnapped you! She did it with a family. I was so worried," Spencer explained, reaching to grab my hands, which I snatched away. I didn't feel like being touched by him, not after what I saw.

"I can tell you were worried," I spat. Cat started laughing.

"She has quite a sense of humor. I like her," Cat commented, looking between Spencer and me.

Oh, she was enjoying this. And my rational self told me it was better to shut up until I could understand what all about was, but my emotional side got to win this time.

"And you wanted me here for this? Your urgent case was about her? Jeez, Spencer, I thought you were done with this psycho," I pointed, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Oh, darling. You should know by now that Spencer is obsessed with me. How do you explain what you saw? He was kissing the same woman who got him in jail for three months. Maybe it's a kind of Stockholm, who knows," Cat taunted, shrugging like she was clueless. My eyes shot daggers at her. It was infuriating how her words echoed in my brain.

"(Y/N), don't listen to her. She is playing games right now. She wants you mad," Spencer tried to explain. And maybe he was right. But the smug look on her only fueled my anger. I didn't want to snap, though.

"Yeah, you can tell yourself that if it makes you happy," I deadpanned. Cat chuckled.

“Uh-oh. That sounds like jealousy to me.”

"Stop it! Cat, where is the family?" Spencer grabbed her arm suddenly. Her smug smile never faded.

"Easy, Spencie. What are you going to do? Throw me against a wall again?"

What? When did that happen?

Spencer's face went pale as his eyes met mine.

"Ouch. Someone didn't know that," Cat teased. I didn't know what face I had, but Spencer left the grip of Cat's arm and turned to me. "You should tell her, Spencie. She won't believe me if I do."

"You did what?" I asked in disbelief.

When Spencer was about to say something, Luke rushed inside.

"We got them!"

Them? What the fuck was happening?

"Now that's when we were having fun! Not fair!"

Cat pouted with dissatisfaction.

Spencer's eyes never left mine, pleading for me not to jump and hit him - or her.

"Take her out," he sternly told Luke, who rushed to do so.

"It was nice to meet you, (Y/N). Hope Spencer can tell you more of our story,” she taunted before crossing the threshold. Luke took the precaution of closing the door behind them, leaving with Cat and the other FBI field agents.

And just like that, we were alone with Spencer. Cat wasn't in the apartment anymore, but her words and presence remained heavy in the air.

Spencer’s hands were shaking, and they tried to reach mine again. I didn’t let him, though, as I stepped back.

It was all so confusing. And even if there were a logical explanation for this, the nerves and the anger were too much to try to understand.

“(Y/N), baby. I can explain. It was a trap. Cat orchestrated the whole thing, and I didn’t notice her real intentions until now. You have to believe me,” Spencer sputtered, faster than I had seen him speak in a long time. I shook my head.

“You called me. You told me we were in danger and asked me to come here, Spencer,” I tried to reason with him. He did this; why?

Spencer’s eyes widened.

“No, no, no. No! I did not. I don’t know how it happened, but I didn’t call you. It wasn’t me. I thought you were kidnapped! Cat told me if I didn’t do what she wanted, she would hurt you!”

I scoffed.

“How convenient that sounds, uh?”

Spencer sighed. He didn’t know what to say, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy to help him.

“(Y/N), please. You can ask the team. Penelope tried to track your location. I called your dad! It’s all a misunderstanding.”

I felt bad for Spencer. He looked exhausted, and he was likely telling the truth. But that wasn't enough to erase the image of my husband kissing Cat Adams. That qualifies as cheating, right?

I wanted to slap him across the face. Fucking Spencer Reid!

“A misunderstanding? Not a biggie, right?”

I hated feeling like this, but I couldn't help it. The more Spencer tried to explain, the more my blood boiled. Was I being unfair to him? Maybe. But after months of his work interfering in our lives, I was already fed up. This was the last straw.

"I didn't mean it like it wasn't important. Can we please talk about this more calmly at home?"

No, we can not, I wanted to say.

"Before your phone rings again and you must leave on another case?"

Shit, that just came out of my mouth.

“(Y/N)…” Spencer started to speak, but I cut him off. It wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have right now.

“You know what? I think it’s better we take a break for this night. I’m going to my dad’s. He must have been worried after I left,” I said, trying to contain my shaky voice. I grabbed my purse and walked to the door.

Spencer stared after me, pleading with his eyes for me not to leave. I decided to ignore it. I needed to think and cool my head. I believe this is the wake-up call I feared might happen. Maybe Cat Adams had opened another Pandora's box tonight.

Part II

------------------

Spencer Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @thebloomingeagle @pauline5525mgg @maltamurdock @disaster-in-waiting @pebble-has-a-mirgraine @anamiad00msday @chlochlosworld @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @miaxx03 @leahblackk

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfictions #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfics #pandora’s box

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personasintro · 1 month

Note

Hi, its me the yapper!! Once again!! 👋👋

I just wanted to clarify something that both you and other commenters seem to have gotten wrong; Whatever I said was incase of the scenario that you’re not feeling the story like you used to, so writing it has taken longer bcs you do not enjoy it as much but you still want to appease the reader. Hence the unwanted suggestions I made.

In my point of view, it seemed that way so I thought it was inevitable that you one day drop the fic because yes we’re getting older and busier and we drift away from things we loved. Thats why I said “is it really that serious?” because you obviously seem willing to keep writing but the wait has gotten so long that it looks like you’re doing it out of obligation(?!).

Looks like I misjudged and I apologise if thats not the case. But it came out of genuine curiosity because I just cant comprehend such long wait. Thats a me problem ig🤷‍♀️

So what I got out of your response is that yes we might/will see the end of mh in like 1-2 years? (more or less)I get that I sound bitter but I promise I am NOT lmao its pure curiosity I promise!!!

Ps to people who said that that was uncalled for or that its serious to me otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered; As I said I am an avid reader of mh so after a reread I thought I could share my thoughts? Like its genuinely not that serious even to me, I didn’t think twice before sending the ask I did it just because the thought crossed my mind. And l believe the whole waiting thing is a fact, so people’s opinions on it are very much called for?

Is it any of our business how long mimi takes to write? No🙂‍↔️. Are we as readers entitled to an opinion as long as we’re respectful? I’d like to think yes🙂‍↕️

Anywayss have a good one yall

i understood what you meant in your previous ask. and i still stand by what i said many times before – i do not hold here anyone against their will and if anyone feels like they're getting older and lose an interest in any of my stories, that's okay and it's their decision to make. i can't be responsible for everyone's feelings of how they feel about this exact situation. that's beyond my control and you're all free to feel however you want. i do wish people would be more understanding and respectful and that's why i said that no one knows what someone goes through. just because i'm no longer totally open about what's going on in my life, doesn't mean i don't care about my stories.

i'm not writing out of obligation. sure, i do feel a certain responsibility to make mh my priority even more than ever, but it's not an obligation. and i wouldn't just drop the story. i said this too, i'll finish this story whether it's for myself or for everyone else as well.

i said this many times before too – i'm in a position where i write whenever i can and want. i do not have any schedule, actually i never had one – but readers were used to more frequent updates and now, of course it's harder to get used to less frequent updates. but that's just life. i apologized when i never had to. my plans was always to finish mh asap (still is) but sometimes things don't go as planned and there are things i don't even have control of.

i respect your opinion and i'm merely explaining myself on this, hope it can be taken with respect and understanding as well!

have a good day everyone ☀️

#ask

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sanspuppet · 9 months

Text

GENRE: fluff, smut w a lot of romance (?)

PAIRING: Heesung x afab! reader

W/T: university au, lil bit of jealousy, unprotected sex, biting, swearing, pet name (princess)

A/O: i know that Hee doesn’t have much to do with my blog but this is the ff i wrote for my bestie and i’m just gonna post it so yeah, remember that i’m a multi-stan so i write for many other groups apart from ateez

enjoy <3

———

"come on! it'll be fun!" Jeongin tries to encourage you, his hands begging at your pissed expression because of his hundredth attempt to invite you at his party.

"i don't want to! i don't know anyone of your friends" you reply back with a sharp tone, it’s almost a week that he keeps asking you to come, and he can’t comprehend that you have no intention to go.

"Oh yeah! there's one: Heesung! that guy from class 3B" he winks at you with a smirk already trailing on his face.

"Another reason not to go there!" you quiver, body stiffening the same second he pronounces his name. Actually, if there’s Lee Heesung too, you could think about it a couple times and accept. Through all, he’s the finest man at your university, no doubts he’s your secret crush, well not that secret because it seems that Jeongin has already found out.

"But it's a good opportunity to talk to him!" his voice booms inside the classroom, all of your classmates turn back to look at you, your professor violently slams his palm on the desk: "You two! Better keep those mouths closed during my classes!" you hush a quick "excuse us" before turning back to focus on algebra.

Hours later, when the last school bell rang, you leave the university, arm crossed while walking down the street, with Heesung's smile pictured in your mind and dangerously lost in yourself while fantasizing about him. The stoplight turns red, which unfortunately you don’t pay attention to, you’re about to cross the road when someone thoughtfully grabs your waist, fingertips gripping at your skin, trying to stop you. Your heart flutters intensely, goosebumps on your body as you hear a familiar voice beginning: "you should pay more attention while walking" oh no, you perfectly recognize that voice, sweet but at the same time extremely attractive, you can’t help but turning your face to look at him, panic already flowing into your body. "U-uhm... sorry" Heesung smiles for a millisecond before turning back to his serious expression: "you don't have to be sorry, just wanted to warn you darling" maybe how he called you is the reason why you keep stuttering and trembling like a shy kiddo: "Y-yeah..." you suddenly grimace, confused: "w-why are you here?" you question. "Oh, you didn't notice? i live near your house" you mouth a small "o" before you could even realize what he actually said: "Wait- what?!" he blinks twice, his hands involuntarily still gripping at your waist, a strange feeling intensifying inside the core of your stomach. “i. live. near. you.” he repeats, marking every word, not in a arrogant way, but in a beamy one. When he realizes that you aren’t going to say anything, he approaches you with an another argument: “Well, wanna walk together? I.N. told me that you’ll come at his party” you wide your eyes, following him hesitantly as he crosses the road. “What? No! Nono i don’t like that kind of party” He raises an eyebrow:

“…what kind of party do you like then? like a… uhm” he bemuses, you shake your hands, trying to clarify: “No! I mean… I’m the only girl in the group and i’m quite worried about it” when he turns his head to face you, you can’t believe he purposely holds your hand. “I understand, don’t worry! You know i wouldn’t let anything happen to you, right? Such a good girl, you don’t deserve to get into that kind of shit” you can hear your heartbeat booming inside your head, mind blank as you keep repeating his last sentence to yourself, barely capable to think at any reply. “Please, i want to know you better! Come with me, and you’ll be sure no one will make fun of you, or touch you in any way” he insists, tightening the grip on your hand.

okey, are you dreaming? are you in a coma, after a car invested you? What the hell is happening? All of your day dreams about him seem becoming reality as he’s begging you to accompany him. You’re not conscious of your blushing state in this moment, smiling pathetically, lost in yourself as you’re trying to realize your current situation. And you finally cooe: “Well, if you say so… i’ll be more than glad to come!”

Heesung raises a fist happily: “That’s my girl! i mean… happy to see you again y/n” he stops in front of a small, cute little house. He sighs, taking a heavy breath before continuing: “i live here… alone, so if you need something, you can find me here.” you bow slightly, smiling uncontrollably. “Got it! See you at the party, then.” He keeps staring at you without leaving: “What? So i’m not gonna pick you up?”

“Oh… uhm, yes! yes, sure. Sorry” you beam back.

“Okey, shall we share our phone numbers?” he asks, taking his phone in his hands, ready to take notes. When you’re both sure that the other has the contact saved, Hee shakes his hand and heads towards the door of his home.

The evening of the same day, you can’t help but keep fantasizing about how would it be to spend hours with Heesung at your side. Having him that close to you, would probably drive your mind nuts, but what if he was talking seriously hours before? He seriously wants to get to know you better? Well, if so, you’d surely go to that party. Knowing that it’s quite easy to convince you in anything when it comes to Heesung, you already start choosing what to wear at the party of the next day.

“Mmm” you scratch your chin, looking at your dresses hanging inside your wardrobe. “What should i-“ the loud sound of your ringtone makes you suddenly hop. You check the name written on the screen, snorting when you see the name of your best friend.

“What do you want?” you tilt your head to squeeze your phone between your ear and shoulder, picking your favorite dresses and throwing them on your bed.

“You’re coming?!! God, you fucking drool for Heesung, don’t you???” you hear Jeongin beaming through the speaker.

“Me? No, no absolutely.” you find yourself staring intensely at one dress in particular: the fabric of a soft white, its skirt’s quite short and has elegant lace sleeves. You choose that one, while keep listening to Jeongin freak out from happiness.

“Well, whatever. You’re gonna come too!!!” he starts to giggle joyfully.

“Yeah, now please calm down. Also, i have to go now, bye!” you end the call without even waiting for him to say anything else. The only thing you want right now is staring at the selfie of Heesung that he has set as his profile picture. So you did, laying on your bed, after putting carefully in place your dresses again.

“Ooh… he’s such so handsome and cute”

You whimper seeing the notification of someone texting you appearing from above the phone screen. A pang hits your heart when you realize it’s Heesung.

< Hey, tomorrow the party begins at 6 p.m. Imma pick you up by 5.45, is that okay? >

You smile like an idiot while texting back: < Perfect! >

That night you fall asleep, lost again in the thought of his cherishing smile and how simply gorgeous he always is.

And as soon as you do, as soon you wake up, squeezing your eyes from the warm light of the sunrise. You suddenly grip at your hair, your heartbeat starts accelerating as you process: “The party is today!”

Now that you have realized it, you can’t stop waiting impatiently for afternoon to come. You force yourself to distract your mind, doing chores and your homework, listening to music and practicing the dance steps you learned at your last dance lesson. Doing that you don’t even feel the hours that have passed, making you bounce slightly on the spot as you read what time it is.

“God i have to get ready!” you jolt while running towards your bathroom, starting to do your makeup. You keep checking the time on your wristwatch, and once you have your look done and prepared all the stuff you’d need, you leave the house and chuckle shyly as you see Heesung standing in front of his car a few meters apart from you.

“Hi y/n! How are you?” He approaches you, giving you his hand to help you get inside of his car.

“Pretty fine” you affirm after he joined you inside it.

The short journey was something you could define totally embarrassing, you were frustrated because you couldn’t do anything but stare outside the window and tap nervously your fingertips on the handle. He was the one that after some minutes that seemed eternal hours find the courage to speak:

“Uhm… that dress is so beautiful, matches your vibes a lot” he turns his head to take a quick look of you before his gaze could go back at the road. “Thank you, Heesung” you smile genuinely. He giggles back: “Oh please, just call me Hee. We’re friends after all, right?” what your previous smile seemed full of happiness, it quickly turned into a wounded one. “Yeah… friends”

———

Once you enter the apartment, you didn’t expect it to be so well organized: cute colorful balloons fill the living room, yummy snacks all over the table followed by soda and other drinks, background music to keep the welcoming atmosphere. When you step out the entrance you immediately see Jeongin’s friends casually chatting on the small couch.

“Naur way look who’s here!” Jake exclaims as he notices your figure standing in front of them. You chuckle at his funny Aussie accent.

“Yeah personally i know you couldn’t wait anymore to see me” Heesung smirks, heading towards Jeongin who’s trying to inflate other balloons. “Hyung i think these are enough, yeah?” he whispers at him, noticing his red, overworked cheeks.

Jake turns his head to look at Hee, grimacing: “What? No i meant y/n! Didn’t expect you to come” He approaches you, with the intention of hugging you friendly. After he pulls away, the other boys stand up to do the exact same. You thank Jay, Chan and Beomgyu as they compliment your curated look.

You spent a couple hours on watching a comedy show and laughing together. Your body stiffened any time you felt Heesung’s hand resting (apparently) innocently on your knee, when you saw him facing you while giggling as he enjoyed the film, it seriously looked like you were a couple, and you weren’t the only one who noticed that:

Chan’s gaze suddenly went to your knee, as he saw Heesung rubbing his hand on your skin.

“Are you hiding us something, guys? Seems like you’re very comfortable together.”

Chan’s your ex, so you could tell that his voice had some point of annoyance when he spoke.

“Yeah! I was about to say the same thing” Beomgyu smirks, moving his eyes on you and the fine guy who’s sitting next to you.

“Oh, it does? Sorry if i might stole her from you” Heesung appeals with his cocky smile.

“It’s not up to you, Hee” Chan replies, a slight look of arrogance on his face surprises you. “Right, y/n?”

“Uhm… well…” you struggle to find any appropriate answer, but nothing comes to your mind. Jeongin fortunately saves you from that embarrassing situation:

“Let’s play a game!” He stands up, turning off the tv. Jay and Jake that were still focusing on the program, whined at him.

“Fine” Heesung stands up, searching for your hand and heading towards Jeongin. A smirk pops into the childish friend’s face, he crosses his arm looking intensely at the both of you through his hooded eyes.

“Y/n, truth or dare?”

The moment after the other guys heard that iconic question, every one was sitting on the rug in a circle, waiting for their turn as they joined the game. It was quite fun, most of the dares were hilarious that got you almost rolling on the floor from laughter, but once it got repetitive and your friend seemed bored, Jeongin once again proposed you:

“Y/n, truth or dare?” this time his gaze is mysterious enough for you to suspect he planned something.

“Uhm… dare?” you murmur, not sure if you chose the right answer to keep your dignity.

“I see” Jeonging looks straight at Heesung on your left, before moving his gaze on you again. “Kiss Heesung”

Loud “Uuuh” fill the atmosphere as the guys find finally a captivating idea, everyone but Bangchan, who seems about to kill Jeonging with his stare and choke Heesung before he could touch you.

Panic starts to rush inside your veins as you turn your head and see Heesung smirking, you can feel the eyes of all the others stuck on your lips, waiting impatiently for you to make a move, but nothing, you couldn’t even elaborate any conscious movement. You’re like a greek statue, immobilized, your eyes focusing on nothing but Hee’s lips, your hand standing steady on the ingenious intent of wrapping it around his waist. Heesung chuckles: “y/n? are you’k?” he snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

What it took least than two seconds, felt an entire minute for you.

You feel Heesung carding his fingers through your hair, before falling on the nape of your neck to pull you closer to his face, the tip of your noses rubbing against each other as he’s moving his lips closer and closer to yours. It felt warm, and soft, something you never experienced in that way, you could immediately tell that you would be addicted to his lips, if only he could be yours.

Heesung pulls away, exhaling a soft laugh as he holds your hand. “You good?” he asks, you nod: “Yeah. Yeah i’m good” you murmur, smiling a little before turning your head to face the others. Beomgyu, Jake, Jay an Jeongin are hyping the both of you, on the other side you can notice Chan squeezing his fists as he keeps staring at you. “What’s wrong with him?” you question yourself.

Jeongin giggles at you and Heesung: “I meant a peck on the cheek but well, this proves that you like each other! Thank me later guys” he stands up, taking the bowl of chips and starts to chew a few.

“W-wait- What?” your mouth hangs open, while Hee is simply smiling at you.

The rest of the party went great, you had funny conversations and ate tasty food.

Later, you head towards the exit, where you left your jacket and phone, you barely even check your new notifications, that you feel a hand resting on your shoulder, you expect it to be Heesung and uncontrollably smile, but once you turn your head to see his face, you find yourself a few inches away from Chan. He’s moving closer to your lips to steal a kiss from you. You pull him away, smacking your palm against his face.

“What the hell are you doing? Huh?” you screech.

“Come on, don’t act like you don’t want it, we were so perfect as a couple, you look better with me than Heesung” He gets closer to you slowly once again, but you’re too concerned to move. You jolt as you see someone pulling Chan away from you by grabbing his shoulder.

“What’s going on here?” Heesung looks at you before moving his annoyed gaze to Chan. “Why would you care?” he replies, with his arms crossed.

“Because she just rejected you a few seconds ago, don’t you get that she doesn’t like you anymore?” you can’t articulate anything before he wraps his arm around your waist and yell at the others in the living room.

“Guys, it was fun but now i have to take y/n home, see you on Monday” Heesung takes your jackets and leaves the house with you squeezed in his arm.

Not long after he stops in front of his house, you’re still confused from why he reacted like that before, you don’t realize that it isn’t actually your house. Heesung gets out of the car. “Come with me” he called you, heading towards the door.

Once you’re both inside, he turns to look at you, taking your hands in his. “You’re not interested in Chan anymore, right?” you nod: “Yeah, i’m not.” he lets out a relieved sigh. “Good, because i like you” you start to mumble incomprehensible words. “U-uhm…” Heesung notices that your cheeks are turning into a blushing state, making him chuckle. “You don’t need to say anything, just kiss me already, okey?” he slowly approaches you, getting closer enough for you to feel his warm, deep breaths against you nose, his hands are trailing soft lines on your back, sending you shivers down your spine. You automatically raise on your tiptoes, holding yourself onto his shoulder. You start to leave small pecks on his hot lips, struggling to stop because of the warm feeling of his body. Hee chuckles between every kiss: “i see, you love me, don’t you?” you giggle against the crook of his neck: “Yeah, so much.”

“May i take care of you? Show you how much do i love you, too?” he leans over you neck to inhale your sweet scent. “Mark you as mine, so you won’t get bothered by other guys?” you take a few seconds to realize what he actually meant with those words. “Uhm… i don’t know…” He caresses your cheek, attaching his lips on yours another time. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. Please, let’s be each other’s first” You chuckle: “I can’t believe you’re still a virgin” he wides his eyes, smiling: “Why?? I had only a girlfriend when i was 14, you’re the one i fell for, after a long time.” you bite your lower lip, looking down to avoid eye contact. “It’s just that… i’m worried i won’t be good enough” he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he walks backwards, heading towards what you figure to be his bedroom. “You’ll be perfect as always, my little princess” you can’t help but blush at that new petname, that stole another smile from you. A few seconds later he’s opening the door with you still holding at his waist. He sits on the edge of the mattress, looking up at you with doe eyes. You suddenly get shy as you realize that you started unconsciously to strip, hiking up slowly your dress as you expose your bare legs and stomach to him, the man that you craved for three years. He holds himself on his wrists, watching carefully every detail of your body, already struggling to contain any reaction from his body. “Oh god, you’re so beautiful” he murmurs, biting his cheeks to avoid any flustering sound. You jump onto his lap with your legs wrapped around his waist, Hee starts to kiss you deeply as you busy yourself by unbuttoning his shirt. Your tongue dives into his mouth, while trailing your hands all over his naked chest. You push him, getting him completely layed on his bed. You’re still asking yourself where did you find enough confidence to do all of this, when you bite on his neck, smirking against his red skin. “Untie it, Hee” as soon as he hears you, you feel your bra falling off of your body, hearing it thrown on the floor. Heesung grabs your waist, forcing you to switch your positions. You see his unmistakable smirk glued onto your face, but it doesn’t take long before he moves it down your breast. “Are you sure you’re ready, princess?” he asks you, caressing your waist side. “i trust you” “Glad you do, baby” he stands up, untying his belt before unzipping his jeans. Not long after he throws them on the floor, then focuses again on nothing else but you. Hee leans over you, making his way down your body with small kisses, once he reaches your lower abdomen, he slowly drags you panties down your legs. “So pretty, tell me…” he stops by biting slightly on your hips. “Want me to wear a condom? I’m clean, just to let you know.” you shake your head. “I’m too, and on a birth control” Heesung nods, positioning himself between your wided legs. “Got you” you breathe heavily, when you watch him dragging down his boxers, inhaling the air deeply to force yourself to slow down your heartbeat. You squeeze your eyes when you get to see his cock standing between your wet core. It’s just about a few seconds that you finally feel him burying himself inside you. He lets out a sweet groan, holding his breath when you involuntarily squeeze around him. “Fuck, didn’t expect it to be this good” he slowly pulls out, trying to feel every sensation. “Do you like it?” He watches your aroused face. “Yeah, please, go on” You watch him smirking through your eyelashes. “Didn’t hear you, may you repeat darling?” you sigh, smiling. “Huh, please i want you”

Heesung holds onto your knees, making sure you stay spread for him, while he slides into you another time, then out, repeating the same movements as he speeds the pace. You try to stay still, gripping harshly at the sheets beneath you, your eyes roll back as you feel him touching your sweet spot with every thrust.

“Fuck- just like that, please” you mewl, letting out whimpers when the pleasure builds tension inside your lower stomach.

He moans back once. “Never thought you could make such sweet noises.” he smiles, eyes shut as he feels himself getting closer to his climax. Surely the way you keep clenching around his length doesn’t help him to last longer, and surely the fact that his tip’s kissing your g-spot continuously from minutes is getting you to the edge very quickly. You let out a broken, high pitched moans when you feel pure arousal hitting your body, making you arch your back from pleasure. “Fuck- faster, now!” he does immediately as you say, slamming his pelvis against your thighs gap as fast as he can, the sound of your skin slapping against each other’s booms inside the room, followed by nasty, squelching sounds at every pump. Heesung leans over you to help himself thrusting into you better. “So close~ cum for me princess” Your breathe loudly, as soon as you cream around him you feel hot ropes of his cum shooting inside you. His thrusts become sloppy when he slows down, pulling out after a few more pumps.

“You’re so beautiful right now, all fucked out because of me, i think i like you better like this.” he leans over to steal another deep kiss, his hands reaching instinctively your bare breast. “You did so good for me, you need a treat babe” you smile the best you can, still trying to get down your high. “Like…?” Heesung leaves a small peck on your right cheek. “What about a warm bath? I said i’m gonna take good care of you.” he cards his fingers through your hair, caressing your forehead.

“Will you let me do it forever?”

295 notes · View notes

the-darklings · 2 years

Text

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

summary: "We begin... with a spin."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

warnings: gonna break your heart one last time, Dream is still Dream (reluctantly affectionate)

notes: all good things come to an end : )

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: Rule the World (Odyssey Version) by Take That

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?”

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

“You are the one who wanders. You will do so until the universe ceases.”

“Why?”

“Because you have been cursed to do so. Because you chose no shackles, no roots. You wished, instead, to roam free. And now you shall.”

“Why?”

“Because all is as it is meant to be, Wanderer.”

“Why?”

“Because you wished to break your destiny. And so you did.”

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

Book in hand, you step around Hob, licking the dryness from your lips. Copper lingers on your tongue. “Same family.”

He perks up at your subdued comment, arms unfolding from where they rested over his chest.

“Nah, really?” He mulls it over for a moment. “Wait, that actually makes a lot of sense. He was a bit of a twat.”

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

Late evening sun streams through the blinds, bathing the dark wood office in syrupy, golden-brown light. Books and notes lay scattered everywhere you look, each inch utilised fully. Johanna leans her hands on the table, squinting at the grimoire laid open. She’s been chewing on her lip for the last five minutes. That doesn’t bode well.

“No can do,” Hob replies, hitching his shoulders with a proud smile. “I’m here on strict business.”

Dropping the grimoire Johanna requested on the table, you shoot them both a look, “Are you two done?” Your attention swivels towards the necromancer despite your trembling hands, finding her delicate features pinched. “Can you find Jed Walker?”

She huffs, her brows folding inwards. “You’re asking me to find a needle in a haystack of seven billion, give or take. I’m not a bloody witch. I don’t just cook up locator spells. I deal with demons and the dead.”

Bracing your hand on the table to mirror her, you soften your voice, “I understand what I’m asking for.”

“I’ll need time to figure this out,” she admits tightly.

Private displeasure colours Johanna’s voice, and you nod in defeat. It’s hard to admit any shortcoming, much less one rooted in one’s power. While Johanna may be more powerful than most mortals can comprehend, it’s not power without gaps. She’s still so young. But, as with all Constantines you’ve known, there now sparks that fiery, stubborn drive, seemingly blazing from within. This is a challenge and one she’s set to overcome.

“What about the other?” she poses abruptly, turning several pages in the grimoire. Her index finger trails over the yellowed pages, glued to another spell. “Do you have anything of theirs? You said this one has magical protection?”

“It’s conjecture,” you clarify. “But he’s been able to skirt me for over a century, so I’m left with one conclusion.”

Hob whistles under his breath. “A century? Bloody hell, you must be eager to find him.”

Memories flutter to life, birds caught in flight. A tall man with blonde hair, a dangerous smirk, and your blurred reflection dancing across his shaded glasses. Nothing more than a twisted memory that’s all fangs and blood. To file this want under ‘eager’ would be insulting. This specific longing comes with both elation and dread. Horror at what you might discover. This ignorance is no more than a flimsy illusion. You’ve spent the last century following Corinthian’s every crime, experiencing it as if he executed them on you instead.

“I can’t promise this will work,” Johanna continues, oblivious to your internal struggle. Your attention snags on Hob, who is watching you with deep creases denting his forehead. There’s old, shrewd awareness in how he examines your rumpled appearance. “At best, I might be able to cloak you. Again, locator spells are not my speciality. At all.”

You clear your mind, pushing away from the wooden fixture. “ What if I gave up an object? It’s old, full of history. Would I be able to form a tether?

You’ve seen such spells performed—you know they’re possible and incredibly advantageous when done right.

Johanna glares down at the grimoire for a beat, silent. Her chin lifts suddenly, her narrow-eyed stare harsh and biting. There’s digging intensity to how she inspects your appearance from head to toe, and you bristle at the probing check.

“You look like shit,” she says bluntly. “I don’t think you should be doing any tethering to anything.”

Your teeth gnash. “Can it be done, Constantine?”

Tension barbs through the room. Hob sighs, making you even more defensive because you can instinctively tell it’s about to become two against one. “We’re not daft, you know,” he says quietly. “It’s clear you’re unwell.”

Your eyes flutter shut. Forcing your jaw to relax, you mull over the most palatable way you can deliver this information to them. It’s clear from their wonderfully human determination that they’re not going to let this drop until they have more context.

“Fine.” Filling your lungs with oxygen, you hold your breath, gathering yourself. How difficult it is to draw oxygen should probably concern you. “Remember how I told you I’ve been experimenting? Well, I’ve exercised a degree of control over the curse. The travelling part, at least. I can force it to take me places I want, but it… costs me. Physically.”

Johanna folds her arms over her chest, humming in consideration. “Cost, eh? How steep?”

These damn Constantines.

The setting sun warms your cool cheek, and some invisible restraint in you loosens your invisible cast dropping. “Internal injuries. Bleeding, tissue tears, organ failure, haemorrhaging. It heals, but slowly. Excruciatingly so. If I abuse controlled travel too often, I can pass out. Slip into a temporary coma until internal damage heals. Vomiting, mobility issues, dizziness, hallucinations—take your pick.”

You’re avoiding direct eye contact, but utter silence encompasses the office when your words sink in.

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

Shrugging, you say, “It’s fine. I’m getting better at controlling it.”

“Which part of that is fine?” Hob’s voice is barbed with horror. “None of that is fine.”

You wish neither of them were looking at you like this. Rattled, aghast, alight with shades of sadness. It's so much easier to handle this when no one is standing there reminding you of the ugly aspects of this curse.

“Can it be done?” you bite out.

Johanna wipes emotion from her face, stretching out her hand, palm up. “Show me this item.”

Without a preamble, you hand her the roughened wooden figurine. Your stomach roils at the sight. Desperately your fingers clench and unclench in the folds of your coat, blunt nails biting into your palms. The urge to snatch back the figurine is bone-breaking.

Johanna rolls the item in her hand, scanning it with eyes that see far beyond its material form. She’s digging deeper into what history—power—the object contains. “It might work,” she muses pensively. “I’ll cloak you, but the spell will have a time limit. The further away you are from me, the shorter the timer will be. Whoever it is won’t see you coming, but I can’t promise you the exact location.”

The grim determination bubbling in your gut answers: “Just get me as close as you can.”

Swirls of colours and shapes; loud, jarring noises, spinning, spinning, nails raking through the skin—

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

It doesn’t stop. There’s only colour—sound—sound—breaking—madness. And it doesn’t stop for a very long time.

A thousand reflections stare back at you.

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

A rat scurries past your arm, disappearing into the hoary mist, and you flinch.

No matter how loudly you plead for forgiveness, for relief, there’s only endless despair and glass cutting into your palms.

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace.

A tall, pale, looming man with twin stars for eyes stands over you.

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

But for the first time since you’ve woken up as you: hope.

A beautiful dream.

“Who did you say you were again?”

Mighty, leathery wings block out whatever light there once was, the newcomer’s pale hair shining like a halo around their fair face.

“I am an angel, here to save you,” a benign, soothing voice coos, followed by fingers tracing over your bloodied jawline. “If only you help me.”

“By doing what?” you slur, blood and sweat trickling down your split brow. “By spying on the Endless? On Dream?”

“Do not fear. I alone can protect you. Your purpose is to merely… observe.”

Demons hiss and growl around you, and you flex your newly healed jaw. They broke it four times in succession. So much for talking back. Scorched dirt beneath your feet stains with your congealing blood, and you chuckle. The croaking sound grows in volume until your throat bleeds.

It’s answer enough.

Your bones quiver under the sheer power of Morningstar’s displeasure. “Take this one away. Make sure there’s nothing left.”

The demons make good on that order.

Johanna pierces the world map with a letter opener, every inch cutting in with deliberate slowness. Candles flicker, settling after the spell, and you taste the magick at the back of your throat.

“Georgia, U-S of A,” the necromancer announces, loosening a breath.

“Great,” Hob chirps, his arm brushing against yours. “That’s just brilliant. It’s across the bloody ocean, that is.”

Johnna shoots him a venomous look. “Oh, sorry. Were you hoping for a nice trip down Brighton?”

Hob stares at her blankly in the shadowed office. He turns your way slowly as if mutely asking do you believe her?

You do. You’ve dealt with enough Constantines in your lifetime to ensure their sarcastic, surly nature is no longer a shock.

“You’re a highly unpleasant woman,” Hob concludes, though no real malice lingers in his tone or bearing.

“Thank you, Constantine,” you cut in before they can break into another bickering session. “There’s one more thing.”

The brunette rolls her eyes. “Is there now?”

“Magdalene’s Grimoire,” you begin deliberately. Johanna freezes. “I want you to locate it and retrieve it for me.”

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

“You believe it has something to do with your curse, don’t you?”

Ignoring Hob’s incredulous outcry, you nod towards Johanna. Pain twinges suddenly in your core, and your breaths slow until you get a grip on yourself. But it’s slow. Numbing pain laps at your senses for a debilitating minute until it clears once more. The curse wants to drag you in a thousand directions, but you don’t permit it.

You right yourself again, swallowing over your dry tongue. Your temples throb insistently.

“I think it’s old—older than people assume and has spells that no mortal should have access to.” You lean towards the map, examining the range letter opener has offered. You’ve been to Georgia several times previously, but long ago. “Roderick Burgess might have gotten lucky, but the mere fact there’s a spell there that can help capture an Endless… I find that curious. Unlike what your records indicate, he was not the first Magus, but he was the last. This means the grimoire has to be with his family—likely his son—or someone relating to them. I’ll pay you.”

Somehow.

“Are you joking?” Johanna scoffs immediately. “One of the most powerful grimoires known to humanity? I’ll find it for free. Imagine what I could learn from it.”

Your stare glides to her unhurriedly, fixing on her fair complexion. She visibly falters at whatever she spies in your cool regard. “Within reason… and for the good of humanity. Scout's honour.”

Hob squints at her. “You’re not even American.”

“Shut… up,” she mutters, shooting him another nasty look.

You tug your coat free when it catches on a chair, slotting your hands in your pockets. “Thank you, both of you. Is the spell active?”

“Yes, but it won’t hold long at this distance,” Johanna warns.

Your attention latches on the wooden figurine on her desk. It’s wrong—it feels so wrong to have it out of your grasp, to feel nothing more than Dream’s pebble warming your hand. You try not to think about him now or your last conversation together. Instead, you focus on the thread woven around your heart, tugging you away and over the ocean.

“I won’t be back for at least two weeks, but see what you can discover in that time,” you tell them.

Hob balances on his heels, presenting Johanna with a charming grin. “Well, I guess I ought to help you.”

The sorceress scowls. “I don’t need your help.”

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

Levelling them with a fond look, you wordlessly head towards the door while they verbally spar. Your hand briefly braces your chest, feeling the unsteady thud beneath your palm. You’ve been jumping too often, too far, and too rapidly for your body to recover. But just a bit more. Then you can rest.

You’re almost at the end of a darkened hallway before an urgent voice sounds behind you, accompanied by brisk strides in your direction.

“Wait, wait…”

You’re not even slightly surprised to hear Hob behind you or feel his fingers wrap around your bicep. Street light filtering through the window paints over his taut features, creating a pronounced tale of two sides. Light and dark. Young and older than anyone can comprehend. Quite fitting for both of you.

“Take me with you,” Hob says, imploring edge laced beneath his lighthearted manner. It pinches your heart. “You know what they say: two immortals are better than one, eh?”

If things were less dangerous, less volatile, if it were anyone but Corinthian, you would take him up on his offer. You would love nothing more—two immortals going on an adventure. Hob has known the same horrors, similar hardships, countless failures and highs. Together you’re as effortless as breathing, as familiar as old friends meeting after years apart. You’ve felt that kinship with him from the first moment you locked eyes in that overcrowded pub, sitting there soaked and miserable.

But this is the Corinthian. Even if Hob is the one human with nothing to fear from the nightmare, this goes much deeper. Soul deep. Perhaps deeper still. This conflict is between you, Corinthian, and Dream. It’s always been a tale of three parts, interwoven into a single, unbreakable thread.

“Hob Gadling, you are a gem,” you say softly, placing your hand on his warm cheek. An unsure smile forms across his mouth. “And maybe one day I will. But this… this is something I must do alone.”

“You don’t, though. You realise that, right?” Hob argues softly, fiercely. “There are people who care about you.”

You think about the Dreaming and its occupants, all the mortals and other beings you’ve encountered in your many travels. Friends and companions who have told you to visit, stay, there is always a place for you here even when they knew you could do no such thing without putting them at risk. You think about the Endless—your becoming and undoing.

Your hand slips away from him, your faint smile hollow. “I do. Two weeks.”

The Endless are formidable individually. The raw power holding this universe together, given form and reason. Their realms are kingdoms that put others to shame. You’ve visited plenty by now to draw the unsurprising conclusion. Dealing with each sibling is an exercise in patience, tact, and subtle respect in differing shades.

Sitting in the same room as seven of them makes you want to crawl out of your skin and run for the hills. You’ve met them individually in the past. There’ve been a handful of occasions where you encountered several simultaneously. But never all together in the same room like this.

They’re terrible and wonderful and so suffocating in their casual existence that every instinct in your mortal body warns you of one indisputable truth:

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Death shakes her head promptly, giving you a stern glance. “Nonsense, sweetheart,” she asserts. “You’re right where you belong. Isn’t that right, Destiny?”

Destiny of the Endless sits unmoving, only his mouth visible behind his flowing, beige hood. His hand rests on the Book of Destiny, pale but relaxed. Whenever Destiny does move, the chain connecting him to the book rattles through your bones.

He hosts these family gatherings, though all Endless have equal prominence in this universe and its continuous function. Despite it, from your angle, it appears as if he’s the one at the head of the table. Oldest and certainly the most overwhelming in his sheer aura. It took him a simple swipe of his hand for an additional chair to materialise at the table for you. For his fluttering, eerily silent attendants to lay a plate and glass on either side of you.

“All is as it should be, sister,” Destiny replies, his voice whistling wind through dry leaves.

Your pulse beats against the curve of your throat. If your stomach weren’t already empty, you would likely be throwing up right now.

Death grins brightly, pleased. Her smile is no doubt meant to be reassuring when she angles back towards you. “See, that’s a yes.”

Your words form clumsily on your tongue, “I didn’t mean to impose—”

Sitting on your left, Delirium tightens her grip on you, cutting your words short. Her chair had been dragged towards yours, your arms linked despite the uncomfortable angle. The scent of leather, sweat, and burnt sugar bites into your nostrils. Today, her hair keeps flickering between bright orange, yellow, and neon green.

“Uhm… impose?” she mutters. Her words flow so swiftly that it’s an effort to keep up. “No, no, imposing to be imposed on, and, um, imposing is impolite. What is impolite?”

“To impose would be impolite, yes.” Your words come out measured. “Like that man. You went into his home.”

“Well, he, well, he wasn’t a very good man.” Delirium’s voice thins, frustration biting into each syllable. On your other side, you sense Destruction turning in your direction. Tension blinks out from Delirium’s lovely features, her different-coloured eyes shining in the dimly lit room. “I made him see colours. Really pretty, pretty colours.”

Yes, she certainly did. You’re hopeful the man received a swift death via villagers, others having no doubt concluded him mad or consorting with devils and demons. As if to illustrate her point, Delirium lightly positions her thumb and index fingers together, forming an O. She giggles, blowing air, and much to your unspoken wonder, multicoloured bubbles float through the air. Some remain bubbles, bloated and bobbing. Others shape into animals and birds.

“I am not an Endless,” you remind, feeling foolish for doing so. As if anyone could mistake you for one of them. Your eyes briefly skim over each sibling, shifting in your seat for the dozenth time. “I don’t think it’s right for me to be here.”

Despair, sitting opposite to you beside her twin, hoods her eyes. The metal hook on her finger digs into her chin. Blood bubbles beneath the honed metal. “Yes. Mortal.”

Her whispering, thin voice blankets you, and your insides ball up.

Destruction chuckles on your right, deep and echoing in the dining hall, smoothing over your suddenly chilled, clammy skin. “Sister, do you meet many mortals who live over three hundred years? I see no harm in you being here, dear Wanderer.”

Desire stretches indolently in their seat, candlelight washing over their indescribable features. Scoff ripples from their chest, their chin dropping in their open palm.

“Right, is anyone else opposed to Wanderer being here?” Desire voices, sweeping a challenging look around the table. When no one speaks, Desire shrugs, arms open at their sides. “See, sweet thing, relax. Have some fruit.”

They pointedly push the fruit basket closer towards you. The fruit does look tasty, and you hadn’t eaten in two days, but don't think you can stomach it right now.

Dream casts an inpatient glance Destiny’s way. In extravagant robes, Dream Lord appears the most disgruntled with being summoned. “Why are we here, Destiny? You do not call upon the family without a cause.”

Destiny’s answer comes predictably vague: “You are here, brother Dream. That is all.”

Despite your unease to be dropped into their family meeting, annoyance pinpricks you at his words. Always the same ambiguity, always what the book dictates, and never what someone might feel. Destiny is not human. It would be unfair for you to hold any of the Endless to mortal standards. For you to expect them to comprehend sentiments that are so far out of their reach.

It doesn’t take away from the sting, though. At least this time, the curse was mindful enough to drop you inside Destiny’s stronghold inside the Garden of Forking Ways. Last time, you found yourself helplessly lost inside the boundless maze for weeks. Destiny did nothing to aid you—it was as it was meant to be. You associate him most closely with that wild animal fear and sheer helplessness. You can’t help it.

“Why the rush?” Desire calls out, interrupting your thoughts. “Eager to get back to another failed relationship, sweet Dream?”

Shadows coil around Dream Lord’s feet, seated between Delirium and Death. You silently question if it’s a purposeful partition.

“That’s enough from you, sibling,” Dream warns.

Desire’s lovely mouth spreads into a quick, beaming smile; all teeth bared and tawny eyes aglow with sadistic amusement. A predator having scented blood. “Oh, come on now,” they coo. “We all come here to talk as a family; even lovely Wanderer is present. Yet you think yourself above everything. Your realm, your rules—we’ve heard it all before! You’re oh so dull.”

Despair slumps beside her twin, face downcast. “Dull. Yes, rather dull indeed.”

“And are you perhaps bored, my sibling?” Dream returns, a slight pinch to his imperious features. His voice remains perfectly aloof. From this outsider’s perspective, it’s easy to see why Desire views Dream as supercilious. “Did you run out of adequate ways to amuse yourself?”

Momentarily swallowing down your fear, you slant your head over to one side, “Dream.”

Dream pauses at your drawn, anxious expression. The ignited stars dim, draining away, but the hard slant of his broad shoulders doesn’t drop.

“Oh, don’t run to his defence.” Desire’s voice is just edging on goading. Their nails tap on the wooden table when they cross their legs, leaning towards you. “This is quite characteristic. Surely you find him just as insufferable as the rest of us?”

Death’s retort is whip-sharp. “Desire. Shut up.”

Others around the table appear calmly accepting. They’ve seen this fight play out in the past a thousand times. While you’ve never demanded reasons for the bad blood between the two Endless, it’s clear it runs deep, a problem stemming from innumerable centuries long since past. And very clearly not a situation for you to get involved in. You’re not naive or arrogant enough to assume you can fix their problems for them. Neither Desire nor Dream seems particularly invested in settling anything, either.

But inciting like this is dangerous. Desire has never attempted to spark arguments involving you in the past, no matter how spiteful the mood.

As if mentally arriving at the same conclusion, Destruction’s rumbling words vocalise your unspoken plea: “Do not involve Wanderer in your quarrel, sibling.”

Delirium curls into herself, her legs raised on the chair and pressing into her chest. Her hold on your arm turns near painful. “Arguing, fights, it's not nice, but it… um… that’s not where Desire is supposed to be. It’s um… it’s somewhere else. It’s in Dreams.”

You’re not sure how to decode Delirium’s words. You once believed them to be mindless babbles. Then some phrases would come back to haunt you months or even years later. Whatever caused the turn in Delirium from Delight gave her foresight no other Endless seemed to possess. Save, perhaps, Destiny.

Desire’s fingers curl beneath their pointed chin. Desire surveys you, then his older brother, with a feline's slowness. “Well, well. Aren’t you two sweet on each other?”

This time, the darkness curling beneath Dream’s chair becomes physical. Visible even to your mortal eye.

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily.

Desire scoffs, dropping back in their seat with a graceful, seductive stretch. Heat encompasses your being, pouring in the crevices of your skin. Desire’s effect is all but impossible to escape this close.

“Is it not my function, oh dear brother of mine, to sow desire in the hearts of all living things, mortal and otherwise? What are they without their desires?” The Endless straightens just as swiftly, their elbows digging back into the table while they eye you, chin back in their hands. Something cruel and fragmented, endlessly amused, slides through those golden irises—an intent you’ve never seen Desire direct your way until now. “Come, my sweet, doesn’t it get dreary? All those mortals set on your suffering? Surely you have missed the sweet, loving embrace of Desire? I could make you desire anything… even a kiss.”

And then…

The world melts away, and everything once making up your being bows and folds under the power pressing into you. You’re but a child. You are atoms. And you’ve forgotten how terrible their power could be once unleashed.

There’s only cocoon and darkness and golden, glowing eyes beckoning you, warming you, bewitching you. Your limbs are too far away to control, your will dulled into thin, worn paper—brittle to the touch. Your skin is too hot, and the air in your lungs is insufficient. It feels so good. So good, so good—

Even a kiss, even a kiss, even a kiss—

Your limbs are on strings, tugged in one direction, then another. Distantly, horror chokes you, and you scratch at the walls inside your mind, clawing for some semblance of control, but there’s only a sultry embrace of desire.

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

“Enough.” Something inside your chest trembles at that single word’s sheer, unbridled power. Your numbed senses are clear but not enough to free you. You're trapped, caught on the verge of awareness. “You dare.”

“Now, now, dear Dream. Did I get under your skin? It’s but jest. Lighten up.”

Few stars emerge in your blackened vision, guiding you closer. They urge you forward to safety, but you’re unable to move. It feels good to be here, so good and hot. There’s no pain, only desire and pleasure—

“We do not control mortals, sister-brother. Their will is their own. Release Wanderer.”

Destiny’s tepid command shreds through the heated, desire-filled veil. You return to yourself with a choked gasp, snapping into your tiny mortal body with a painful lurch. It’s overwhelming. Every sense was smothered to such a degree, it’s as if everything is twice as heightened now.

“Are you insane?” Death snaps. You’ve never heard her this angry until now. There’s always a smile on her face and a playful gleam in her eyes. But you’re too busy shaking to be afraid. “What was that, huh?”

Your hands convulse. Bloody indents line your palms. Your nails must have cut into your skin hard enough to draw blood. You fought. But what can a mortal do when faced with an Endless? You were erased, folded down to nothing. You are nothing.

Voices melt into one. You’re too shaken to separate them. When some semblance of awareness settles in, you realise how awful these… seconds, minutes, or hours have truly been.

You’re half straddling Destruction, arms half wrapped around his broad shoulders, your mouth near his neck. Horror liquefies your limbs, rooting you in your spot. Too much—it’s too much. Humiliation leaves you immobile, but Destruction rests his hand between your shoulder blades, his gaze kind and concerned beneath his bunched eyebrows.

“Are you well?” he asks quietly over the clamour behind you.

Your chin wobbles. Shame lashes your skin. You’ve been used as no more than a puppet to be thrown at him. On him. Like some mindless whore. A witless worshipper, begging for their chosen god’s favour, not understanding what they’re inviting. How the gods are never kind. How they only use and break for their amusement.

Even though Destruction doesn’t appear angry, you can’t stop yourself from croaking out, “I… I… I’m sorry.”

His sympathetic frown is visible even beneath his thick beard. He cradles you to him but with gentleness indicating how fragile he believes you to be at this moment. “Do not fret. It is quite alright, my friend.”

“Can you…?”

Your words splinter. The burn behind your eyes turns painfully prickly. Destruction’s handsome face creases further. He nods mutely, carefully manoeuvring your body to a standing position. His large hand presses between your shoulder blades, steading and hot through your thin robes. His fingers fold slightly, protectively. Your gratitude for his unprompted support is immeasurable. An anchor while your knees shake.

“It was a joke,” Desire calls out over his siblings. “Desire is who I am. It’s all in good fun. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

Your shoulders spasm, your back still to them. Your insides churn at the prompt, and you’re unsure if you’re about to be sick, cry, or some horrific mix of both.

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume…

How many times have you landed in the Threshold, thrilled to see Desire? How often have you shared jokes, laughs, and peaceful evenings and mornings in the twilight land? What other touch or embrace have you known over three centuries that didn’t end in agony but Desire’s? You’ve told them numerous times you have no preference for any sibling in their family—that you cherish Desire’s company as much as others, perhaps even more so. Because with Desire, you could remember what it’s like to be human—to want and need.

You had foolishly believed you were friends.

Now you see the truth. You feel the horrible, numbing heat licking across your flesh—the aftermath of this ultimate betrayal. Desire’s power shimmers on the outskirts of your mind, ready to devour you anew. Rob you of reason and choice.

“I—you… I trusted you.” Everyone falls silent at your frayed words, scraping through the eerily quiet dining hall. When you rotate clumsily towards them, you look only at Desire. You avoid others. Your humiliation burns too brightly for anything else. “You… just made me feel like nothing. You degraded me. I’m no more than a thing for you to play with.”

Some foreign emotion spasms briefly through Desire’s face—gone in a blink. Their answering smile is so patronising a deeper crack splinters your chest. “Wanderer. Be a good sport. It was simply a bit of fun.”

A bit of fun.

Desire can be fickle, and it can be cruel. But you’ve forgotten just how cruel they could be. To Desire, this is no more than a practical joke. You’re only a silly mortal. No wonder you don’t get the joke. You’ll get over yourself soon enough. But no one else is laughing or smiling, either. Even Despair in your peripheral remains hunched and mute, typically first to her twin’s defence.

“Fun.”

The word shatters something between you the second you voice it. You can see it on Desire’s face. The realisation settling in. There is no regret, no apology. Nor will there ever be. It’s clear from the dismissive curl of Desire’s mouth. They don’t see anything wrong with what just transpired.

It makes it worse. So much worse.

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

Destiny’s perfectly poised voice shreds whatever little composure you’ve been clinging onto.

“You knew, didn’t you?” The accusation rips through the room like wildfire. You shake off Destructions comforting touch, your lungs filling with air and spilling out fire. “You knew Desire was going to do that. That’s the only reason why you permitted me to stay. Do I not suffer every day? Or do you enjoy making me into your little plaything? Have I not been humiliated enough for your amusement?”

Destiny says nothing.

You shove away from the table with disgust. Your feet tangle before you command your sluggish limbs. Death rise after you immediately.

“Wanderer—”

You flinch away from her extended hand, from all of them. You don’t care what invisible line you may be overstepping. “Don’t touch me,” you spit out. “I never should have stayed.”

Your feet carry you several paces until another, more resounding voice calls, “Wanderer.”

A part of you doesn’t understand why you pause or look back. Dream’s gaze sears into you. Yet you can’t untangle a single thing you see burrowed there. He’s standing as well, his hand flat on the table. Foolishly, you hope he will come after you, say something in defence of you. But Dream is Dream. He’s likely just as clueless about why you took this so badly as others. Perhaps the fury you see glimmering in those starlit eyes is but your imagination. Another pretty lie your sentimental, human heart would be all too happy to convince yourself of.

He doesn’t move. You pivot away, your shoulders hunching.

Desire’s chuckle licks at your back, silky and smooth. “So tense, that one. It was only a bit of fun.”

No one laughs. No one responds.

Only a bit of fun.

“Take me away, take me away from here,” you sob, stumbling into a shadowed hallway.

For once, the curse listens.

Rivulets of sweat drip down your back. The puddle of blood at your feet is starting to go dark. These observations float from somewhere beyond the dense fog shrouding your mind. It’s so difficult to focus. Wiping across your sweaty forehead, you lean on your arm, breathing deeply. You’ve forgotten how suffocating the humidity could be here in Georgia.

Mercifully only heat-blurred fields surround you. The vast, open stretch of highway is all you see on either side.

Lights dance in your vision, your ears ringing. Maybe it’s the curse and not the heat. Your limbs obey no command, barely held together by sheer stubborn will to follow the tether pulsing in your chest. The spell’s power is already dimming. You have no choice but to jump. This is your only chance to get to Corinthian first.

“Come on… come on… I don’t obey you.” Your nails scrape on the heated metal, your head hanging low. “You obey me.”

Your tongue rolls the words clumsily. No matter how much you swallow, more saliva floods your mouth, causing your stomach to cramp. Your knees beg to fold beneath you. Lay down in this tall grass and wait for the inevitable that will never arrive. It’s foolish. Death is far from the worst thing that can befall an individual. It was the very first lesson you learned.

Digging deeper, you claw and yank on the curse’s power, squeezing it until the bleed becomes physical. Until your limbs rip from one place to another.

When you settle back into your body, skin stinging, your knees hit the ground immediately. Blood dribbles past your lips, your sweat-covered forehead pressing into the soft dirt. You pant loudly, blood trickling past your cracked lips. Pain is coming from everywhere. Sounds mangle into each other when you attempt to raise your head. Your stomach protests viciously, leaving you dry heaving. Nothing but more blood escapes your body.

A hotel sign. It’s the first thing you register. You’ve landed near one, practically on it. Your fingernails dig into the dirt as you stumble into a standing position. The tether Johanna’s spell has threaded pulses harder and faster in your chest. There. Corinthian has to be there.

Cradling your sore midsection, you painstakingly make your way towards the hotel. Relentless heat melts your already nonexistent strength reserves down to nothing.

Several people glance in your direction when you push through the reception door. In this climate, your attire certainly raises eyebrows, but you remind yourself there’s no way Corinthian can know you’re here this time.

“Can I help you?”

You stumble to a stop, breathing heavily. A man with a tiny hat and a nametag reading Fun Land sits behind a table, his annoyance palpable while he stares at you expectedly. It takes considerable effort to gather the strength required to speak.

“No.”

You turn to go.

“Hey, woah! This is a convention-only area. Can’t you read?”

Following the direction the man is gesturing wildly towards, you find a board reading Cereal Convention printed in large, bold letters. The rest blurs, sweat stinging your eyes. You work your jaw.

“No,” you repeat.

The man’s petulant glare would be comical if you were in a better mood.

“You can’t go here,” he declares stiffly.

Your fingers curl weakly, convulsing at your sides. You didn’t come this far to be precluded from finding Corinthian by a goddamn sign. By a cereal convention. Cereal convention. Cereal. At the back of your foggy mind, something nags at you.

Your brows dip inwards, your gaze slipping towards the man. His bravado stutters, washing away from him. He shrinks backwards the longer you stare at him, his throat working on a gulp. Your lips compress into a stiffer line. Someone brushes behind you, stepping up to the table. Fun Land exhales in audible relief, serving them, pretending he’s too busy to pay you further notice.

Fine. You’ll find another way.

Stalking outside, you keep to the shade, leaning into the wall for support. It doesn’t take long to track down the delivery entrance. Every hotel has one, and depending on the time of day, they’re not the best protected. Like right now, in the afternoon, after housekeeping has gone home, leaving only a handful of staff on standby.

He’s in here somewhere. The hotel corridors melt together. Beige walls and stale, humid air. They warp, smearing together into nothing but sensation. You’re a rat caught inside yet another maze. Sickness churns inside your stomach.

And then, impossibly, you see him.

A pale head of golden hair illuminated by washed-out light, his back to you while he strolls ahead and away from you.

“Corinthian.”

The raspy exhale ricochets. The nightmare stops dead in his tracks. Until this precise second, he wasn’t there, wasn’t real, but with his name, the nightmare becomes a reality. Corridor may separate you, but the spell winks out, confirming your suspicion.

Aircon buzzes through the long, otherwise vacant corridor. Your heart thunders in your ears.

Then, Corinthian speaks: “You shouldn’t be here.”

A sob wells in your chest at his drawling, smooth words. Nearly two hundred years you haven’t seen him. Over a century seeking him out, having to live with the ramifications of atrocities he’s been inflicting. And now, here, it’s just you and him. You’re not sure which sensation pulses in you stronger: anger or relief.

Your mouth quivers, your tongue dragging across your dry, cracked lips. “I searched for you.”

“I know you did,” he replies listlessly, his back still facing you. It hurts, because you were right. He’s been knowingly avoiding you. As if reading your mind, Corinthian raises his hand, and your stomach shrivels when you spot your ring firm on his finger. “I have this to thank you for, but it would seem you found me out anyway. Shame.”

The ring. Of course.

A small piece of humanity for you to hold. I told you, they’re not all bad. I hope this can help you experience it.

And experience it he did. An essential part of yourself put away in that ring must have given him a sense of your presence nearby. He used your own present against you.

The Corinthian finally turns to face you, all but unchanged except for his modern hairstyle and refined round shades. You want to say so many things to him that your tongue refuses to work altogether. A great chasm yawns between you, and you have no idea how to bridge it.

“What are you doing?” you ask at last.

There’s no smirk or sly grin in sight. He’s as closed off as you. Despite his seeming indifference, you read the subtle tension lining Corinthian’s broad shoulders. He can hide from others, trick and lie to them if he pleases, but never you.

“What I was made to do,” he replies tightly.

“No. You’re hurting them.”

Corinthian’s jaw locks. “He made me in your image, Wanderer. Now I’m making the world in mine. I thought you’d be proud.”

A disbelieving scoff rips from your chest, burning your windpipe as if acid washed down it. “Proud?” you parrot. “You’re killing them.”

Your harsh condemnation dissolves whatever neutrality remains in the space between you. Prior uncertainty dashes beneath a strain of a century dripping in the blood of innocents.

“Did they do less to you?” Corinthian’s voice is all nightmare; honeyed, cruel, and seductive. His head tilts playfully to one side. “How often did they torture you? Shun you? Sought to eradicate you? Still you defend them as you did him.”

Your sight muddies, and it takes a shake of your head to clear it. “You can’t punish all for crimes of a few.”

A snarl twists Corinthian’s mouth, his feet carrying him towards you in a measured, prowling stalk.

“A few? They’re all the same: greedy, selfish, and cruel. The curse reveals. I reflect. They don’t change; they only learn how to hide better.” He pauses, licking his lips as he considers you. Something seems to occur to him, a faint laugh vibrating from his chest. “Do you have any idea how many times I stopped them? Punished them for hurting you? New Orleans in ‘31. Berlin in ‘43. Vienna in ‘55. Seoul in ‘62. Moscow in ‘71. Bangkok in ‘89. New York in ‘00. Why those were all me and then some. I was there. I’ve always been there.”

Each date punctures through you like a stray bullet. Honed and whetted for the single purpose of hurting you in a different sense. A fragmented nightmare. You’ve chased a mirage while the nightmare has spent a century mirroring your steps, keeping you safe from the shadows whenever your paths crossed unbeknownst to you.

There’ve been times—

You thought you’d caught glimpses of him in decades-long since lost. But unfailingly, you’ve only ever found empty alleyways when you pursued these figments. Eventually, you stopped chasing these mirages. The pain was too great. But it’s never been just your overreactive imagination, has it? He was real. He was there.

He’s spent a century killing indiscriminately while also keeping you safe. You want to scream at him for the evil he’s committed and cry from sheer relief he hasn’t forgotten you.

“Then why hide?” you croak, stumbling closer. “Why not speak with me?”

“Oh, come now.” Corinthian clicks his tongue. He turns away, nostrils flaring, then turns to face you again. “You know why. You would have asked me to come back, and for you, I would have.”

His features blur, your words barely audible, “And would that have been so terrible?”

“Come back to what? Dream’s ball and chain?” Acidic words, despite their softness. His rage deflates instantly, a huffing laugh escaping him as if he’s surprised himself with the lapse. “You think he gives a fuck about either of us? He threw you out. You left.”

Indignation flares in your chest. “Not by choice.”

“Then you should have taken me with you. But you left me. All you ever do is play by Dream’s rules. I figured out how to leave the Dreaming back during Dreamfall, but I stayed. Wonder why.”

You have no response to that. You’re left standing there, gaping. For you. Who else? He had no one else there; no other reason to stay other than your presence.

“So that’s it,” you begin shakily, your words rasping, sniffling. “All this because you believe I chose Dream and his rules over you?”

“What did you do to yourself?”

Corinthian’s voice has gone dreadfully quiet. Fiercely unhappy. Too late, you realise you’re sniffling because blood is dripping from your nose. Clumsily, you swipe the back of your hand over your chin. Crevices in your skin crack with dried blood.

“It was never a choice, don’t you get it?” you whisper, your words pouring out thick and wet with emotion. “It’s always been you. Always. I was terrified the journey would destroy you. Had I known, I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat.”

Corinthian closes the remaining distance between you, grasping you by the forearms. It’s such a relief to have him near again. You sag into him, trembling. You try to raise your hand to wipe beneath your nose, but your limbs are too stiff to obey.

“What did you do, Wanderer?” He sounds furious while he examines you, as if only now realising the extent of your deterioration. “What did you do yourself?”

“I had to get to you first,” you tell him. Blood smudges the lapels of his jacket where you grasp it. “Please, you have to stop. They don’t deserve this, Cori.”

He looks disgusted at your words, but your legs fail you before he responds. Corinthian catches you before your knees hit the carpeted ground.

“It hurts.” His words come out hissing, sharp with incredulity. “Why does it hurt?”

Your chin jolts upwards, your bloodstained smile trembling around the edges. “You know why. I’m inside of you. You can’t escape that.”

Neither of you can. You’ll carry him in you until your bitter end, as he will carry you until his.

“Shh. I got you.” Corinthian tucks you into him when a whimper of pain escapes you. His hand cradles the back of your head. “I’m going to set us both free.”

And then, through horror, darkness closes in.

Motion.

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar.

“Oh, yes. This one is with me. Won’t you be a good girl and share that tidbit with others, so we don’t have any… complications. I appreciate it.”

“But I thought—”

Arms tighten around you possessively—the air coils, suffused with thick tension.

“Good Doctor. No one touches this one. Or they'll have to deal with me. Personally.”

Footsteps retreat near instantly, the atmosphere lightening in the absence. You’re resting on something velvety. You have no idea where you are, but you know you’re safe.

“Cori…”

“Shh, I’ll be back before you know it.” Cold glass touches your lips. When your lips part, soothing water slips into your awaiting mouth. After several mouthfuls, the glass disappears. A cool hand traces your face. “Things will be different real soon, you’ll see.”

You reach blindly, seeking. “Don’t go.”

“Oh, don’t worry. After I’m done, we’ll have a Dreaming of our own.”

Then nothing.

Anchor around your ankle. Plunging, bitter cold water, pressure, pressure, a hand reaching uselessly towards the shrinking light above, then nothing—

Ropes bite into your wrists, the pyre is tall, and the crowd jeers with open delight. They throw things at you; some hit, some miss. You don’t know if you hate them or pity them. Both, neither. Sahsin’s face is disgusted, filled with hate. She has positioned herself in front of the throbbing mob. When the fire comes, Sahsin enjoys it. When the fire comes, the agony devours all else—

Blank page.

And beneath, a faint, pulsing power of Endless Destruction.

“My lord.”

Urgent footsteps head in his direction. Morpheus raises his head, his grip on the tome in his hands white-knuckled.

Loyal Lucienne and a rather familiar figure a step behind her.

“I apologise for leaving, Lord,” Fiddler’s Green begins, flustered but entreating. “But you must help. He’s killing them.”

You awake with a pained gasp. Your head swims, your fingers clumsily seeking purchase.

An eerily silent hotel room greets you when your hiccuping gasps assuage into a steadier rhythm. Corinthian is nowhere in sight. You wrench yourself from beneath the comfortable covers, stumbling. You grab your carelessly thrown coat on your way out, shrugging on the familiar weight. At least your vision is clearer than earlier. Pain remains undiminished by your fretful rest.

The hotel is unnaturally quiet—your nerves prickle. Nothing good ever comes from places where there should be life, being devoid of it. Unease pools in your stomach while you stumble through winding corridors. Where did everyone go?

Outside, twilight has settled over the landscape. Your pace increases, your palms dragging across the walls to keep moving.

You find the reception empty, the convention table barren. Except…

“—a black mirror, made to reflect everything about itself that humanity will not confront. But look at you—”

Your body turns to stone mid-step. There’s no confusing that voice with anyone—the absolute power infused into every deliberate, low syllable.

With a start, you realise your knees have bent, your coat pooling around your ankles. You’re scared. Dream wasn’t supposed to be here. Not when you’re not there to mediate. Clawing at the walls, you force your legs forward. Your bones quake in protest with each step.

Shoving into the conference room, you find the room full. Hotel patrons sit in neat rows, their heads bowed and eyes closed.

Dream of the Endless and the nightmare make for a lonely, contrasting sight on the stage: dark and light.

Corinthian’s small smile is scornful. “I’m not the problem, Dream.”

“You’re right,” Dream Lord concurs quietly. “This is my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.”

Dream’s arm lifts in the air between them. You lurch forward, stumbling up the stairs.

“No!”

You let out a dry sob, pushing past Dream to get to the nightmare. The contours of Corinthian’s face have begun dissolving, singed red at the edges, disappearing back into the sand he was fashioned from.

Corinthian chokes out a breath, grinning widely, grasping your hand. “Hey, trouble—”

His hand in yours crumbles. A wounded, animalistic sound rips from you. There’s a futile, blind attempt to grasp onto his body as it slips between your fingers. Through your arms, and then out of your life.

“No! No, no.”

Your knees hit the stage so hard the sound is a thunderclap through the hushed room. Sand lays in a golden pile at your feet. A tiny skull containing teeth for eyes is all that remains and—

Your ring. Corinthian’s faint warmth still lingers on the metal. Wet dots fall into the sand. Only then do you register the tears dripping down your face. Followed by speckles of blood. It seems appropriate that, in the end, he should have your blood also.

Featherlight touch on your shoulder only registers after Dream’s voice floats through your agony: “Wanderer. I am sorry.”

Perhaps under different circumstances, you would have examined this moment closer—Dream Lord, an Endless, on his knees beside you, his voice impossibly soft. Instead, you want to disappear.

“I know,” you sob, shaking, half leaning towards the ground. If it weren’t for Dream’s grip on you, there’s no doubt in your mind you would collapse right where Corinthian has. Something mangles inside you, far beyond physical. “I know you had to stop him. I… to me… he… to me he’s…”

Everything.

Dragging your hands desperately through the slippery grains, you gather them in a smaller circle.

“What are you doing?”

Dream’s question is uncharacteristically gentle. There’s deeper awareness that a wrong question could shatter you completely.

Past your raw vocal cords, you only manage: “I—I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him again.”

You’re not sure if you’re coherent enough for him to understand. Each word borders on a pained howl. Black is rapidly devouring your fading vision. Too much. It’s too much. You’re about to explode. Collapse like the nightmare did, utterly undone.

Several scarlet drops drip into the sand, and Dream sucks in a deep breath beside you, his grip on you tightening.

“You’re bleeding.”

He doesn’t get a response. Blackness devours you whole.

Recovery takes three weeks. You’re unconscious for the first two. Another week crawls by until you can move again.

The simple fact that it takes you so long to become functional only confirms that Dream brought back a broken soul into the Dreaming. You’ve survived limbs being severed. Past incidents where your skin was peeled off. But this goes beyond skin deep.

You haven’t travelled since the incident. The mere thought induces a fresh dose of cramping terror through your system. The curse, wounded and worn, has retreated. Dormant. For now.

“You mourn him.”

You jump in your spot. Your fingers close protectively over the ring in your hand. Dream steps into your line of sight, his coat fluttering around his lithe figure. His face is slanted away from you, observing the waterfront. You try to hide your surprise at seeing him.

He’s been… distant these last three weeks. Not cold, but…

Sad.

There’s no other way to delineate the forlorn stares that seem to follow you.

“I’m not an idiot. What Corinthian was doing was horrific,” you say dully, tugging on stray blades of grass.

Fiddler’s Green has returned, taking his post once more. It should make you happy. He apologised personally for his departure, but you understood his reasonings for leaving. Without his creator, Fiddler’s Green wanted to experience what it was like to be human. What right do you have to judge him for such a wish? Yet memory is a cruel mistress—the recollections of the one whose absence is so torturously felt are everywhere.

“He took lives that were never his to take,” you continue. Anger bites into controlled syllables. “Not to mention his plan to have Rose become the new heart of the Dreaming. Did he realise the universe would have collapsed in on itself? He had to be stopped.”

It was what had awoken you back at the hotel. It’s only later that you learned the extent of Corinthian’s plan. Rose Walker was the vortex. Given enough time, she would have become the centre of the Dreaming, drawing dreams and nightmares to her. And collapsed this universe as a result. Dream would have killed her—it’s the only time the Endless are permitted to take mortal life, if they’re an active threat—but Rose’s grandmother had stepped in last second. A woman who should have been the vortex if it hadn’t been for Dream’s capture. If the sleeping sickness that swept through the waking world had not robbed her of life.

“But you mourn him still.”

Unequivocal insistence. Your composed mask cracks around the edges. Lying would be pointless.

“Of course I do,” you exhale, pained.

Dream’s fingers curl at his side, but he doesn’t look your way. “This was my oversight, Wanderer. Do not bear the guilt for those lost.”

Trees ripple and shiver in the faint breeze. Waterfall roars to your left, while to your right, the dark shores of the Dreaming reflect sunshine like the darkest obsidian. You consider the Dream Lord while he watches the beach with a stony expression. Utterly closed off—same old Dream.

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet.

“Their blood is on my hands, too,” you say, turning to go.

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains.

“Are you departing once more?” he calls out, halting you in your tracks. He’s scrutinising you when you peek his way. “You are not fit for travel.”

Offering a throwaway smile, you shrug. “I’m a rubber ball. I bounce back quickly.”

“Stay until Dreamfall if the curse permits it.” Dream pauses after his brisk request, catching himself with a swallow. Awkwardness permeates the air. “It would mean a great deal to others if you celebrated with them.”

You loosen a reluctant breath, squinting at him. “Do you want me to stay?”

Something shifts between you at the forthright prompt; tightening, warming. Surprise collects in your chest at the fact you dared to ask. But you’re tired of feigning, acting as if you’re both not caught in some bizarre impasse.

Dream’s lips part softly, his answer a mere exhale, “I would.”

Light, tingling sensation webs through your chest. You hadn’t expected that. “Under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Answer me something, Morpheus. Truthfully.” With deliberate slowness, you step into his bubble, so close Dream’s lashes flutter as he peers at you. There’s such unbearable weight to his gaze. There’s always been a raging storm brewing there, but this is more. Heavier. “Corinthian was convinced that you made him in my image. Is it true?”

Your jaw sets stubbornly, the nightmare’s name stinging your tongue. Dream’s eyes roam over your features, seeking some unknown truth. You’re not asking about physical similarities, but you permit him this moment. Because he digs deeper, because your heart is in your throat when Dream finally settles on his truth:

“While I did not recognise it as such at the time, I believe I did.”

You’ve known, been aware of this fact for centuries. Since Corinthian shared his hypothesis, you’ve been unable to scrub it from your mind. But to have confirmation from Dream himself paints many past events in a different light.

“I made you poorly then… a black mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront.” Recalling Dream Lord’s words, you stagger backwards, your mind whirling with thoughts. A startled gasp pushes from your lungs, your attention snapping back to the Endless. Suddenly all the puzzle pieces slot perfectly into place. “I had it all wrong. Corinthian was a manifestation of your anger for what humanity was doing to me. He was to be your mirror, your teacher, so humanity may choose to be better. So they may learn to overcome their darkest impulses.”

Staggering backwards, words escape you in a torrent, “But it went wrong, didn’t it? You gave him too much of that anger—the fury of an Endless and reckless, unshakable defiance of a cursed mortal. You created a masterpiece by giving him too much. By making something that is so much more than just a nightmare. A perfect hybrid between an Endless and a mortal.”

Dream says nothing in response. It’s the only confirmation you need.

In the end, you stay. But this time, you’re the one who avoids the Dream Lord.

“You’re always welcome in my chambers, sweet Dream. It’s lovely to see you. Can I get you anything you desire?”

Morpheus strolls through the glossy scarlet chambers of his younger sibling’s stronghold. Desire of the Endless curls with each word spoken, stretching indolently across their seat. Loving malice lines planes of Desire’s face, enigmatic and magnetic as their name suggests.

Dream moves closer. “I desire nothing from you, save some answers.”

Desire pouts, sitting up, their hands in their lap. “Oh? Do tell. I love a test.”

He’s never understood Desire’s love for games. Petulant slights or wish to inflict harm. To manipulate and use. Once…

He supposes it no longer matters what their relationship might have been once—too many years arc between them: too much history and bad blood. Morpheus prowls through the gallery, briefly flicking his attention towards his family’s sigils.

“Unity Kincaid should have been the vortex of this age. But someone saw fit to take advantage of my imprisonment and fathered a child with her, knowing full well that it would become the vortex and I would be left with no choice but to kill it.”

A mock gasp escapes Desire’s ruby-painted lips. Their golden eyes blow wide open, startled and innocent, while they monitor Dream.

“Are you implying I meddled with affairs of another Endless domain, dear brother?” Desire’s pout wobbles when Dream doesn't respond. The faux innocence melts away in a blink, leaving behind nothing but conniving malice, peering back through a hooded stare. “Oh, fine, was I really that obvious?”

A brief, cool smile touches Dream’s lips, his words coming out frosty, “No. You covered your tracks remarkably well.”

“High praise, coming from you,” Desire tuts, grinning sharply.

“What did you intend?” Dream heads towards the other Endless unhurriedly. “That I should spill family blood? With all that would entail?”

“This time, it almost worked.” Desire’s grin stretches wider, pleased. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since my little wrangle with lovely Wanderer. How is she, by the way? Still coughing up blood?”

His younger sibling adjusts their position once again, sitting up straighter. Bracing for a fight, Morpheus realises belatedly. This is a sore spot that always elicits a reaction. But this time, Morpheus will not be giving his sibling the satisfaction. He’s observed Desire’s and Wanderer’s relationship—or what little of it remains—long enough to draw his own conclusions.

“You do not fool me,” Morpheus begins deliberately. The corners of Desire’s mouth tilt downwards slightly. “I know your fickle heart, my sibling, and you resent the fact Wanderer forgives others but not you. But you fail to understand why that same forgiveness has not been extended your way. We of the Endless are the servants of the living, not their masters. We exist only because they know deep in their hearts that we exist. We do not manipulate them. If anything, they manipulate us.”

“Then perhaps I shall pay Wanderer a visit in person.” Desire drags their thumbs over the edge of their lips, sly in their wily deliberation. “I do, after all, wear your face now. But unlike you, I will endeavour to be a far more… devoted lover.”

Wrath kindles in his chest. Morpheus knows. He’s read about your and Desire’s encounter at the shores of the Dreaming while he was locked away.

He shakes his head. “Still, you fail to see. We are their dolls, Desire. You and Despair, and even poor Delirium, will do well to remember that.”

Desire presents him with a dismissive shrug, their nose wrinkling. “Maybe I don’t understand.”

“No, perhaps you do not,” Morpheus agrees softly. Circling, he slips behind his younger sibling. Desire’s head wrenches backwards, their gulping gasp nearly lost when Morpheus twists the other Endless’ head back, peering down at the blonde coldly. “Then let me tell you something you will understand: mess with me or mine again, and I shall forget you are family. You lay a finger on Wanderer, and I will make every circle of Hell feel like kindness by comparison. Do you believe yourself to be strong enough to stand against me? Against Death? Against Destiny?”

Desire forces down a gulp, their breath stuttering at the creeping wrath, “No.”

“No, indeed.” Dropping his hold, Morpheus straightens, his jaw rigid as he stalks away, adding, “Remember this next time you’re inspired to interfere in my affairs.”

And then he’s gone.

Translucent light kisses your shoulders as you stroll towards the looming stronghold, your hands buried deep in your pockets. Your fingers have turned numb from how tightly you’re clenching them. The impressive, stone-carved statues depicting the seven Endless guide your way. Well, six. You pause by Destruction, the only one facing away, unlike his siblings.

You don’t dare to stray from the path. The likelihood of finding your way out if you get lost in the maze again is non-existent.

The ruler of this sprawling, eerily silent domain greets you at the foot of the marble staircase.

“I welcome thee, Wanderer, Roamer of Realms, into my stronghold.”

Even at this distance, Destiny looms so impossibly tall, some forgotten human instinct sparks in a warning.

Undeterred, you halt before the imposing figure, bowing your head. “I greet and thank you for your welcome, Destiny of the Endless.”

Only Destiny’s lower face is visible behind his billowing hood when he speaks in a crackling rasp, “You have arrived here for a single purpose.”

No ifs or buts about it—he knows better than that, the book slotted neatly under his arm.

“And here I was, ready to ask if you’re surprised to see me,” you shoot back jokingly. Destiny does not smile or construe entertainment from your words. You sober, your attempt at levity now abandoned. “Guess we both know the answer to that. I’m here to share some theories if you have time to spare.”

To your surprise, Destiny slips past you, heading in the direction you came from, deeper into his garden. His footsteps make no sound. His cloak whispers behind him, shimmering in the dim, muted light. On equal footing, you have to crane your head to see him. The devouring dark pooling around the contours of his pallid face reveals nothing beneath the hood, even at your angle.

“You seek to ask questions for which there are scarce few answers, Wanderer,” Destiny says resolutely. “You are far older than most mortals can comprehend, yet your heart remains stubbornly mortal.”

You set out after him at once, your invisible hackles rising. “In what way? My defiance?”

Destiny does not falter, his pace remaining as steady as lapping waves. “That is not for me to judge.”

The garden is vast and a marvel to behold, but the temperature lingers on that unnatural lukewarmness that gives away how unorthodox this place is. The light is perpetually unfading, gauzy in the corners of your eyes. It’s a confusing, strangely profound place. It’s as if Destiny’s realm contains everything all at once but also nothing. A place of futures to come, lives unlived, and wilted pasts. There’s no point in attempting to unravel it. There’s only uncanny strangeness you’ve come to accept.

“You will spend time in the realm of each sibling—you will dream, despair, desire, destroy, delight and otherwise, and, eventually, die—but you were his from the very first page, and only he will read how your story comes out, a long time from now.”

Destiny doesn’t pause at your reiteration. There’s no indication he even heard you, but you’re a step behind him. A thousand years of trying to get answers have taught you he would not be entertaining you if this wasn’t heading somewhere. The thought of another scrap of information sets your heart thudding. Haven’t you spent the last two centuries piecing things together? Attempting to confirm your speculations before you came here to confront him with them. Your past attempts may have ended in uniform failure, but today is different. You can feel it.

“You told me that when we first met,” you continue, keeping your nonchalance. You’re no more than a child to him despite your millennia of existence—this is the only way to get him to take you seriously. “When I awoke in your garden, alone and terrified, with no clue as to who I was or what had happened to me. I’ve been thinking about those words ever since.”

Destiny slows, then stops altogether. Your heart climbs to your throat. You've paused by his statue, standing at the foot of polished, pale stone. Destiny’s cloak whispers when he hinges in your direction, anticipatory. He already knows what you will say.

“It was you. You’re the one who did this to me.”

The clarity that clangs through you with those words shakes your knees. Sucking down more oxygen, you add, “Not directly, maybe. I was cursed by mortal power. This much I know for certain. But you made it possible. You led me to this by the hand. Why?”

And like a dozen times you’ve tried in the past, you expect dismissal, or worse, silence with which he’s punished you often. Destiny would disappear from your sight altogether. His patience and unwillingness to give you clear answers are unmatched.

But not this time.

“Because you broke your destiny. Tore it to shreds. Painted it red.” Destiny readjusts the heavy book under his arm. “So you were allocated a new path. One of hardship and pain, but one that may lead you to salvation. Should you tread it mindfully.”

The roar in your head is so loud you barely understand Destiny’s low, equable words.

“You could have told me this a thousand years ago,” you choke out.

He remains a perfectly barren canvas, but in the tension pulsing between you, there now whispers a hint of displeasure. Sweat trickles down your nape.

“I did,” he replies flatly. “But you did not listen. You instead raged and ran, and what came of it?”

Madness and despair.

Stumbling forward, you bite out, “Why? What did I do? What could prompt eternity of this.”

All this pain for crimes you couldn’t so much as recall. Whatever it was, have you not paid back your dues? Have you not suffered enough to make up for your past?

“Forgetting is the only kindness you’ve ever been spared. Or ever will be. Treat it as such.” Cold needles your spine, and a terrible urge to fold yourself into a ball gnaws on your bones. Destiny’s pitch does not change, nor does his bearing, but it doesn’t need to. “In your quest to break, you reformed into something else.”

Your force down saliva, near choking. “Into what?”

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

Silence envelopes the garden. There’s little to no sound in the Garden of the Forking Ways to begin with, but those words blanket everything. Not even the wind seems to stir. No blade of grass moves. This means something; it means something crucial, but you have no idea what.

“What does that mean?” you beseech. Destiny doesn’t move, nor does he answer. Your voice cracks. “Please just tell me.”

But you already know it’s a lost battle. This is all too familiar—the cold, pitiless silence, utterly unmoved. He’s given you all he’s intended to.

“I used to think you hated me.” You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. Destiny won’t care. Your feet carry you past him. Briefly, you pause by Dream’s statue, then keep going. “More than anyone else in this universe. It wasn’t until Destruction left that I finally understood your position more. It is a burden to know what others don’t but be unable to speak that knowledge.”

There’s no doubt in your mind that Destiny knows where Destruction is.

The Prodigal’s statue pierces your vision, making you squint into the hazy skies above. Your following words slip out, each lilting with breezy ease: “But it doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive you for letting Dream rot in a cage for a hundred years when you knew it was coming, when you could have warned him somehow. I know you have a duty, but he’s your brother. However, indirectly you let Dreaming decay—my home. You let humanity suffer. I figured it out, by the way, why it’s a loophole. Why my book exists in the library, but nothing in other dimensions does. Why I can sleep in the Dreaming but not anywhere else.”

Destiny stands stock still, his bony arms close to his chest, clutching his book. He displays no outward reaction as per usual. It’s a relief to voice your thoughts. You’re utterly terrified of him, but he’s right—your heart is still stubbornly human, as brazen as the Fates accused you of being.

“Because if my curse was the will of the Endless, if my path—whatever it is—is so tightly bound to your family, then it only makes sense, right?” You’re not looking for a response because Destiny will offer none. “The Dreaming is the only place where aspects of each Endless manifest. It’s a loophole. The curse goes dormant when I’m in the Dreaming because the only thing more powerful than the curse is the combined power of the seven Endless.”

You’ve waited to voice your conclusions for so long, it’s surreal to have spoken them aloud. You might fear Destiny, but not enough to continue as a coward. He can deny it, but you’re confident that’s the reason. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

“My siblings have gained much from their companionship with you, Wanderer,” Destiny admits. You quell a flinch despite Destiny’s voice retaining its monotonous quality. “But you and I are antitheses of one another. My brother would not be who he is now had he not tasted that helplessness and sorrow. You are the ink and the quilt with which Dream will write his story.”

His words make little to no sense. Dream is… Dream. What could ever influence him? Much less you. He’s changed since his imprisonment, it’s true, but doubt still nestles in your heart. Had the situation with Gault not proven how those attempts to change come undone in a blink? Despite it, Dream is trying, and it’s more than enough. Change doesn’t happen overnight; not any profound version, anyway.

You wipe across your face, schooling yourself. “I won’t stop trying to save them even if I’m punished further,” you assert. “I’ll always fight for humanity.”

Even over his hood, you feel your gazes clash, burning into one another.

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures.

Squaring your shoulders, you’re halfway between dimensions before a thought occurs to you. “Just one more thing before I go.”

Destiny is as grave as usual, entirely inhuman in his foreboding silence while he waits.

“It can be broken, can’t it?” you say, scrutinising him closely. “The curse. There are weak spots in its design.”

“That is for you to discover,” he replies, much to your surprise. It’s closer to a yes than a no. “But pay heed. This path will not be forgiving should you wish to pursue it.”

Icy trepidation creeps its claws down your spine. You don’t permit it to show.

“Nothing in my life has been forgiving,” you say curtly. “I bid you good fortune, Destiny.”

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

“Happy Dreamfall.”

Slanting your head, you let your chin dig into your shoulder, smiling. You hadn’t seen the Dream Lord since you snuck back into the Dreaming, seemingly no one having noticed your momentary departure. Normally, there are someone’s eyes on you. But only Dream can sense your appearance and disappearance inside the Dreaming itself. So you’ve taken advantage of his absence. You’ve had too much on your mind since your return from visiting Destiny to seek him out yet.

“Happy Dreamfall,” you say to the Endless, who comes to a halt beside you. “May Fates smile upon you, Dream Lord. And may your realm of dreams be aplenty.”

Behind you, the castle grounds buzz with activity. At long last, things were returning to normal. This is the first cause of celebration these dreams and nightmares had in over a century. Back home, safe and in a place where they belong. You hugged and drank sweet nectars with plenty, smiling and touching hands. Or claws. But it didn’t take long to slip away and settle out here.

Perched on the castle staircase, you must make for an odd sight, but Gatekeepers straighten back into their patrol positions with Dream’s arrival. You had left the castle to enjoy the darkening skies, the dreams swelling and blinking in the pitch-black canvas, ready for their journey. The Gatekeepers had clustered close, and you had spent a while simply chatting. You’ve missed them. It had been harrowing to witness them turn to stone while Dream was missing.

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

Without a preamble, Dream sets out. His gait hovers on ponderous this evening. You’ve gotten used to more hurried, curt interactions between you. Invisible tension stretched tautly. Will-o'-the-wisps dance and sway through the humming evening air. Flowers in your path bloom in different colours, fairy dust sprinkled through the air. You continue on the faintly lit path cutting through the heart of the Dreaming without a word.

“Are you well?”

Dream’s sudden question shakes you from your peaceful stupor.

“Busy, but good,” you answer. “And you?”

Dream halts abruptly. You pass him, then do the same, gazing back at him, confused.

Dream Lord’s pale eyes dig into you. They steal from you, and they give more than words ever could. But this once, Dream also uses his words: “I wish for us to talk as we once did.”

Anxiety pangs through your belly. You hadn’t expected him to point it out. Your lips compress into a stiff, bloodless line. It would be a bald-faced lie to insist something hasn’t broken between you. Corinthian’s unmaking has driven a wedge between you that neither can overcome. The nightmare had to be stopped, but it doesn’t take away from the grief festering in your chest. Most believe grief is an absence, but you’ve found the exact opposite is true.

Grief is a presence that should be there but isn’t. It’s a weight of memories, of possibilities, of life unlived. Corinthian has become your phantom limb, his absence invisible to all but you as is the bleed.

“We’re getting there,” you say lastly.

His wild hair covers his eyes when his head lowers. Subconsciously, you find yourself stepping towards him, folding your hand around his. Cool and silky to the touch. A breath, and then you feel Dream’s hand curl around yours. He doesn’t move otherwise, muscles sitting in rigid mass beneath his pale skin.

“Dream,” you call his name gently. “You’re trying. I see that. We’re finding new ways. Now tell me why we’re here.”

Because this path is familiar to you as your own hands. Just over the dark treeline lays the beach. The docks you’ve visited every night in his absence. This path had been your pilgrimage once, and now he’s returned. The fingers folded around yours tighten. Dream wordlessly tugs you with him until soft sand cushions the soles of your shoes.

“It is a night where anything is possible,” he says knowingly.

Your heartbeat jumps when he leads you towards the pier, wood creaking under your combined weight. “What are you doing?”

Dream draws you both to a stop halfway across the pier, something close to mischief sparking in his gaze. It’s so bizarrely unwonted you do a doubletake.

“Giving you my present.”

With that, he strides closer. Your mouth dries when he gently curls his arm around your waist. He raises your joint hands, spinning you to the side slowly. Clumsily, your legs obey, your breaths escaping uneven gulps.

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

Dream bows his head closer to yours, his voice velvet, “We are dancing in starlight, you and I.”

It’s then you feel the tingling, reverent whisper of his power over your body. Your eyes widen when you see faint light needling the sturdy fabric, as if your coat has become no more than a window into the raw cosmos. Galaxies swirl in raging spirals across the once-dark material. Your head snaps to the side while Dream continues spinning you unhurriedly. Your coat is shrinking, reshaping to fit your body even better than it did up to this point.

“Dream this is…”

The coat settles into actuality. Sparkling dust spills from the material when you shift. Your overcoat has shrunk to kiss just above your knees. More fitted but no less comfortable. And then there’s the way it glimmers like a precious jewel whenever moonlight hits it.

“I had hoped to give you something more… fitting,” Dream murmurs. You look up at him, your noses almost touching. “It is only right for the one who roams the stars to wear a coat of pure starlight.”

“Thank you,” you whisper shakily. “It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful doesn’t do it justice. The midnight material shimmers with your movement, liquid starlight captured into tangible fabric, and your throat closes up as you examine it further. Dream slips his arm from your waist. He lifts your joint hands, comfortable in his own, and lays a light kiss on your hand.

“It becomes you,” he compliments quietly, releasing you. “Now… it’s time.”

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

Was this not it? Thick emotions still coat your tongue, lodged deep in your windpipe. But Dream only devours you with quiet intensity.

Above your head, dreams start raining down in shining beams of light.

“We begin… with a spin.”

Your heart stutters to a stop. Water roars behind Dream, wild spray flying through the air. The faint drizzle beats against your face, leaving you gaping.

“Dream. I…”

He extends his hand your way. “There is no Dreaming without Wanderer Island. Should you wish it, I would like us to create another.”

Your features crumble, the ball in your throat robbing you of your voice. Indecision holds you captive—on the one hand, you want nothing more, but on another, you’re too afraid. What if it all ends up in the same place? You watching yet another part of you sink into those inky depths.

But there’s something cautious, near vulnerable, to be found in Dream’s guarded features. It’s an effort for him to open up, but you can see the unsure way his hand hangs in offering between you. He’s bracing himself for rejection, for you to leave him alone on this pier.

You grasp his proffered hand, fingers winding cautiously around his. Dream’s shoulders slump slightly from their rigid slant, relaxing at the contact.

He guides you to an all too familiar position. You standing at the edge of the pier, him behind you, a hand on your shoulder. A disconcerting sensation of deja vu falls over you.

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

Black, foreboding waters of the Dreaming spin in ferocious whirlpools. Dream’s elegant hand pierces your line of sight, primed for creation.

“There’s a small island.” Your voice trembles. You haven’t forgotten anything, down to the exact words used. You conjure the Wanderer Island in your mind’s eye as it once stood; brilliant and shining. The visual blooms bold and alive in your mind. “The grass that grows there is the greenest there’s ever been. And it tastes like sour apples.”

Dream’s hand on your shoulder squeezes lightly. Same amusement, even centuries later. You’re both changed, but a familiar outline of an island starts taking shape on the horizon.

“The sun that shines on the island is never too hot. The air is sweet and light. The flowers never wilt, and trees never shed leaves.” It’s pouring from your mouth now, an avalanche of memory. You’ve missed the island so dearly, and details from five centuries ago come readily. “The sky is an endless periwinkle shade. There’s always food and drinks. Books and games. And…”

Your heart bleeds, fresh wounds gushing. But you push on because it’s not about you.

“And an old friend waits at the beach to greet you with a patient smile whenever you arrive. Because not everyone has a family, and not everyone needs a lover, but everyone should have a friend. The island will be there whenever someone feels lonely, lost, or desperate for an escape. It’ll be there to welcome you. To give you a corner to hide. There is no sadness there. No loneliness or confusion. Only…”

Dream’s lips tickle over the shell of your ear. “… hope.”

And then stillness.

The water settles in a gurgling slosh. In the distance, a patch of land once again floats. There to welcome new dreamers. Wanderer Island blurs. The heel of your hand presses over your eyes, overwhelmed.

Blindly, you tug on Dream’s coat; a mute request. Between one inhale and the next, wood underfoot is exchanged for sand.

Everything is the same down to the last blade of grass and tree composition. Either your vision was so clear Dream could pluck every last detail from your mind or…

Or he remembered the Island with the same clarity as you.

You sink to your knees. Sand crumbles around your digits when you dip them into the pliable sand.

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

Grass sprouts unprompted around your hand, tiny daisies twining across your thumb. Utterly impossible, yet tonight, here, anything is possible. A choked laugh escapes you. Your cheeks ache from your beaming smile.

“She’s missed you,” Dream reveals quietly.

Your head lifts in surprise. You stroke the miniature, perfect blooms. “I missed you too.”

With another tickle, the flowers and grass retreat, shrinking into the golden beach. Several moments pass by until you unearth the strength to stand. Dream’s profile greets you. He’s turned away, giving you privacy, but subtle uncertainty lines his features. Sensing your attention, he peers towards you, then past you.

“Thank you,” you breathe. Despite your verbal gratitude, Dream’s attention remains fixed over your shoulder. “What?”

His low words reach you over the sound of lapping waves. “Are you not going to say hello to an old friend?”

You follow his line of sight. Behind you, at a distance with falling dreams as his backdrop, stands a tall, pale-haired figure.

Everything inside you falls very, very quiet—all those tumultuous emotions freeze. Your head snaps back to Dream with a stifled gulp. It can’t be real. Surely it’s some mirage, a feedback loop, a ghost conjured from your love for the now-gone nightmare.

But Dream only slants his head in a marginal, affirming nod. You dare to peek behind you once more. There he stands. The nightmare. Not a twisted joke.

Your feet carry you towards him without conscious thought; half-running, half-walking, stumbling all the while. Corinthian stands with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders in a slight slouch. His nude-coloured slacks and white shirt shine like beacons in the pale moonlight. Round shades cover his eyes, his blonde strands fluttering in the light breeze.

He's a figment. Not quite tangible until your body crashes into him, your arms scrambling to hold onto him. “Oh, God!”

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can feel it, if not hear it. A pained, whining sound bubbles up in your throat, gripping him closer.

“I… how…” You wrench yourself back, a horrible thought occurring. You search his handsome features. That infuriating smirk always curling his mouth is absent. “Do you remember me?”

Corinthian stands there, not moving, with no real emotion on display, either. Your heart sinks. Could it be that he—

Dull throb flares across your forehead. He’s flicked you—

A wide, toothy grin stretches across Corinthian’s mouth. “Gotcha.”

With a choked laugh, you punch his shoulder, hugging him close with a wide smile. “I hate you.”

A pleased hum. This time, the nightmare’s arm settles around you. “Hate you more.”

You’re not sure how long you both stand there. When you do part, reluctance keeps your hand on him. Fingertips connecting to some part of him. Remembering the Dream Lord you came here with—who gave you this, his present—you find Dream no longer on the beach. Or anywhere in sight. He’s given you privacy and time. Your heart softens further.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Corinthian’s subdued question tugs your attention back towards him. You almost wish he didn’t remind you. Because now you’re faced with the reality that even though he’s been returned to you, there’s much you both need to overcome and fix. That losing him did not magically wipe away the wrongs he’s done. If you hope to return to the relationship you once had, you’ll need time.

You consider him for a moment.

“You’re always forgiven,” you tell him honestly.

Standing in the moonglow, you pretend you don’t notice how something coiled tightly seems to loosen inside him at your reassurance. Instead, you reach for his face. Your fingertips brush over Corinthain’s glasses, and his hand snap out, wrapping around your wrist tightly. Bones making up his jaw roll beneath the skin. Tension throbs between you while seconds tick by. Through clenched teeth, Corinthian unwraps his hold finger by finger.

You tug his shades away from his face. He’s tense as a bowstring, his head slanted at an angle. The same jagged teeth sit where most have eyeballs. They’re hooded, though. His discomfort—and anger at said discomfort—couldn’t be more perspicuous.

His shades close as you fold arm temples one at a time. You hold his stare, staring right at those jagged teeth with a slight frown. You extend his shades back to him mutely.

“But my trust is something you will have to earn back,” you state earnestly.

The nightmare hesitates halfway to reaching for his glasses. Those pale fingers dance over them before he plucks them from you.

“Sounds like a fair deal,” he muses absently. You expect him to put the shades back on, but instead, Corinthian hooks them on his shirt pocket. Turning to go, he calls out a honeyed, “You coming?”

He gazes at you over his shoulder, jagged teeth on full show, and you feel yourself smile.

“Always.”

Sun shines luminous and warm today. The Wanderer Island stretches as far as your eye can perceive, teeming with life and greenery around every corner. Flowers and trees bloom everywhere—an awe-inspiring marriage between tropical and temperate climates. The Island once again oozes a sense of magick and wonder that was once so prominent here. No place in the universe can compare.

“Rebuilding is almost complete,” you begin conversationally. “The Dreaming is more beautiful than ever.”

The Endless keeps pace beside you, a pensive sound rumbling from him. “It was not without aid.”

A smile twitches your lips upwards. “You’re welcome.”

Two weeks have gone by since Dreamfall. Things have mended—between you individually and the atmosphere around the Dreaming. While Corinthian’s return was met with some side glances, no one discussed it further. Dreamfolk trust Dream to make the right decision. Or perhaps Gault was right; they’re wiser than to outright question.

“The Corinthian has also been making progress,” Dream says. “I am hoping to place him under supervision and monitor his conduct. To make sure what happened is never repeated. Should the need arise, he will be allocated duties back in the waking world.”

Joy flutters in your heart. “Yeah? That’s great. Someone you trust, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And?” you probe. “Are you going to tell me who or not?”

In your peripheral, Dream inclines in your direction. “Yours.”

You nearly trip. “Dream, I—” You clear your throat, pausing. “Are you sure? It didn’t exactly work out last time.”

Dream’s intent scrutiny slides over your facial features. “It was due to no fault of yours. And this Corinthian is the same in all but one function. He will not fail again. He has a different purpose now.”

There’s a solemn sort of finality about the way he articulates those words. A tiny shiver skitters down your spine. He will not expand further upon those words. Whatever that purpose is, you imagine time will reveal it.

You chew on your inner cheek. “Okay. I would like that.”

You smile at him. But Dream’s expression stutters, overcome by some foreign emotion. His mouth parts, then closes, his fingers folding into white-knuckled fists.

Just as you’re about to ask what’s wrong, Dream speaks: “Wanderer. Stay.”

You muster up an uncertain, perplexed smile. “I’m right here.”

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair.

“Stay however long you want,” he insists softly. “Stay forever if it should so please you.”

Shock envelops you, freezing you in your spot. You’ve told him, didn’t you? That you would stay forever by his side if only he asked. Now he’s asking. Except confusion and unease battle in your chest. Can you trust his word? Did Dream change enough? He brought back Corinthian. He freed Gault from the Darkness. He insists this is a new age. But…

“And if I wanted to leave?” you question. “If I chose never to return, what then?”

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

Dream falters, shackled by your insistence. His lashes flutter, his head lowering in near palpable struggle. You’re challenging him, but you refuse to continue with the charade. If he wants forever, you can’t live with the fear he might change his mind about it.

“It would pain me, also. A great deal.” He hesitates again, and it’s bizarre because this degree of uncertainty is not something you associate Dream with. “But you are free. You've always been free. The Dreaming is your home. Should you wish to return, its gates will always await you.”

Doubt twists your mouth downwards. “I thought that once—”

“I swear it. No matter what the future may hold. No matter how angry I get, I shall never again take the Dreaming away from you.” Sheer power woven into those words leaves no room for doubt. It’s a vow. He will not break it. There would be a price to pay if he did. Dream’s fingertips ghost over yours, a graze leaving fire in its wake. “I read your book in the library. I did not wish to tell you sooner because I worried you would leave. Because… you were right. I could never understand the sheer devastation. Or the harm I inflicted.”

You drag your hand back, stepping away from him. Dream’s features fall subtly. You face away, giving him your back while you process. Raising the hand he was caressing seconds prior, you cradle it to your chest. Sunshine prickles your cheek, but you ignore it.

“I’m not ashamed of my past,” you tell him, turning back to face him. “I always knew there was a chance you could read it. So, what did you think?”

He appears pained. At least now you know why he’s been so melancholy these last several weeks. “That I should wish for nothing more than for you to stay by my side.”

Those unadorned words devastated you.

Smiling through your inflated, overjoyed heart, you mumble, “Stay forever… I can’t technically do that.”

But Dream is unruffled. If anything, you glimpse the beginnings of hope starting to take root in him.

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows.

“To what?” An incredulous chuckle escapes you. “Break the curse?”

Destiny’s warning jump back to the forefront of your mind, and you swallow thickly. You don’t dare to ponder freedom for longer than an indulgent moment.

“Yes,” Dream replies.

You stare at him. Tall and dark, sunlit and more open than you’ve ever seen him. Determined and golden. Your Dream Lord. He terrifies you. You love him.

“You can’t interfere,” you remind him emptily. “And I might die.”

“Or you may live,” Dream argues. “Freely. And choose for yourself. Always.”

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

Sudden tension between you loosens around the edges. Once more, the susurration of the trees trickles into your mind, elevating the brewing anxiety.

A thousand years. The curse has defined your existence and has kept you alive this long. What are you without it? There’s always been an unspoken acknowledgement that you could never break the curse without dying. Simply too much time has passed. No mortal vessel can survive over a millennium otherwise. When you asked Destiny, it was only to understand more about the nature of the curse. Not because you ever assumed you could survive breaking the curse.

Dream’s mouth compresses as if he’s attempting not to smile. “I would never.”

“Stay by your side, huh?” you mutter, looking away while you mull over your conversation. “And what exactly would that entail?”

His response is immediate, smooth, “Whatever you wish.”

“A companion, then?” Your words pitch lower and silkier while you close the minimal distance with relaxed, unhurried steps. Dream’s eyes darken a shade. “An emissary? A consort? A queen?”

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale.

“Those are but words,” he murmurs silkily. “For you would be all those things, and more.”

You examine his profile, those starlit irises, the doubt swimming there. Does he doubt you would stay? After such long years harbouring this affection for him? Silly, wonderful anthropomorphic personification. “I’ll stay, but only if you answer a question.”

“Even if the price were a hundred thousand questions, Wanderer, I would pay it gladly. What is this question?”

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinise him. Dream does not balk under your exigent examination, waiting patiently. Biting back a smile, you permit your features to relax. He’s unfairly fun to tease.

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

Relish bubbles in your chest at the way Dream’s expression comes undone. As if from a thousand questions he was bracing for, nothing could have prepared him for this. Birds chirp a merry tune somewhere in the tree line, a warm breeze ruffling Dream’s dark hair while he gazes at you with utterly confused wonderment. A slight, fond smile curls his lips.

“A thousand years,” he begins in a bewildered drawl. “And still, you ask the same question.”

You laugh faintly, shrugging. “Well, in all fairness, you never answered me the last time. Which was very rude, by the way—”

In an inhale Dream of the Endless materialises in front of you. His hands slip to hold your face, cupping it with delicate hands as he tugs you closer. His kiss falls over you like stars. Silky, gentle warmth that washes over you with such fervent passion you gasp against his mouth. Your hands grasp onto him blindly. You part only long enough for you to gulp down oxygen before your mouths meet again, and again, and again, burning with need unquenched. Heat spreads through every inch of you. A thousand years being cold, floating unearthed, but now someone is holding you.

Dream presses another kiss to your mouth, desperate and hungry, gentle in his handling, and you return it with equal enthusiasm, equal need. Dizziness envelops you, and Dream pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. You shudder, a delicious heat licking up your senses. This closeness hurts better than anything ever has. You remind yourself to breathe, to remember this is real, he’s here, holding you, and nothing matters in this moment. Whatever the future holds, you do not fear it. Because Hob was right: there are people out there who love, and that makes all the difference.

Dream’s thumb grazes over your bunched-up cheek. Your smile is wide enough to light your entire face.

It continues with a gentle, rasping: “I’ll tell you one day, stardust.”

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

I set out to write nothing more than a fun little story that I expected to have maybe 3-4 parts max. Something entirely self-indulgent and fun for no one but me and maybe one or two mutuals. I never quite expected it would become as beloved as it did. I suppose here, in the end, I would like to take the time to thank everyone who read this and supported it. Be it by commenting, making edits/art for it or just sending me encouraging/funny messages. You guys are the reason this story became what it did. I'm immensely grateful for each and every single one of you. It was a rough month, but I'm glad I could offer you this conclusion at long last. Thank you for being here, thank you for being kind, and thank you again for reading.

Goodnight, and see you all in dreams, wanderers ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

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