#Ailing Host | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diejager · 1 year

Note

begging for more monster 141🙏🙏🙏

hear me out- reader is a host to venom but has it hidden and they find out maybe…?

(i got hyper fixated on blue’s au and SCOURING the internet💀)

What if… Hunter was Venom?

Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x venom reader

Cw: blood and gore, canon typical violence, head eating, gaslighting by Hunter, injury, fighting, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.4k

Only Human masterlist

Sometimes, they’d find you mumbling to yourself, voice so low that, unless they were a hybrid or had impeccable hearing, they wouldn’t be able to hear it. It was a ne’er silent whisper of harsh words or soft coos towards a being they couldn’t see. Were you talking to someone on your headset? Were you wearing EarPods to talk to someone? Or had you lost some screws in your mind after working with them for so long? None of them truly knew, but they wouldn’t bother you with it when you never bothered them with pesky questions that sounded insulting to them. After all, why would they bother their adorably useful and resourceful medic? You were the beating heart of the Task Force, you made it whole and functioning. Yet, they couldn’t stop the curiosity that festered in their mind, the need to know what made you talk to yourself, mumbling and cursing when you were alone.

Nothing seemed out of order, you were still strong-headed and scolding them like you did the day before, mumbling about Soap’s recklessness and Gaz’s impending fate of falling out of airborne vehicles. About Price’s habit of working too hard, pushing his already pained body to work. Pulling Ghost by the - bloody and soiled - sleeve to your infirmary with a deep frown and eyes glinting with the promise of retribution for the hybrid that hid whatever ailed him from you; you were the medic for Pete’s sake! It was your duty to watch over them. Hounding Alejandro for his medical check after a deployment because, as handsome and dependable as he was, he liked hiding his wounds. Running after Rudy for his checkups while he was limping or trying to avoid you. Calling after Horanji for his share of the affection, needle, scalpel, bandage and all, he needed and deserved all the others received. Or sitting beside König, reminiscing about your early days, where taking care of your patients was as easy as taking care of König was, grateful and pliant, showering you with love and adoration before, during and after the procedures.

You had your plate full with them, so it’d be unheard of if you had time to care for others. You might’ve been a medic on base, but your priorities and loyalties lay with them, with Task Force 141 and its allies. However being a - their - medic, didn’t mean you were free from any pain, fear or quirkiness as they were. You were as weird and as awful as every single one of them was, wearing it pridefully on your chest when you stood with them; even if you were wholly human - or you were supposed to.

Ghost caught fleeting moments where a dark mass would move around you, a glistening blob of marble-like texture with silver rivers running across it. It was near impossible to see it when it would disappear once it felt - even the slightest indication - the presence of another living being, like an illusion of trick of the light. That’s what you told them, it was simply a trick of the light or something because you didn’t know anything about an ugly blob. It was told slowly and persuasively with a wince once the words “ugly blob” left your mouth, a pained grimace as if something was grating your ears or claws were digging into your mind. When he brought it up with Gaz - who had impeccable eye-sight, the harpy would agree, spewing words about it having a menacing face with wide, pointed eyes and a mouth full of teeth. Big and sharp teeth that seemed alien-like. It couldn’t have been the trick of the light, especially since both of them saw the same thing. They asked you once more, together this time, but you’d reassured them that they were both tired when they’d seen this blob. You were tired and sometimes saw moving forms from the corner of your eyes too, so it might’ve been hysteria - collective hysteria.

Soap, if he tried hard enough, would sometimes hear a deep voice echo around you. It wasn’t something disturbingly deep, or annoyingly alien, it was pleasingly deep with a smooth undertone to its growls. It would send chills up his spine when he heard it, but he would always catch your voice talking back to it. He’d hear hisses and curses, some more unusual and others more normal: “I can’t eat my teammates!”, “I told you no!”, “Stop eating heads! People will catch on!” or “Can you shut up?” and “I can’t concentrate with you screaming my head off!” Soap, knowing how good Alejandro’s hearing was, asked if the Mexican had heard you speak with an unknown voice, specifically a male voice. A few muffled conversations between you and an unknown man and sometimes one-sided, but, simply put, Alejandro had witnessed the same occasions as the Scot had. It wasn’t unusual to talk to yourself, would it? Soap liked to boost his own morale with confident words and flattering compliments to himself. Alejandro wasn’t a stranger to mumbling to himself either, cursing his choice in life and how he ended up with his - lovable - problem-causing band of vagabonds.

If you weren’t careful or unintentionally careless, there would be a distinct odour clinging to your skin. It would be strong and pungent, the smell fresh and metallic-like. König knew it well, he craved as much as he wanted to bathe in it, the sweet smell of blood. How could he not recognize the faintest whiff of blood when it often drove him mad with bloodlust and the uncontrollable need to fall into a daze of primal hunger? It stuck to you like a second layer of skin, thin and always present. It sewed into the fundamentals of your scent, the tinge of iron mixed into the sweet, syrupy musk. It drove him mad with need, thirsting for the thing that made you smell so delicious. It clung to you as if you bathed in blood, drinking and devouring it, yet your skin was clean, with no speck of red under your nails, on your skin or between your teeth. In a worry, he went to Price, The Captain had the most knowledge about you and König could trust him to take good care of him, being a dragon. He expected the Brit to know something, even the slightest change, but Price hadn’t caught anything odd about you. Perhaps it clung to you because of your closeness to him, Percht hybrids - although rare - were ferociously unpredictable and ravenously bloodthirsty.

Rudy was the more human of them, so he caught on to the changes in behaviours and habits of others easily. You’d act odd at times, shoulders slightly tense and back slumped inward, body tired but unable to relax. He wanted to help, he proposed, but you’d turned him down, telling him you were fine, that you were just restless from being off duty for so long or for being worked to the bone. He would also catch you subtly avoiding them without ringing any bells, seeming occupied with other things while whispering under your breath; your slower reactions to their banter and the darker bags under your eyes, wearing that dazed and blank look in them while you sat with them; or the strong growl of your stomach and the slight rubbing of your stomach, soothing an ache that rooted so deeply in your abdomen. He worried, often, if he was honest. Even Horangi, a man oblivious to most cues and behaviours in humans, saw the subtle change in your behaviour when you acted odd. He pointed out the rings under your eyes, your fatigued and distracted mind, and your lip-gnawing hunger. For a hybrid that had so much difficulty grasping and understanding humans, he caught on to your change abnormally quickly, even with the excessive chocolate consumption.

They were all suspicious and you, their sweet and convincing medic, had them doubting what they saw, your gaslighting working on them as easily as a child bribed with candy. It didn’t make you feel less guilty or disappointed in yourself, but you weren’t sure how they’d react to him, not being human or a monster. He was a creature out of the pages of a sci-fi novel, a creation of the human mind and imagination. Venom was an alien, something from outer space. You were convincing until you couldn’t anymore.

Let me take over, the soothing voice uttered to you, calling out your name in a concerned tone. Let me protect you.

You were compromised, the enemy had tapped into your line, listening in on your conversations and movements. That’s how they were able to separate most of you, to turn the squad of nine operators down to four smaller teams, all on the run and trying to stick to the shadows without calling to the others through the comms. You were crouched over Gaz, whispering sweet nothings to the hissing man. You soothed his ache, hand and mind strained on the bleeding wound on his forearm, his beautiful, bronze skin stained with crimson in the hot and humid air of Columbia.

Blood rolled down his tense arm, over his round muscle and sweaty skin, it was a clean graze, the blunt head of the bullet grazing his arm deep enough for it to bleed but shallow enough for it not to leave him incapacitated with blood loss. It was a ray of light in your dreadful situation. You had his wound cleaned and wrapped up, congratulating him for pushing through and helping him up. You cursed the enemy, wondering how the low-stake in-and-out ops suddenly turned out to be an extremely high-stake one with minimal possibility of reaching the evacuation point.

“C’mon Gaz, we need to move,” you whispered to him, holding your rifle closely to your chest while you walked around the shadows of Guaitarilla’s back alley and dark corners. “We need to regroup at the evacuation point.”

“Yeah, good plan,” he nodded, following your lead even though he was higher-ranked than you, but in such situations, survival was the priority.

You stuck to alleys, using the shadows to hide from the patrolling cartel that had the town surrounded, it nearly baffled you with the speed of their defences and counter-attack if you hadn’t heard of Las Almas’ attack from El Sin Nombre and The Shadows from you teammates. Although you couldn’t admire them, you could respect their skills and ability, you only wished it was for you rather than against you.

While you watched ahead, Gaz had your back, peering around the corner before giving him the green to move. It was a rotation between who went first and who looked back, but you made it work with only you both. You were so careful, yet it somehow wasn’t enough, someone had noticed you and it sent you and Gaz rushing for cover, to escape the group of dispatched cartel members. It was stupid, running without looking where you were heading towards. It was stupid to let the enemy tap into your comms. It was stupid, the situation you got yourself into.

You were backed into a corner, Gaz standing before you like a protective shield between you and the enemy, his rifle pointed toward the quickly advancing group. You wanted to protest about him using his wings to cover you, his wide, brown feathers expanded to hide you from those men. He was already hurt from pulling you away from harm, but he was now standing protectively before you. You couldn’t let him get hurt because of you, not anymore.

Little One, his voice rang once more in your head, the reassuring pressure of his presence in your body calming you down by an inch. Let me take over.

If you let him take control of your body, it would ensure your and Gaz’s safety, then you could reach the others that you’d lost in the chaos of the battle. While you wore the combat medic’s patch proudly, your prior training before taking up your 16 weeks of medical training wasn't lost to you. You remembered how to aim and shoot, how to snipe an enemy from afar and protect your teammates from whatever danger you faced. None were lost to you, and you’d use every bit of training you had to protect them, whether it was as yourself or with Venom’s help. Venom’s help was undoubtedly useful, and right now, you needed him.

“Please, Venom,” you spoke aloud, your soft voice carrying through the blocked alley.

“Who-” Gaz asked, confusion laced his tone, the question left unspoken as Venom’s deep, rattling voice boomed across the tight space.

“We are Venom, flesh bag,” he growled, body crouching down, not dissimilar to a feline laying prone while it waited for the right moment to attack, and pounced at the men.

Don’t call Gaz flesh bag, Venom, you whined, your voice echoing in your shared subspace of your mind.

“If that is what you wish.”

His heavy mass landed on a man, pushing him to the ground with a loud crack. You imagined that Venom either broke his back or a few of the Colombian’s ribs, it was sickeningly delightful, the sadistic pleasure from Venom sent you reading with mirth. His hands stretched to abnormal lengths to swing at the enemies with practised ease and familiarity. Whether they’d die from blunt force trauma from Venom’s strength or live with a concussion, none mattered to him, hunger raked his being, the throb aching in the back of his mind. It was a moment where he was let loose, where you wouldn’t need to gorge on an extreme amount of chocolate to keep him fed. This would keep him satisfied for a few weeks.

Venom pulled the first two in, his jaw widening to clamp down on their neck. Gaz saw the dangerous gleam of Venom’s teeth, rows of pristine and immaculate teeth the size of a finger bled the man’s head red in a single bite. He shivered at the decapitated body that fell from your monster’s hand as he went for the second and third Colombian. He made a show of viciousness and raw, unadulterated bloodthirst with his eating. Fortunately, apart from the bloody mess and dead bodies, Venom was a relatively neat eater, licking his teeth clean from the red stains with a long, slimy tongue. Gaz couldn’t shake how your monster made him apprehensive, his body flinching and trembling at the greater being.

“Let’s go, The Little One wants to rescue the others,” Venom’s grating voice shook Gaz out of his stupor.

“Hu-Hunter’s there?”

Venom nodded, his mass retreating into your body, the mass melting into you like a second skin. It was as if Venom was never there, as if it was all his delusional imagination. Gaz rushed to you, his hands grabbing hold of you as he shook you in his grasp, he cursed in worry, concern lacing every word he spewed in a tornado of fear, curiosity and confusion. His soft feathered wings cradled you, casting a protective shadow over you as you hid in the darkness of the alley.

“Gaz, we have to go,” you murmured to him, your voice soft and reassuring, trying to help him walk off the edge you were pushed to. You both were safe for now, the cartel that had followed you all laid dead without their heads in a thick puddle of their viscera. “We have to find the others.”

He let out a shaky sign, his head nodding in affirmation at your comforting words. He loved that about you, that ability to heal and mend their ache and anguish with a smile and sweet words. Then, pairing your softness with your stubborn viciousness made you a gem within the military, a one-in-a-million for them. Yet, all that clouded his mind were questions, about your safety, about that monster that melted into you, about what kind or what it was. Gaz had so many questions that he’d push back for the greater good of rescuing the rest of the Task Force, he’d hound you for answers later when everyone was back together.

When Venom resurfaced, retaking control of your shared body, he’d reassured you that he knew where they were, his body being hyper-aware of the things that made you smile and laugh. You were his host and his joy. It was an easier job than the two of you - you and Gaz - had expected, Venom’s claws digging into the buildings as he scaled the walls to reach the roof. From then, he pulled nothing back, rushing forward with the same enthusiasm as König had when he led first, and leaped, the muscles of his legs pushing him high across the buildings with Gaz flying beside him.

Venom had made quick work of the situation, his body invulnerable to anything but loud sounds and fire, which none had since it was a rainy night. You found Horangi and Alejandro first, Venom doing what he knew best: protecting you, in relation, what you loved too, and feeding on human heads, the chemicals in the human brains nurturing him. Alejandro and Horangi were naturally confused and distrustful of Venom, but you had Gaz to smooth things over, and knowing that Venom’s way of speaking was curt and up-to-point - annoyingly blunt - it made your body soar with relief. They, albeit confused and curious, followed you from the ground as Venom cleared a path to the next ones.

Price, Rudy and Soap were the biggest team from your unexpected separation. They jumped at Venom’s appearance, Soap throwing threats at him when he took a step towards them. That was expected, Venom - even being the symbiote you were hosting - was a stranger to them and Soap reacted according to his instincts. That blaring, red light that signalled his brain to send his body on complete guard about the danger, Venom couldn’t escape a werewolf’s keen situational awareness. You’d taken the initiative to calm them down, seeing as everyone was already down, the enemy loaded with bullets and dying in a pool of their blood. You kept the explanation short and simple, giving them the important points before promising to tell Price everything he wanted to know after you found Ghost and König.

Those two were harder to find, forcing Venom to extend himself to sense the slightest presence of either man. It couldn't be easier that Ghost was a wraith, being able to disappear and appear at will and that König knew very well how to hide, perhaps as well as Ghost could. When Venom found them, Ghost shot first, “shoot first, questions later” seemed to lead his decisions with König not far behind him. He brought his arms forward to protect himself and you, hidden within his mass. Venom growled but didn’t attack them, hissing the words you spoke to him to them. It was a simple quote that you’d shared with them in situations where they needed to find you between the hostages or under disguise.

Like calls to like.

It was simple, but telling. They stopped the moment Venom uttered them, knowing well you were inside Venom, Gaz landing before him and the others steadily arriving behind the two. Task Force 141 was finally complete, from the most humane to the most chaotic hybrid, some were hurt, grazed, protrusions, and stabbed, but all were alive. You were glad, you were really, really happy that everyone was safe and alive.

Seated in the Razor, the silence and tension were thick within the cargo hold, Horangi and Gaz framing your sides with Price taking the seat across from you. You could see the stress and tension rolling off his shoulder after treating everyone, his brows furrowed and a frown curled his lips under his beard. Beside him was Alejandro and Ghost, both - like everyone else - wearing a confused and disgruntled expression on their face, their eyes gleaming with questions left unsaid. You’d left them wondering if their minds were playing tricks on them, if they were seeing things, if they were imagining things and if they were losing their minds. You understood the anger, but you had your reasons to hide Venom’s existence.

Price crossed his arms, legs spread wide as he leaned back, his head tipped back with an inquisitively serious look. He raised a brow at you, waiting to see if you could prove your case or if you had anything to add before he started. With nothing to say, you bit your bottom lip, your shoulders screwed with anxiety and fear. You didn’t know what to expect now that your well-kept secret was out.

“We have a lot to talk about, Hunter.”

“I know, Captain.”

Better sooner than later, leaving it to fester and grow would be bad for the TF’s morale and relations.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness

2K notes · View notes

arsnof · 4 months

Text

ArsCo Presents the Inaugural Arsnof's Great American Yard Sard Comics and Sundry Sale 2024!

Hello there! I'm Arsnof. You may remember me from content such as "Canadian Illustrator", "Dungeon Mentat", or even "Transformers Meme". I'm here today to host a celebration of buying things, thinking they're so super cool, and then putting them away and never looking at them again. Comics, books, toys, anime, manga, CCGs, rare webcomic goodies, tiny figurines of yokai, a Little Golden Book adaptation of Gremlins that ends before midnight, Chuck Norris's Karate Kommandos, can you read Japanese because I can't, official Soul Coughing stickers, a hoard of well read Wizards and Toyfares, Funko Pops, feet pics (you can get off, but only if you can correctly diagnose what's wrong first), Transformers...

I could go on forever, but I got it, you want it, we can make a deal (no tongue).

Why is this happening? I'm shit broke and getting shitter. Going down like a Trump Casino. Guy paying his bills on time? I haven't heard that name in forever.

I've been taking care of my ailing father (tried to die on us three times so far this year) and the rest of my family (I don't owe you an explanation, cop) and then someone just up and decided to make my automobile a notomobile.

They didn't have insurance, but that's okay because we have full cov-*hand to ear*-what? We don't? Only comprehensive? Since when? FUCKING shit... Okay, but we still have uninsured motorist, so-four thousand? Four thousand. Dollars. $4,000. To replace an entire ass truck.

We are in desperate need of a car. I've got a lifetime of memories. You, on average, have some change sitting around. Can I have some? I'll trade you stuff.

I'm starting with my comics because they're easiest to catalogue. See something you like? HMU, as the kids say (please God don't let that be a sex thing) and I'll see what I can do. I'm giving the comic shop at which I used to work a vague preference, but I can be swayed.

Next up will be the trades and manga, DVDs of varied origin, toys, and so on.

Criminitly.

If life can stop kicking us in the gender neutral pain zone for five fucking minutes, @paulyollyoxxenfree and I will get back to handicrafts. They're getting back into the amiguroove and I'm going to hit the pad - finish and print Kitty, start Dr. Doctor. Stickers and stuff. I'm not shaving for a while to put me in mall Santa shape by Thanksgiving.

But what if you've got too much money and you're sick of it, but you hate being given things? I take donations. If you put a special request in the memo, I won't even give you the thanks. I'll just spit. I take requests.

Papal

Cache

Fuck, I don't know, antelope? My email - [email protected]

I might make one of those kofi things.

Oh and, heheh, one more thing...

Launching in the fourth quarter 2024, ArsCo is proud to announce Alone With Arsnof, the happening new app that gives you the power to have some one-on-one time *gunshot* wit- *sudden fade to red-tinted black, gunshot echo. Sirens fade in. HE'S DOWN! OVER THERE! THE ROOF? A high-pitched whine. Bright light. The late afternoon sky comes into focus. Fireballs? The sun is so bright. Automatic gunfire. No, jets. Falling. Screams. Recognizable screams. Unrecognizable screams? Inhuman? The sun blinks*

219 notes · View notes

lullaebies · 3 months

Text

summary:

It was not forced, and not offensive. Davos can be a terror, his hand choking any opponent in a spar; he’s not beyond such tactics at all, but then he held his nape, and dug his fingers onto his brown hair. They were mere seconds from a tussle over a misunderstanding, but their gazes met midway, green eyes to black ones and that had been the first time he felt understood.

And it was robbed of him, cruelly so, when Davos ran away the moment Aeron tried to reciprocate. He should’ve slapped himself, for being such a fool, and he should’ve killed Davos, for making him act like one.

Aeron finds himself with Davos once more after their first kiss cemented the distance between them. Blackwood and Bracken, push and pull — that distance never lasts long, and they wouldn't have it differently. aeron/davos fic | 3k words | smut | no warnings | read on ao3

“So you are afraid of me now, huh?”

Davos’s grating voice came from the other side of the hallway. They were at Riverrun, for the annual tourney Lord Grover held. The old paramount lord had been blind as a bat in his elderly and ailing age, and Lord Elmo had been a rather stern host in his stead, but the streets of Riverrun had still held cheer worth visiting for.

“I did not realize you would be here,” Aeron answers. He had paid for a private room for himself and his party. His older brother had said he and their cousins will join him soon. Raylon had been stuck on a gambling game in the streets, and after seeing his bastard brother lose thrice, Aeron opted for a reason to leave before Raylon asked for more coin from his pocket. “Fuck off.”

Davos flashes a grin at that. He looks somewhat inebriated, chuckling in a manner more laid-back than forcefully purposeful. “I paid to be here too, and before you,” he says and lifts a half done bottle of Arbor red, his fist clenched around the neck of it. “So I stay!”

Aeron exhales. Perhaps I should’ve stuck with Raylon instead.

“All by yourself?” he asks mockingly. He hadn’t seen any of his cousins or friends within the tavern, but he guesses it shouldn’t matter to him. He huffs and goes to the room he bought. If he wants to be a pitiable imbecile for all to see, he can be my guest.

“Only if you keep hiding,” Davos says, making long strides over to him. The Blackwood has the most audacious habit of coming up to his face, ever since they were children. The first time he ever talked to him almost resulted in headbutt, and then Davos had tried to be friendly. This time, he isn’t; but Davos’s forehead does end up touching his. “You’ve been running from me all day.”

Aeron pushes him back, frowning. “ You are the one that fled first,” he tells him, properly upset. Blackwoods are haughty and idiotic, but he had been special amongst his murder of crows; last time they met in such circumstances, Davos kissed him. Davos kissed him, and ignored him for the rest of the festivities.

The most embarrassing part of it was how bothered Aeron had been about it. He hadn’t had anyone to tell of it; his half-brother and cousins always found his lack of care for women an odd point in him, and even if he did tell them a Blackwood had kissed him they’re likelier to assume it had been a perversion hailed from Raventree, forced upon him.

“I am here now,” Davos says in a whisper, his hand squeezing on his arm, the same time the tips of their noses touch. “Do it again.”

He breathes in deep, trying to control his beating heart. Fucker. Aeron knees his leg.

“As if I should be grateful to have you come to me with a bottle in your hand and a stink from your throat,” he shoots back at him, and rips his arm from him. His hand is on the private’s room handle when Davos lifts the Dornish Arbor bottle and flings it across the hallway. It breaks loudly and shatters, shards of glass and splashes of red all over the wall and floor. Aeron is flabbergasted, turning to him with a frown. “Are you out of your fucking mind ?”

“I don’t need that fucking bottle,” Davos tells him, seething. His dark eyes had a sheen of fear in them, of all things. “It didn’t help, not even a smidge. It should’ve, but it couldn’t drown a thing .”

Blackwoods act easily on emotions. An observed habit of all of those making up that wretched family. The way Davos stands in front of him, he thinks he is moments from bursting, but still, he waits, with his beggar’s eyes. Restraint is not his strong suit, not at all, but perhaps he had been trying.

Aeron had felt Davos’s eyes on him for the better of the day, after all.

“What was that noise?” a serving girl rushes over, only to stop in place when she sees them. She seems rather nervous at their sight. “Th-there is no fighting in the tavern,” she says meekly. She clearly already understood she stands before two lordlings.

Davos glares at her wordlessly. Aeron moves away from him, though he can feel his hand tug on his clothes. “It was an accident,” he tells the serving girl. “I apologize. My friend is drunk,” Aerons says, and reaches a resolution. “I’ll take care of him.”

Relieved, the girl nods and rushes away to safety, but Davos releases his grip on Aeron’s clothes, rigidity in the squint of his eyes. “Friend, you say?”

Birdbrain. His focus is entirely wrong, and it’s positively infuriating. I said I’ll take care of you, can you not hear me? He wants to choose conflict, each time, and Aeron knows this; everything to deflect from the truth. Davos knows what he is, as Aeron knows what he is.

It’s hard to accept, but it’s even more embarrassing to admit, that Aeron accepted it for him.

“I couldn’t say the pain in my arse, could I?” Aeron answers evenly. “You aren’t brave enough for that.”

Davos nails him against the wall again, eyes gleaming with rage. “And you are?”

Aeron swallows, uncomfortably vulnerable. No, not really. He likes to imagine himself brave, to be able to slay Blackwoods with no fear and and kiss whoever he’d like with no concern, but he finds himself unsure in most things in practice. His dreams make a concoction of those things, having Aeron kiss Davos and winning against him in this war of taboos. Steps beyond that seemed far-fetched, and even frightening.

Yet still, he can’t help but imagine…

“I was brave enough to kiss you back.”

He looks down, embarrassed still. Davos brings a hand to his waist, squeezing it tight. They share that look again, and he can feel Davos’s lips on his even before they touch him. “Then do it again,” the Blackwood asks him, and the softness of his lips is a strike of lightning against Aeron’s.

Aeron brings a hand to Davos’s shoulder. “Anyone can see us—” he says between the other’s fervent pecks. His heart is beating out of his chest; dreams are so easy to have, but reality is incomparable. This should be impossible, in every way, and he’s never been a pioneer in a thing. He’s not like Raylon, able to bet on things so easily; he wants, he needs to win. If he is to lose, why should he play at all?

It feels so easy now, but he doesn’t want this stolen away.

“I don’t care,” Davos says plainly, leaving him no place to breathe. Davos brings a hand to his jaw, holding him to kiss his proper. After pressing a particularly hard kiss onto him, he breathes out. “I’ll kill anyone who interrupts.”

It sets him on fire. Aeron does not doubt that he would, even as Davos’s fingers thread themselves into his hair, parting it in slow wonder. Davos is smiling against him, as if every touch is a breath of clean air coming back to his lungs. The rigidity in black-haired boy’s muscles is all gone as he melts against him.

Davos is a free spirit; too much of one, at times. He has to take care of him, before he becomes too loose a canon. He finds his freedom in this, but Aeron needs control. He would not have anyone take it away from him.

He opens the door to the private room, dragging the black-haired idiot after him. Davos chuckles as the door shuts behind them, ready to pounce on him again, but Aeron pins him against the door himself, knee wedged between Davos’s legs.

“If you want to keep going, don’t get us killed,” Aeron tells him. He doesn’t let him open his big mouth, shutting him up with a kiss the other can’t escape. Even if Davos tries to flee from the truth again, he will not let him forget.

Davos groans against his mouth. He has no sword on his being but he is clearly deep in his adrenaline, having to hold onto something and in particular, the braid that framed Aeron’s hair. One hand holding it, the other hand wedging under it, all for the sake of holding his head.

Aeron only realizes Davos hardly relinquished any control then; he holds his head to manuever him into his own kisses, and when he tires of that alone, the Blackwood boy bites his lower lip for the halt to take place. He doesn’t depart the lips without a proper suck to them, though.

Aeron breathes heavily from the parting, and Davos looks him up and down. Readjusting himself, he lowers one hand to hold Aeron’s clothed thigh, pressing against him further. “You are so pretty against me.”

Maybe his eyes widen a little, at that. Being named pretty has him provoked most times, but now it gives him the most unpredictable shivers. Inhaling sharply, he tries to dryly retort, flushed as he is. “Is that why you headbutt me all the time?”

“No,” he says, and picks him in his hands; Davos sits him down on the table behind them, the hand on the back of his thigh rises to where his trousers had become tight. “It’s because you are fucking infuriating , keeping your respectable distance.”

He sighs out at the feeling. Davos’s hand is warm, he can feel it even beyond the fabric. This is exactly why; he feels mad when they’re too close. He wants more when they’re too close, and he knows Davos will be brave to take that step. Davos can’t help himself, and it is so much easier than admitting he himself can’t either.

Aeron brings his hands to the metal raven clasp on Davos’s collar, all while wrapping his legs around his waist. I don’t give a fuck anymore.

Davos palms him while Aeron opens as much as he can of the Blackwood's shirt. He has tan skin; if Aeron had been sunkissed with freckles, Davos had been sunkissed with depth of color. His black hair is messy silk, but his chest is a sweatied field to feel. He kisses him on his bare throat first, shyer at the attempt. Davos responds to it well, sighing aloud while trying to keep being mindful at his own ministrations.

He hasn’t chosen to do this for Davos to have restraint now of all times, however.

“Undo the lacings already,” Aeron whispers as he lowers himself to kiss Davos’s chest. His hands come on top of Davos’s hand, caressing it in a tease. Aeron could swear he feels the other’s heartbeat against his lips. Davos halts as if nervous, and Aeron’s eyelashes lift from the half-lidded downturn they’ve been in, all to look at him. “Please.”

Davos doesn’t dare to refuse him. He does quick work the tyings of his pants, and soon has his cock in his grasp. Aeron tries to continue to kiss his chest, but Davos hold him firm, and then drags his grasp just right.

“ Ah— Davos!” he sighs, feeling as if he might crumble any minute. Aeron holds the Blackwood’s wrist, just to give himself a breather. The anticipation alone is too much, the touch itself has his blood bubbling through his veins. He had never reached such a point, even in his mind, and he could never have expected it would have him so weak in Davos’s hold.

Davos presses his forehead to his again. “Do you know how many times I imagined this?” he asks in a whisper. “Holding myself, thinking of what I’d do if it were you..” he says, playing with the slit of his cockhead. Aeron gets teary at the feeling, and he leaks some seed below as well.

Davos swipes his thumb at the white substance, and leaves his cock to taste what his finger gathered, swallowing. He could see the gulp going down his throat, through the exact spots Aeron had previously kissed.

Aeron thinks he is about to lose his mind. A hot flare of bashfulness runs through him. Knowing he is red as one of Davos’s capes, he exclaims, as compromised as he is. “You can’t— that’s disgusting —”

Davos’s shit eating grin is all he can see before the boy kisses him shut, tongue entering his mouth. He can taste himself on Davos; he can taste Davos’s pride and joy at their mix and match. He can feel his palm returning to stroke him, more languid, yet at a steady, intent pace.

His stomach is doing somersaults and his hands rush to the mop of Davos’s black hair. Aeron doesn’t care if any of it is disgusting, not at all. Even if he feels the filth of earth anywhere else, he feels just right here. Clutching onto raven locks, he kisses him back hard.

Davos quickens the pace of his strokes, and Aeron feels towards the end of his wits. He tries hard to keep himself from climaxing; he didn’t want to finish this so soon. He still wants him to touch more places, kiss him more; he hates it, but he knows it’s true, he will miss him. He will miss him so much when it is over. It feels like he is set to lose with Davos, it’s all about overpowering one another — but rather than winning, he realizes all ever wished for is a chance to play.

Davos stamps a prolonged kiss on his lips before he demands his victory. “ Yield ,” he says, voice low and steady. Aeron tugs at his hair, feeling Davos weasel his hand under his shirt, squeezing on skin there too. His dark eyes stare into his, swirling with need; a need only Aeron can satisfy. “Yield for me.”

He climaxes, hot on Davos’s hand. He shudders all through it; he had never felt it so strongly. It feels as if the weight of stones dissipates from his muscles and he himself is no longer grounded in his place, having to hold Davos as he deals with the overwhelming feeling.

Aeron refuses to let him go for a while, not realizing the desperate embrace he is maintaining. In truth, he does not even care; he just wants to melt into his hold. He yielded; he’s too easy to beat, but he just needs him to stay.

He isn’t brave enough to speak. He’s only brave enough to reciprocate, kiss, and show Davos that he doesn’t wish for distance. A full kiss for Davos’s full lips. I can match you.

Davos, surprisingly enough, does not rush him to anything else when they part. Aeron realizes he still needs to take care of him, but Davos is in no hurry. He nuzzles his face against him like a pleased, black kitten, ever pleased with the proximity.

He’s about to ask if he should do anything, when he hears something.

“Aeron?” Raylon’s voice from outside the room, as well as some of their cousins parroting him. “Are you here?”

Aeron freezes. “He’s here. My brother—” he says nervously, suddenly the whole world crashing on him.

“The bastard?” Davos asks, and Aeron doesn’t even have the time to chastise him. Just slap his shoulder to move.

“He’s here, and my cousins,” he says urgently. There’s a knock on the door, and he’s mortified to his core. He had been teary from the touches, but now he feels like he could truly cry; they’d kill him. They’d kill Davos. “They’re here.”

“Aeron, are you here?”

He didn’t mean to play himself like this. He should’ve kept his distance, he knew they would be coming. And yet—

Davos, disheveled as he is, presses his thigh hard. “I’ll handle the horses’ horde,” he says— horses’ horde?! He should slap him— “just wait.”

Aeron swallows, and watches him turn, stepping towards the door. He only opens it enough to peer out of it. Aeron rushes to the side to not be seen, half considering killing him, but listening instead, as he hides on the sofa in the room.

“Wrong stables, shitheads,” Davos says, with the brightest grin he can conjure. “No hay here.”

“Blackwood?” Raylon asks, and clearly very confused at the state of the man in front of him. “What are you doing here? The owner said a Bracken bought this room.”

Davos huffs. “And perhaps I stole it away from him.He’s not here. Blackwood lands, now.”

“Huh? What did you do to my brother? ” Raylon exclaims in anger, trying to step in. Davos blocks him. “Seven hells, you smell like shit—”

“I said Blackwood lands ,” he says. “This room and everything in it is mine.”

“Are you fucking drunk?” Raylon asks, appalled.

“Even better,” Davos laughs. “Now fuck off.”

Davos slams the door shut at Raylon’s face, and turns back towards Aeron with a big smile as cusses are heard from the other side of the door. Raylon and his cousins eventually do leave, and Aeron manages to breathe again.

Davos’s words are not lost on him, and he sinks against the sofa with warmth in his belly. Blackwood lands, his arse, but fuck — he said it. He’s his.

It’s all he truly needed to hear.

“See? Handled the horde.”

Davos is all too proud as he weasels back beside him. Aeron huffs.

“A group of horses is called a herd, you birdbrain,” he tells him.

“Yeah?” Davos asks, chuckling. He clearly couldn’t leave less of shit.

“You are making it hard to want to help you…” Aeron says, his hand reaching Davos’s crotch, only to realize it was of moist fabric too. “You already?—”

“I told you you are fucking pretty against me,” Davos says, and pulls him on his lap. “I want to kiss you again.”

Holding back a smile, Aeron holds onto his arms. “As long as you know these are Bracken lands, and anything here is mine .”

Davos snickers. “Prove it.”

No separation stones will force them back into distance. Aeron lowers his face to kiss him again, he’ll mark them until it’s abundantly clear; Davos, all of this, is his. No one will rob this of me.

Davos grins against his lips, willing to take the challenge. They’ll have this dispute forevermore, but that is well and good — lay a claim on me, and I will lay claim on you. Bodies melting against one another, forever wrestling for touch—

This is just the right distance.

#something i did for shit and giggles and did well so i'll post here #davos x aeron #aeron x davos #aeron bracken #davos blackwood #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #my fics #my edits #yall i forgot how to tag 💀

146 notes · View notes

phoward89 · 7 months

Text

Based on this ask

Platonic!Brother!Coriolanus Snow x Sister!Reader

Coriolanus was always overprotective when it came to you, his baby sister. Maybe it was because you barely survived your birth, the birth that killed your mother, or maybe it was because he was the ‘man’ of the house. But whatever the reason, he was an overprotective big brother.

It was cute when you were little kids, but by time you became a teenager and he was a young adult, well, it wasn't cute anymore. It was straight up annoying.

You're in your last year at the Academy and you feel so suffocated. You had nobody, but your older brother. Your cousin, Tigris, after a falling out with Coriolanus, moved out years ago. And Grandma'am, poor Grandma’am, was in a memory center due to her ailing condition.

It hurts, having nobody, but Coriolanus to interact with.

Hell, you didn't even have a boyfriend. But that was because nobody in their right mind at the Academy was brave enough to approach you considering who your brother was.

Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow.

Senator Coriolanus Snow.

Aspiring Presidential Hopeful Coriolanus Snow.

A dangerous man.

Coriolanus Snow.

You're sure you're going to die a virgin and all alone, all because your brother’s so over protective of you.

Since you don't have a father, he feels the need to be your father figure. Be the man of the house. Yada yada yada.

So, one day when you came home from the Academy sulking and dragging your satchel alone the floor, Coryo took it up on himself and an overprotective brother to find out why you were upset.

He needed to know who to kill for hurting your feelings.

“What happened today at the Academy to have you sulking like a black rain cloud’s hanging over your head.” Coriolanus asked from his sitting chair while watching some political network on the tv.

“An announcement for a gala.” You sighed, going over to a side table to set your bag down.

“Why should that make you upset? The Academy holds galas every few months for upper classmen. I myself used to go to them.”

Yea, you remember how he'd run around the house like a chicken with its head cut off looking for whatever Tigris made for him to wear. He had to have his gala outfits look amazing even if they were made from black market fabrics Tigris did the unthinkable for. Your brother always had to dress to impress at galas since he used them to network.

Hell, he still networks at galas, balls, and events. It's just on a different level now.

“It's not the gala that's got me upset." You told him as you made your way over to the sitting chairs. Sitting down next to him, you explained, "It's the fact that I'm going to be the only girl without a date for it that's got me upset.”

“You don't need a date to attend the gala, dear.” Coriolanus reminded you, his eyes glued to the political talk show host on the TV screen. Hmm...they must be talking about the upcoming election.

“But-” you began, only for your brother to cut you off with, “No buts, young lady.” Giving you a stern look, he receited the same speech he always gave when the subject of dating came up. “You’re not ready to date yet. The boys your age will only corrupt you and we can't have you being corrupted; dragging the Snow name through the mud.”

His remark made you wonder how many nice girls he corrupted since he was so certain that you'd be corrupted.

“I'll make you a suitable match when you're of age.” Coriolanus told you before turning the volume up on the TV when the program host mentioned his name and polling numbers.

Oh, you just couldn't wait to see who he'd set you up with. Considering he's such a cold man, you doubt it'd be anyone you'd get along with. You doubt that what he views as a good match for you is what you'd view as a good match.

You're polar opposites.

Truth be told, you barely tolerate your older brother these days. He never laughs or smiles, he's just obsessed with power and politics.

And money.

“Maybe you could find me a date for the gala? Somebody suitable to take me?” You suggested as a desperate attempt for him to let you go to the gala with a boy your age.

“Yea, I'll find you a date.” Coriolanus nodded, his attention more so on the TV then on you. Guess his political ambitions mean more to him than you do at the moment.

When your Coriolanus said he'd find you somebody suitable to take you to the gala, you never thought that he was talking about himself. But here you were, dressed in something suitable for a nun, since Coriolanus is strict about you showing too much skin, wearing short skirts, etc. Of course, you're stuck being chaperoned by your overprotective older brother.

Why would he let you have a real date for the gala?

He's too obsessed with you to let you out of his site. Now more than ever you hate how overprotective the presidential hopeful is with you.

You could feel everyone staring at you. God, you felt so weird being stuck on your brother's arm.

“Who’s that?” Coriolanus asked, pointing to a raven haired girl in a wine red dress, that was sipping on a flute of posca, while talking to a one of the cutest boys at the Academy.

“That's General Prometheus Byzantine's step-daughter. Her names Juniper, but she goes by June.” You answered, hoping that he wasn't asking because he was interested in her.

She's your classmate for Christ's sake!

“She's 18?” Coriolanus asked, tipping you off that he was, indeed, interested in her.

“Yes, she's 18.” You confirmed with a nod.

Coriolanus nodded, only to tell you, “Go hang by the wall and don't talk to anyone. I'm going to introduce myself to Miss Byzantine.”

You shook your head, watching your brother take off to go flirt with one of your classmates. You didn't think it was fair that he could do whatever he wanted, but you had to toe the line.

It was complete and utter bullshit.

You didn't care about his political ambitions or riches, you just wanted a normal life.

Sometimes you wish that he never got that early discharge from President Ravenstill. You were free when he was a peacekeeper in 12. Now you're shackled and chained to him. You're at his mercy because he's so obsessed with protecting you.

At least for that summer he was away in District 12 you were able to have friends. Now, you had nobody, but yourself.

Knowing you didn't have much of a choice, you went over to the wall and blended into it. Watching your brother charm the raven haired girl in your math, history, and literature classes.

Maybe him charming General Byzantine’s step-daughter was a blessing in disguise. Maybe if Coriolanus is too busy trying to woo and court somebody, he won't be able to be an overprotective big brother anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, that was just wishful thinking on your part.

Ever since General Crassus Snow died, Coriolanus took it upon himself to be the man of the house. To protect you.

And over time that mission became his number one obsession.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis , @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord , @erikasurfer , @tulips2715 , @universal-s1ut , @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans , @sudek4l , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 , @shari-berri , @aoi-targaryen , @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons, @qoopeeya, @mfnqueen1 , @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #tbosas fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #platonic!reader #platonic #platonic!coriolanus snow

269 notes · View notes

thoughtsfromlayla · 7 months

Text

Love and Loss

Summary: Despite being married for centuries, the two lovers have yet to produce an heir. Desperate for a child, she makes a deal with Phanes, God of Life, unbeknownst to her that motherhood has its own complications much like love and marriage. Now she must find a way to save both her child and her love.

Notes: ~11k words, only lightly edited... so yeah. Also, this is my first time posting any of my writing so I'm nervous as fuuuuck. I keep switching between past and present tense but I think I caught them all but idk. Let me know if I miss any tags or warnings! (There's so many plot holes but shhhh)

Warnings: MDNI - 18+ content, one use of Y/N but written in 3rd person, Reader has a "name" that's only used twice, pregnancy, loss of pregnancy, metaphorical use of surrogation, usage of miscarriage themes, jealousy, P in V, oral (F! receiving), unprotected sex, jealous Dream but that's to be expected really, regency-esque, diverges from cannon

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

================================================

Despite having been in the Dreaming for so long, its frigid air was something she could never get used to. The temperature always fixed itself somewhere between an unheated house on a winter’s day and a spring day in the shade. Despite her title in the realm, she always felt like a child walking to the kitchen late at night to grab a snack whenever she meanders into the great hall.

The castle of the Dreaming was her home, and she was the owner in every right as her husband. A small black cat accompanies her, its green collar and bell jingle with each step in its preppy trot. Her Lady wore simple garments, a dark green dress with slits to match her feline friend. Its light-weight fabric billows around her with a breeze that never seems to stop and some golden jewelry decorated her neck and arms, all gifts from his Lord. She opted to walk barefoot, skin to soil, so as not to hurt her feet necessarily before the upcoming dinner the Dreaming would host later today—the idea her own entirely that her husband agreed to for her sake.

Her legs move her toward the throne room, where she is certain her husband presides. Still, her feet are cold and thus she picks up the pace. Her steps are lighthearted as she prances on her tiptoes, heels dangling from her fingers.

Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of the Nightmare Realms, Prince of Stories. She was sure there were more, but if she were to start listing them all in her head, she’d be stuck there all day. Morpheus was as old as humanity itself, perhaps even older. But as she sees him spread out on his throne, the air of authority is never questioned. Age has only made him more intimidating.

Morpheus commands any space he enters. His shadow fills each nook and cranny it seemed fit, aura chilling and distant. Yet he himself was a beautiful creature indeed. His modern form molded himself into a lean body, distinct muscle lines, and a strong jaw. His dark hair always looked tousled as if he had rolled out of bed a mere minute ago, and despite how often she would run her hair through the silky strands, they never behaved as they should have.

“Wife, mine,” Morpheus greets as she nears the bottom of the stairs. “What ails you to seek me out?”

The Lady smiles and gives a small curtsy before she ascends the curved stairs. “Nothing ails me, my lord. Must one have a reason to see her husband?”

Morpheus lets out an entertained breath before opening his arms in invitation. Another graceful smile appears on her lips as she sits comfortably in his lap, his arms encircling her.

“No, I suppose not,” He replies. He watches as she makes herself as comfortable as she can, leaning her head on his shoulder in a way that wouldn’t mess up her hair. The handmaidens would not stop fussing over it if a single strand was out of place from their original design.

“I simply wish to spend some time with you before our feast. I fear that I will be whisked away as I entertain guests for the evening.” She closes her eyes and steadies herself on the patterned breathing of her husband.

“I will stay by your side if you so command it,” Morpheus says. He runs his thumb in circles on her bare shoulder.

“And have everyone afraid to approach me? With your dark and brooding act?” She jests, her eyes opening briefly to look into his.

He can’t help his eyes rolling at her slight tease. “As you wish, my love.”

The two lovers sit for a moment. The sounds of her cat purring and their breaths mingling fill the air. But serenity such as this never lasts long in a castle like theirs. Lucienne comes from a hallway, presumably, the library’s, dressed up as well. Her coat was tailored to fit her body, her shoes freshly shined, and her glasses cleaned.

She gives a curt bow to the two sovereigns. “My lord, my lady,” She addresses. “The guests will be arriving soon.”

“Thank you, Lucienne,” Her lady says. She reluctantly releases herself from the warmth of her husband and uses the throne as a brace to put on her shoes. Her husband’s hand rests on the small of her back to further assist her.

“I will see you very soon, my king,” She says leaning down to peck his cheek before descending the stairs. She looks back once with another smile and then follows Lucienne to greet the arriving guests.

Morpheus’s eyes watch her figure until she turns a corner. He was still underdressed, his day previously preoccupied with trying to find a certain nightmare. He was simply idling on his throne in a simple black attire with his long coat. After all, a king need not worry about how he looks if he commands respect without golden bribes. With a wave of his hand, sand befalls him and covers him like ivy to a broken wall. When they recede he is dawning a tight button-up undershirt and vest, its fabric weaved with intrinsic cloud-like designs. His coat is now replaced with another of a similar shape and design but resembles cotton instead of the original felt. He fastens the raven cufflinks and smooths down his pants before rising from his throne and going to the Dreaming’s castle garden.

When Morpheus enters the gardens he immediately spots his wife at the entrance, standing underneath a pergola of purple wisterias and climbing hydrangeas. The flowers slowly lean towards the goddess as her presence fuels them by simple proximity. Her cat is nowhere to be seen and probably ran off into the gardens after a rodent caught his eye.

Morpheus slides up beside his wife as she greets the last of the guests arriving. He turns his head towards the decorated table and can see a great spread of gods, goddesses, fairies, nymphs, and other mystical creatures that his wife had managed to befriend—the feeling of her arm wrapping around his redirects his attention.

“Shall we, lord husband?” She gives him another one of her smiles and he understands how the hanging flowers feel. How he had ever lived without her before was still a mystery to him. To be him without her, it is like the Earth without its Sun - and he wishes to always feel the gravitational pull of her love.

Morpheus leads them towards the aggregation of guests, all of whom devote their attention to them.

“Beloved guests,” His wife starts speaking in her nectar-like tone, “Despite what is currently happening in the waking world, we are pleased that you could make time and attend this wondrous dinner.”

The goddess pauses for a brief moment as her guests clap in agreement. When they stop, she continues. “The feast is served buffet style, please eat and enjoy yourself to the fullest content. The Dreaming is here for your convenience.”

With her open palm, a long table appears with dishes of all types. Wreaths and fresh flowers decorate any empty space, which is to say, not much. Lambs, beef, and several types of poultry and fish take centerpieces along the table. Fruits, vegetables, and freshly baked bread weave in between the large plates as palate cleansers and small plates appear on the very corners of the table. A satisfied smile appeared on Her Lady’s face as the guests began grabbing food.

As the dust settles and smaller niches of guests start grouping, Morpheus is displeased when his wife leaves his side to mingle amongst the other gods. He watches from the shadows, small fruit plate in hand, glooming as she smiles with her guests. A hand comes up to hide her mouth as she laughs at something Phanes, God of Life, said. Jealousy brews and grows bitter like spoiled milk.

Morpheus stands, ready to come to his wife’s side in hopes of deterring the god, but before he can a nymph comes forward and gives an exaggerated curtsy. He can’t help the slight roll of his eyes as she begins to talk him up. The nymph’s voice carries a small lithe to it and he becomes unfocused, only noticing the movement of his wife’s green dress and Phanes walking off into the hedge labyrinth.

A frown etches itself onto his face. The nymph choosing to ignore the frown finds the courage to lift a mossy hand to caress his coat’s lapel, to which the Endless notices. Morpheus looks down at the nymph, his hand tightly grabbing into her wrist and dropping it away from him.

“Do not presume you may touch me, insolent child.” His voice is deep and grave as his frown deepens.

The nymph’s face contorted into embarrassment as red poppies boom across her cheeks and ears. She briskly walks away, forgetting to curtsy, with her tail tucked between her legs. The forest nymph looks forward to the next time she meets the Dream King, but she does not know that this will be the last time the doors of the Dreaming will open to her.

Dream makes a beeline towards the hedge labyrinth, taking a right turn as he had witnessed his wife doing moments ago. But, as something as lucid as the Dreaming, the labyrinth path twists and turns in new ways each moment. Morpheus turns left and right based on where he could feel his wife’s presence, but seems that she does not want to be found.

As a deity in her own right, should she so command it, she would not be found. Something that the Endless found infuriating at the moment. What could she possibly be doing with Phanes? Did she invite him for a personal reason? Was the dinner event a ruse so she could speak with him without raising any questions? Well, Morpheus surely was starting to ask questions.

Jealously turned into guilt quickly like the crack of a lightning bolt. Has he not been a good husband? Was she getting bored of their marriage? It has been several centuries, after all. Guilt turned into sadness as the questions he asked started bringing down his spirit. Surely there is something he can do to make her happy again. Surely she is faithful, surely, surely, surely…

Morpheus stands still, the drive to find his wife lost. The hedge leaves shiver as the temperature grows colder from the king’s mood. The lovely sunset leaves the last of its warmth before disappearing, leaving the sky full of stars. He turns around and retraces his steps, if his wife does not want to be found, he will grant her this wish.

Morpheus would never admit to anyone that he mopes. But with his sluggish walk and downturned lips, he clearly was. He sees his wife had made it out of the labyrinth quite some time ago and is already waving her guests goodbye, Phanes nowhere in sight. When she sees him emerging from the hedges, she perks up and excuses herself from her conversation.

“Dear husband, where did you run off to? Too many people in your presence?” She jokes, latching herself onto his arm.

“I was merely looking for you,” Morpheous murmurs. He starts walking with her back to the castle.

He waits as his wife takes a pause, slowing down in step. “You followed me into the labyrinths?”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Yes…” He draws out, trying to tread lightly, hoping that she would open up without much prompting. “I saw you and Phanes entering together.”

An amused huff escapes her. “I see.”

The silence lingers like the plague: uncomfortable and heavy in the air.

“Will you not speak as to why?” He questions and he almost hates how desperate he sounds.

The lady takes a seat on his throne, only to lean down and take off her shoes with a satisfied sigh. She rubs the ankles of her foot when she speaks again. “I believe it to be a personal matter.”

The answer was vague, and Morpheous hated it. Angry, gray storm clouds formed overhead and the ice-cold rain started to hit the stained glass behind her.

“Am I not worth sharing with?” He asks again, but he doesn’t stop to let her answer. With her eyes wide in surprise, he continues. “Am I not good enough? Faithful enough? Am I not devoted enough to you, my love? Will you command me to beg on my knees, I shall if you so ask.”

He falls to his knees before her and runs his hands from her ankle to her knee, slowly, deliberately. His lips follow soon after, tracing the same path his fingers had. Her breath hitches and her hearts start beating faster.

“How can I show my devotion to you, my love?” He kisses.

“My wife?” He kisses again.

“My forever goddess?” And again.

“Morpheus,” She breathes out, and it’s all he ever wants to hear. She is all he ever wants to breathe and all he wants to taste.

“I pray to Daleena, Goddess of Husbandry, for forgiveness. I have left my wife unsatisfied and feel the crop of our love withered. I shall repent for my sins by your guidance.” Morpheus says in a hushed tone as he slowly inches higher on her leg.

The goddess feels power surge through her as the prayer leaves her husband's lips, and she craves the touch of them on her own. Heat pools between her legs as her husband’s breath fans across her lower regions. Her dress slits exposed her legs deliciously to Morpheous but there were still her undergarments, which he removed slowly, keeping contact with her silky skin as it slid down.

Her Lady looks down at him with uneven breaths and waits for him to give her what she wants. Morpheus, however, is patient. He traces his lips higher, he kisses all the spots she wants, but not where she needs it the most.

“Morpheus,” She pleads, and it is all he needs. One moment it is the cold air of the Dreaming and the next it is the warmth of his lips, tongue languishing the length of her slit.

She jerks in place, strong hands holding down her hips. Her own hands shoot out, desperate to grab onto anything. One, bear-clawed and desperate, on the arm of the throne and the other weaving itself into the silky strands of her husband. She gasps at the wet sensation and her head is thrown back in pleasure.

The Endless is unmovable, driven solely by the purpose of satisfying his wife. A low groan emits from deep in his throat at the unapologetic sounds she cries, babbling in a series of his name and other obscenities. He tilts his head higher until he finds her clit and relishes in the pain of her nails in his hair, lapping at her arousal with contentment until it drips down his chin. He is a starved man and she is his salvation.

Morpheus continues his demonstrations, alternating between her clit and her needy cunt. She clenches her thighs hard as she feels the impending rise of her orgasm. Her fingertips buzz with excitement as he continues to ravish her sensitive clit. His pace continues, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

She calls out his name again, and a high-pitched whine leaves her lips as he easily adds two digits into her weeping hole. He moves them slowly, slightly curved to touch that delicious spot inside her that has her arching her back taught like a bow. From below, Morpheus looks at her through his lashes, and he can’t help the smirk that tugs on his lips as his wife tries to thrash from the sensations. She tightens around him, cunt pulsing sporadically, and he is flooded with her orgasm where he drinks greedily from the taste - sweet like a plentiful summer wine.

He places a final gentle kiss on her clit before looking at her again, the skin of her extremities glowing ethereally as she tries to control her ragged breaths. She is still in the midst of her orgasm, trying to calm herself from the high and he finds it the perfect time to leave a bruising hickey on the inside of her plush thighs. Morpheus gets up, dick painfully hard as it brushes against his pants. He takes hold of her hands to help her stand on wobbly legs and leans back.

He leans until he falls, through the throne room floor and then onto the plushness of their shared bed. His command dematerializes both of their clothes and he basks in the sticky warmth of his wife on top of him. He runs light fingers down her spine, shivers following behind like a loyal companion, whispering sweet nothings into her ears.

“Come back to me,” He murmurs, kissing her sweat-filled brow.

“Hmm,” The goddess exhales after a few more seconds of silence, eyes opening languishingly, lashes tickling the skin of her husband.

She looks around the dimly lit room for a moment before realizing that she is in their bed. Using her husband’s chest, she props herself up, effectively straddling him beneath her. Morpheus remains unmoving, ignoring the way his tip brushes against her lower lips, only messaging the meat of her hips with his thumb.

When she meets his eyes again, he speaks. “Have I proven myself, dear wife?”

It takes a moment for the goddess to remember what he was talking about and her feelings crash down again. “You had never needed to prove yourself to me, Morpheus. What happened between me and Phanes will remain between me and Phanes.”

She lifts herself on sore thighs, but can’t get far as gentle hands turn rough. The next moment, she is lying down with her husband looming over her. There was not enough light to illuminate his face, leaving only the impression of his merciless, mercury eyes. Deep down, she knows no harm will ever befall her, but in this moment, something primal presents itself.

Perhaps it is how his eyes bore into her very soul, to the very moment she was born several millennia ago. Or perhaps, she was just crazy about how his touch was driving her mad. She was very aware of the appendage that settled between the two of them and the way that her slick was coating it. His hands cup her cheek and slide down her neck and her head tilts back at the ticklish and yet pleasurable sensation. She swallows thickly and a broken sigh escapes her as his hand ghosts over her nipple.

Shivers bloom once more as his mouth incloses over the perk nipple, suckling at it in a way that has her legs wrapping around his waist. Her arms come up and snake over his shoulders, fingers gliding over the smooth marble-like skin, then resting behind his neck. One of her hands finds itself back into his hair, clenching as he gives continuous pleasure to her body.

Her hips buck up, her pussy clenching down on nothing. Cold fingers glide down the center of her stomach, going lower and lower until they cup her heat. A thumb gently circles her clit, understanding the overstimulation it recently received. They trace over her outer lips, downwards, then upwards again, coating themselves with a mixture of spit and arousal.

Morpheus removes himself from her breasts and presses his lips at the junction between her neck and shoulder. He licks at the sweat that accumulates on her collarbone and continues up her neck. When he faces her again, he speaks.

“Beg for it.” He commands.

Her Lady remains silent, slowly chewing on the inside of her lip, weighing the options in her head. Morpheus, as always, is patient and he continues running his fingers between her folds, keeping his pace but occasionally rubbing his pointer finger in circles around her clit. When she realizes that he really would just keep rubbing her and nothing else, she opens her mouth.

“P-please,” She stutters, the mere idea of begging or pleading foreign on her tongue. As a goddess, one would never allow such lowly behavior. Nevertheless how her husband will give her whatever she asks for.

Morpheus hums in approval, removing his hand to hold his dick instead. He rubs it this time in lieu of his fingers around her cunt and the goddess almost begs again. Before she can, a moan releases from both of them as he inserts himself into her and she whimpers at the familiar dull ache of being stretched out. Morpheus dips his head between her neck and shoulder again and remains stiff, feeling the warmth that only his wife can provide.

He pulls out and she mews beneath him in pleasure, ushering him to fill her up once again. Her cunt sucks him back and he wraps one of his arms underneath her waist to ground him. The other slams against the headboard of the bed, and he grabs on for all he is worth. His thrusts grow harder as her cries grow louder and he feels the way she clenches down on him.

“How divine you are, my love,” He says with a shaky breath, kissing more bruising hickeys that he hopes will last for millennia. He blows cold air over them and goosebumps rise in place, her back arching again and he can feel each perk nipple rubbing against his chest.

She moans his name again, losing herself in each drag of his cock, screaming curses when the head brushes against her sensitive spot, and whimpering when it kisses her cervix. Morpheus rises, looking down on his wife with half-lidded eyes, running a hand down between the valley of her breasts, feeling each desperate breath of air. He goes lower and groans when he sees how the two of them are connected.

Each thrust creates an unholy, slick noise and he can see the inflamed clit begging for attention. He presses his fingers on her lower stomach and she cries out for him.

“Can you feel me, my Queen?” He growls down at her, feeling the way his dick moves within her.

“Yes!” She cries back, her brows furrow and her cunt pulses around him, gripping him like a vice.

“Do you love me, my Queen?” He asks again.

“Yes!” She cries again. She starts begging again. Please, please, please, please. “Don’t stop, please my King. Please, don’t stop!”

“Will you tell me why you spoke with Phanes?” His last question.

Her eyes snap open, all the build up from her orgasm lost in the question. With her legs still around his waist, she twists her hips and topples Morpheus over until he is beneath her again.

“No,” She whispers, rocking her hips back and forth to regain the momentum they had lost.

This time, it is him who pleads. “Please,” He whispers back. His hands cup at the roundness of her ass cheeks, loving how soft they were.

She increases the ferocity of her grinds, looking down at her husband like he had just done with her. His head tosses back and she loves watching his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat as he moans for her. His eyes are squeezed shut and his grip tightens but she doesn’t relent.

That familiar searing hot feeling appears again in her lower stomach and with one final grind she releases her orgasm all over him, falling onto his heaving chest. Morpheus cums right after, shooting his release into her in hot loads and she feels each jolt inside of her.

Her orgasm rocks through her body, feeling both too hot and too cold at the same time. It tingles in her fingers and toes and when she closes her eyes, she sees the stars of the Dreaming shinging back at her. When she comes back to her senses (again) she can feel her husband’s hand running through her bed hair, untangling it as much as he could with the one hand. The other hand holds her waist flush with his. The two lovers share a quiet moment after their throw of passion before she speaks again.

“Phanes and I…” She starts, and she can feel Morpheus stiffen under her. She groans as his cock is still deep in her, semi-hard and the only thing keeping them together.

She shifts a bit and some of their combined release pool down onto his abdomen. He would never admit to her how filthy he thought it was, nor the fact that he loved it all the same.

“Yes?” Morpheus urges, looking down at her on his chest with full attention.

“We made a deal.” She finishes her sentence.

Everything stops as Morpheus sits up. “What deal did you strike? I can do it instead, terminate the deal at once, my love.” He says with anxiety.

His wife grabs onto him as she is rocked back and a smile appears on her face. “Morpheus, my love, you have done your part.” Her smile turns sad and a forlorn look cloaks her face and she casts her gaze downwards. “We just needed some extra help.”

A confused look crosses Morpheus’s face. He brings a hand to lift her chin to look at him. With the raise of an eyebrow, he doesn’t have to say anything for his wife to know he wants a better explanation.

“I asked for a child, Morpheus.”

When her husband remains quiet, her lips start to tug downwards and his heart lurches at the sight. Her waterline soon floods with tears.

“We have not been able to produce an heir once.” She says, voice wavering. She dares not to blink for she is afraid if a single tear were to fall, all of them would.

“What in return?” He asks.

“I look after his pet snake for a weekend.” She replies simply. Morpheus has returned to his previous position.

The tears start to fall, each fat drop hitting his skin seemingly striking him directly in the heart. “You need not worry, wife. This time it will take, with Phanes’s help or not.” He whispers into the crown of her head.

She nods once, sniffling as her nose starts to run, too. The rhythmic breathing below her and the continued brushing of her hair rocks her to a dreamless sleep. Morpheus wraps his arms protectively around her frame and should he have known, he would’ve stayed longer. He would’ve held her tighter, kissed her longer, and promised her that he would be there when she woke. Alas, there was a missing nightmare, rampaging through the waking world, something that was his responsibility as king.

When she wakes up the next morning, with a satisfying ache throughout her body, the bed was cold and empty, and her husband was nowhere to be seen. To say that this was new behavior would be a lie, unfortunately. The number of times that a night of passionate love-making ended in a cold and lonely morning was more than she could count on her fingers and toes. That isn’t to say that Morpheus didn’t want to stay in bed with her, it’s simply a sovereign that understands his responsibilities, and she could never blame her husband for that.

Avoiding the difficult conversation the two lovers shared last night, her Lady avoids the locations her husband is most likely to reside in. Instead, she chooses to look towards her duties in the Dreaming. She finds herself amongst a simple dream from a small farmer who looks after sheep, who struggles with getting their weight to increase during the harsh winters. Carefully, she admits herself to him, dressed in a light yellow dress, sunflowers decorating the fabric and her hair. Her hands were covered in dirt, and she held a shepherd’s crook that had a bell attached to the end.

The farmer looks up from his rocking chair, prized sheep chewing lazily around him, and smoke from his pipe circles him. His face was rough - old and wrinkled from long days in the sun during his youth. But she smiles gently at him when his laugh lines appear around the edges of his eyes and mouth.

She stands next to him and they stare out on his flock together. He shares his life story. The story of a young boy whose father was also a farmer, and his father before him, and his father before him. He talks about his first puppy, named Barkly, his first love, whom he lost after he was drafted into the First World War, and how he now finds solitude with his late wife’s grave and his grandchildren.

He mentions that he needs to fatten his sheep up for the winter as he can’t lose any more stock so he may afford medicine for his sick grandson. He confesses that he has tried everything and nothing seems to have worked. He looks up at her now, tired, and slumped over, and realization dawns on his face as she smiles down at him.

She whispers at him a simple solution, one he can’t quite hear over the muddle of a dream. He stands abruptly as her figure distorts, the dawn is rising and a farmer’s body rises with it. He thanks her - he offers a sheep for her, which she nods at before he wakes from his dream.

The goddess visits a few more dreams, each giving her ethereal presence. Some were like the one she was just at, some needed comfort from the loss of animals, and some dreamed of a new pet to have. By the 5th dream, she realizes that several days had passed in the waking world, and her husband was nowhere to be found.

She admits to herself that she had been avoiding him longer than she intends, but perhaps it was time to face him again. She teleports to the castle, summoning herself before the drawbridge of the magnificent building. The ivory dragon perks up at her arrival, but otherwise pays no attention to her, going back to hoarding its gold coins, a few of them falling when she crosses the large doors.

As always, the castle is slightly colder than what she likes. A small sense of deja vu encapsulates her as she walks to the all-familiar throne room. This time, however, it was empty. No figure on the throne, nor the stairs as he sometimes preferrs it. Odd, she thinks, but not impossible. So she turns a corner to the library, she often finds him here as well, looking over the books of his dreamers. She searches high and low, through each aisle and reading spot, but still nothing. Anxiety and thoughts of doubt begin to fill her. Perhaps she did mess up, making that deal with Phanes.

Her last stop was Cain and Able’s homes. She finds the two brothers in front of their own homes, tending to their garden and playing with the gargoyle that Morpheus had given them. The two were of no help as they were unable to answer something worthy of even a hint of where her husband was.

She rolls her eyes as the walk away from their homes was accompanied by the sound of a scream and the resolute bang of a metal shovel hitting a skull.

As her last resort, she calls for Lucienne. Often, she hopes to never bother her, understanding that the work she puts into maintaining the Dreaming is never-ending. And, she knew that if she were to ask something of her, Lucienne would stop everything to help her.

“His Lord left several nights ago to fetch the Corinthian,” She spoke, pushing up her round glasses.

“And since then?” She questions, her hands wringing with themselves. She hopes for an answer she knows she won’t get.

Lucienne shakes her head no. “My Lady, Jessamy hasn’t returned either. Perhaps his Lord is simply taking longer than usual.”

“Let us hope,” She says defeated.

For the next few months, the goddess stays within the Dreaming. Each day that passes, more hope was lost for her husband's return. Doubt and anxiety cloud her mind at the uncertain future.

She looks down at her stomach, a distinguishable bump had made its appearance and she rubs it gently with her hand. The deal with Phanes went through, she is with child. She should be happy right? Except for the obvious fact that Morpheus still had not returned.

Her cat lounges at her feet where she sits and she pets its head. With a trill, it looks at her, similar mercury eyes of her husband stares back. She had no choice but to find him herself.

“Go,” She asks of it. “Go to the waking world, find Morpheus.”

The cat sits up and stretches, hind high in the air. Its claws grips into the plush carpet it rests on. With another stretch to its lower back, it trots off, the jingling sounds of its bell disappearing as it crosses over to the waking world.

All the goddess could do was wait and hope. She runs another anxious hand across her stomach and a tear escapes her.

Lucienne had mentioned it to her in passing a few days ago. The librarian stated that it probably was nothing to worry about, but the conversation had stuck with the goddess since.

The Dreaming is dying.

As much as the Dreaming is hers through marriage, it is suffering without its true ruler in the realm. She could see it in the dying leaves and small cracks of the castle. The ivory dragon that rests above the castle has gotten more restless in the past few weeks. And despite her best efforts to comfort the animal, the dragon did not listen to the Goddess of Husbandry.

This brings up a second concern of hers. The child she carries is as much a part of her as it is the Dreaming’s. It embodies a part of the Dream Lord and if the Dreaming is suffering, there stands to reason that her husband is suffering as well. If both of these entities are suffering, what is to happen to her child?

This child that she already loves until she is forgotten and nothing but stardust and she had been asking for centuries. This child that Morpheus is finally ready to love after the untimely death of his son. She must find Morpheus, and soon.

For the sake of the Dreaming and her child.

Several more weeks pass and her cat had yet to come back. She only hopes that it was due to the difficulty of finding an Endless and not because it got distracted with a family whose heart was big enough to take in a “stray” cat. Each day that passes, she grows significantly weaker. The prayers of her followers still ring in her ears, but she could not leave the Dreaming to help her devotees.

Another war broke out among the humans, the one they call World War II. Less and fewer people were crossing over into the dreaming and slowly, the once beautiful realm was losing its colors. The goddess couldn’t stop the residents of the realm from leaving its gates, the Dreaming was no longer a place they wished to stay. Furthermore, there weren’t enough dreamers for them to bother staying. She only remains thankful for those who decided to stay.

She sits on Morpheus’ throne, the castle colder than ever. Behind her, the once beautiful stained glass had shattered. The Corinthian had still not been captured, or else her husband would have been home and Fiddler’s Green had decided to leave. She runs a hand through her hair at the issues that seem to keep piling up. As she ignores her prayers, her powers start to wane. Fewer and fewer people were still believing in her.

And how could she blame them? She hasn’t made herself present in any of their prayers and with the war, people were less concerned about animals and more about themselves. She sighs.

A sharp pain yanks her out of her thoughts and a scream rips from her throat. She doubles over from the throne and kneels, hunching over on the floor. The pain spreads across her lower abdomen and a shaking hand holds her stomach. Immediately she knew something was wrong and it involved the safety of her child.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, too focused on staying conscious. The throne room was empty, her fall echoed around and bounced across the wide walls. When she thought the pain was over, she took in a large breath, inhaling shakily in gulps.

Salvation lasts a few seconds before another wave of pain overwhelms her. It wraps around her like a hot blanket on a sweltering day, sticking to her skin and making her overstimulated. Too much was happening at once and it was almost too hard to bear.

“Lucienne!” She screams between cramps. Tears fall in fat drops onto the floor and wets the hand propping her up.

Lucienne appears quickly, followed closely by Mervin. Hands grab at her weak body and hoist her back onto the throne. Where she had fallen, blood pooled and more fell from between her legs.

Her whole body shakes with shivers and a whimper leaves her.

“My Lady,” Lucienne says with concern. The librarian couldn’t stop from staring at the growing pool of blood below her.

“What do we do?” Mervin asks. Even though he was a glorified janitor, constructor, and destructor for the Dreaming, he didn’t know how to fix this.

“Call for Phanes,” Their Lady said weakly. Sweat begins to appear like morning dew across her forehead. For once, she was grateful for the cool temperature.

“Mervin, take her to his Lord’s chambers,” Lucienne instructs. She doesn’t stay to watch as she sprints to the library.

She flips through leather-bound books, old and new until she finds the correct summoning spell she was looking for. The loyal librarian could only hope that a god would listen to a dream like her.

She hauls the large book into the room her Lady lays in. Labored breathing came from both women, although for two vastly different reasons.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I require your assistance,” Lucienne said next to the goddess’ bed.

The goddess gives her a hand limply and Lucienne starts chanting the words on the page while holding her cold fingers. The wind whirls around them and Mervin holds onto his pumpkin head to not have it knocked off.

Lucienne finishes the spell and looks down. Her Lady was glowing with power but she could not have looked any more weak. Nothing happens for a few bated breaths, only the sound of howling wind around them. Then nothing, not even the sound of crickets could be heard.

Enters Phanes, golden and warm like the sun. He materializes in a cloud of golden dust. He slams his staff down, and his golden snake slithers up from under his robes.

“Who dares summon m-”

“Lord Phanes,” Lucienne interrupts, something she knows she would be punished for, if not for the more important matter at hand.

A glare is thrown her way and softens at the familiar face. Phanes’ eyes travel across the intertwined fingers and land on his friend.

Weak eyes open and meet his. The godly figure is almost too much to stare directly at.

As if understanding what was happening to his friend, he drops the golden light he had been shining. The Dreaming returns to its cold blue, and it was just two deities and two dreams in understanding.

“A new deal,” Phanes announces and the goddess wants to weep again. Judging by how her husband acted the last time she had done this, she was going to be doomed. But the decision was easily made.

“Anything,” she whispers. Her eyelids are starting to feel heavy. She had delivered countless calves, kittens, and cubs, but never another deity. Was she supposed to feel this weak?

Silky scales slide across her feverish skin and she is face to face with Phanes’ serpent.

“Give your child to him, he will keep them safe until they may come to fruition. Until then, you must look after the serpent as if it is of your blood.”

The goddess could barely pay attention but understood in a way without words. She nods in agreement and the relief begins almost immediately.

Pain seeps out of her body, slow, like molasses and her body starts to glow again. Lucienne shields her eyes and peeks through her fingers. The goddess’ stomach glows and deflates.

A small glowing ball releases itself from the warmth of her womb, its dim light is warm and lights the room like a lantern on a foggy night. A weak hand cups it and it sits in the palm of its mother.

“Hello, darling son,” She whispers. The ball stays still, a small high-pitched noise emitting from itself.

The goddess smiles. “Darling daughter, then?” This time, the ball bounces gently a few times in response but otherwise doesn’t do anything.

The golden serpent is slowly making its way up the arm that holds the glowing orb. A tongue flicks out and smells it. Then with a nod from the goddess, the serpent unhinges its mouth and swallows the child whole. The light shines through the crevices of its eyes and ears as it makes its way down the serpent's throat. Eventually, the light dissipates and the serpent looks all the same, save for the bulge in its stomach.

A sense of longing borrows itself into her chest where her heart lies. Quite literally, the light disappears right in front of her. Physically, her pain had been removed, only the dried blood between her legs reminded her of what had happened just moments prior. And yet, a dull pain resides. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she could feel it behind her eyes and how it lodges in her throat.

Her gaze is unfocused as she pets the golden snake, her golden snake now, her child. For the rest of the night, she rests and Phanes leaves without a word. Lucienne stays by her side the whole time, eyes only moving when the serpent shifts. Mervin went back to work after a few hours, the castle’s foundation still cracking under their feet. He left with a sorrowful look, well, as sorrowful as a pumpkin head could be.

As the sun rises the next day, the goddess wakes up to not only the snake by her side but the librarian and her long awaited cat. Lucienne wakes up at the first shift that her Lady makes and stands.

“Let me draw you a bath,” She said before any debate.

“Lucienne,” Her Lady calls after her anyway in rejection. All of her handmaidens had left. They were only there to help the goddess under the instruction of the Dream Lord who created them. Without him here, no one would punish them for leaving and not attending his wife.

Still, the librarian doesn’t listen and disappears into the joined bathroom. Meanwhile, the goddess looks down at her cat and raises an eyebrow. It has certainly gotten fatter. And a new name tag was attached to his collar next to his bell.

“Buttons,” She said out loud, reading the new name. At that, the cat perks up and stares back at her disappointed face. “You got distracted on your mission didn’t you?”

She pets his rounder stomach and scratches his head. “Well, they certainly loved you…” The hidden passive-aggressive message was evident.

The cat, now Buttons, doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, it lays back down, flicking its tail aggressively at her comment.

She rolls her eyes. “Did you locate his Lord?”

Buttons rolls onto his back and stretches, belly exposing to her, and opens his mouth in a yawn. “Burgess Manor,” He says and turns his body away from her.

Finally, an answer. She throws the blanket off her body and goes to stand. She looks at her closet, thinking of what to wear to the waking world to retrieve her husband.

“My Lady!” Lucienne exclaims as she walks out of the bathroom. The goddess looks over at her and notices her staring at her dress. She looks down as well and remembers all of the blood that she spilled last night. It had caked itself into the fabric and was still crusted on the inside of her legs.

The librarian’s shock was still on her face when she realizes that her Lady fully intends to go to the waking world looking like that, having overheard the conversation between her and the cat. Lucienne insists she take a bath first and that she would find something for her to wear.

Her Lady doesn’t disagree and disappears into the steaming bathtub that was made for her. She doesn’t regret it for a second the moment she steps in. The warmth was comforting like a mother huddling to keep its cub warm. The water washes away the filths of yesterday and within the embrace of the water, she finally cries.

It’s not a gentle cry, it is hiccups and gasping for breath. The pain of yesterday that she felt behind her eyes and in her throat spills out. Her bathwater which used to smell of apples and cinnamon now turns into a maroon as her blood washes out. It starts to smell of iron and salt and it reminds her of war.

Her hand runs over her stomach and a whimper leaves her again at the lack of the bump she had grown so accustomed to. Logically, she knows that her child, no her daughter, was safe. But, one would have to admit that having their daughter in the stomach of a serpent was a bit unnerving.

A golden head peaks at her over the side of the ceramic bathtub and flicks out its tongue.

She sniffs the last of her tears away and pets its head with her index finger. “I’m sorry for leaving you already, dear daughter.”

The serpent’s stomach had grown twice as large since last night and since this is new territory for her, she must make haste so she may be back in the dream to witness the birth of her daughter.

Before she left, though, she walks into the castle gardens and gets to work. From her fingertips she grows a birch tree, its white branches and muted green leaves fit right into the dying realm around them. She sprouts flowers and brushes for scenery and a bed made of straw under a tunnel that she dug out.

The golden serpent follows her and slithers up her body, wrapping around her curves. When its head was next to hers, it let out a rattling-like noise in agreement with the small open enclosure the goddess had made for it. It slides back down her body and makes it home in the tunnel.

“Mommy will be back,” She whispers to it when it settles in and gives it a quick peck on the top of its head. It flicks its tongue at her and moves further into its nest.

The goddess stands back up and dusts off any dirt that could have gotten on her dress. Lucienne helps her pick out an appropriate attire for the waking world. Something she wouldn’t personally wear, but it certainly helps to blend in with the mortals. She quickly had to locate her husband. After all, she has no idea how long it takes for a snake to incubate a child.

It was easy to find the Burgess Manor when she arrives in the waking world. Everyone who was anyone spoke about the grand magus who managed to capture the devil in his basement. That the devil had granted him eternal life and some other rumors. All she had to do was flaunt a smile and go where the fingers pointed.

The rumors, of course, were mere rumors. The devil? No. Without knowing it, Rodrick Burgess managed to capture something even more powerful. How he had managed to keep him captured was a different question entirely and the goddess had a sneaking suspicion that he had some help.

It was nightfall when she arrives at the gates of the manor. Thousands of people clamor in the front garden, talking amongst themselves. Suddenly, the clothing she had worn was not fit for the environment she was walking into. Using a little bit of her powers, she changes the outlook of her clothing into something else. It was a bit more formal, growing longer and softer to the touch. However, if someone were to squint and stare hard enough, they would be able to see the original dress she had worn.

She weaves her way to the front and listens carefully to the words around her.

“I had arrived this morning, my feet are killing me.”

“Ha, me as well. But anything to get into the manor. I want to see what the Great Magus is hiding.”

“Not to mention the party of your lifetime!” They joke together.

Someone taps her on her shoulder. Another young man was waiting to be let in.

“You are a new face,” He comments and takes her hand. He presses his lips to the back of it. She takes her hand back and wipes it away on the back of her dress while keeping a smile.

“Yes, I wish to see the Great Magus himself.” She half-lies through her teeth. The young gentleman offers an arm to her which she reluctantly takes. Perhaps he will be the key to getting into the manor.

The doors of the manor open and people slowly trickle in. She peers over shoulders into the manor but couldn’t immediately find anything of note that would be dangerous. The warmth of the building fans over her as she enters through the large doors and a breath of relief escapes her.

“Isn’t it everything you could ever dream of?” The gentleman asks. He looks down at her with a smile.

She looks around, the manor was certainly lively. Foods of all kinds sprawl out on tables, fresh flowers almost too sweet to smell, and candlelight flickers and dances from the sudden wind. There were some party tricks as well, the flames seem to sparkle a bit more, bubbles were floating around in the air without popping, and the statues follows her with their eyes. But, they were all small party tricks, nothing to indicate this holier-than-thou man.

Through the buzz of it all, she could feel it. The string of fate that connects her to her husband. It was faint, but it was there and she knew she was in the right place. She just had to find out where.

A man emerges on the top of the stairs to the second floor and opens his arms in a flourish. She frowns at him because there he was, Rodrick Burgess, the man who took her husband. By the end of tonight, she promises herself, there will be no Rodrick Burgess.

“Ow, dang you’ve got a grip on you,” She breaks eye contact with Rodrick when her escort for the evening exclaims out. She releases the iron grip she had wrapped around his lower arm and apologizes.

“I am terribly sorry,” She apologizes. “Actually, I am parched, can you be a gentleman and fetch me some lemonade?” She bats her eyelashes and gives a smile. His face lights up in a blush and runs off to fetch her the lemonade she wants.

As soon as he was out of eyesight, the goddess began moving. She moves between bodies like wind on the beachfront - gracefully, wistfully, but with purpose. She uses her senses to locate where her husband could be. It was like an invisible dance.

When the sense weakens she backtracks, when it strengthens she moves forward. She was so lost in her quest that she almost did not register when she ran into a wool-covered chest. Surprise overtook her face as she looks up, ready to apologize and continue on her way. But she stops when she realizes that the man she bumps into is the very host of the party.

“Rodrick Burgess,” She says almost breathlessly. Oh, how she wants to commit a grievous crime to this mortal.

The old man chuckles above her and grabs onto her shoulders. His fingers are cold when they come into contact with her bare skin and she wants to cringe away from his touch, but he holds on strong.

“You seem like a curious creature, my little dove,” He comments and starts to walk. Without much room to budge, she is reluctant to follow him.

“Yes,” She drawls out much like how Morpheus tends to do. She suddenly acts with interest when she realizes that the bond strength between her and her husband increases. She holds on tighter and presses her body against his arm.

“I heard that the great Magus kept the devil in the basement of his manor. Can we see it?” She fakes a supple voice and looks up at him with an innocent smile.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think a small thing such as yourself would want to see the devil.”

“No!” She belts out, a bit too quickly. But she recovers smoothly. “What I mean to say is, I am far too excited to see him. Please don’t deny me this one pleasure Great Magus.”

“How loathsome,” She thinks to herself.

“Very well, I can’t deny you anything if you keep looking at me like that.” He confirms.

Rodrick Burgess leads her away from the party, down a long and quiet hallway. It is decorated with antique and rare collectibles. The older man talks about each one, dragging on his time that leads to her husband, but she nods along anyway.

She had waited decades to be in the arms of her husband again, a few more minutes surely wouldn’t hurt. Soon, she is led to a dark and demanding set of double doors. Locks and bolts seal it from top to bottom. With a nod of Rodrick’s head, the guards stationed outside open the door slowly and a cold air seeps out and blows her hair back. The basement smells musty of old water and stale air. A cough emits from further down the stairs and she frowns.

“Scared yet, child?” Rodrick says to her mockingly.

She only shakes her head no as she continues down the steps.

The smell grows stronger as she gets closer and she can also make out a small portion of dirt and sand amidst it all. Despite it, the air was crisp and cold, suitable for a stone basement.

A light emits from the end of the long staircase downwards and she can’t stop her jaw unhinging as she finally sets her eyes on her husband. Tears well up in her eyes as they dart across the room.

Arches supported the basement throughout the floor and a moat still separates between her and her husband. A singular fluorescent light is cast on him in a glass prison as if he were some circus animal on display. Below the glass prison were some sort of gold runic markings and even from far away, she could feel the real magic emitting from them.

Rodrick releases her hold on him and turns to the two guards on duty that night. “You two may go,” He instructs, and the two leave without debate.

At the sound of his voice, Dream opens his eyes but remains in his laid position. His gaze pierces into his corrupt heart, if he even had one left, but quickly notices his wife by his side. With this, he sits up and gently places a hand on the glass barrier.

“Would you look at that!” Rodrick boasts. “He moves, he doesn’t do that much. Perhaps he has feelings for a pretty thing like you.”

The goddess doesn’t hear him and walks up to the glass cage in a trance. How does she free him? Tears fall restlessly down her face and her stature dejects. She snaps out of her trances on the small bridge above the stagnant water when a rough hand squeezes her upper arms.

“Stop, you must not get any closer. He is trying to seduce you into releasing him!” Rodrick hashes out between gritted teeth.

She opens her mouth to tell him something, anything, to release her husband but stops when she hears Dream’s voice again.

“Wife,” He calls simply and her body fills with all of the love and adoration she had been missing for decades.

Rodrick’s grip tightens at his voice, the first time he remembers hearing it. With a shocked face, he looks down at the woman in his grip. “Wife?!” He screams at her furiously.

She takes a deep breath and steels herself, ripping herself away from his bruising grip, and stands between him and her husband. The tears had dried and only anger left in its wake.

“The one before you is Daleena, Goddess of Husbandry, Mother of Agriculture and Protector of Animals, Saint of Farmers, Queen of the Dreaming, wife of Dream of the Endless. You face me now, mortal.”

Wind swirls, somehow, in the basement but it is the least of Rodrick’s worries. He plants himself firmly as the wind picks up and sand envelops the two of them in a vortex of anger.

“I have captured something more than a god! I have an Endless!” He points a finger at her, eyes scrutinizing. “What makes you think you can defeat me? The Great Magus Rodrick Burgess?”

Walking a few steps forward, her shepherd’s crook materializes in her hand, the bell jingling violently in the wind. Her extremities start to glow their familiar light as she musters power. She points the staff at Rodrick as billets of wheat start growing around his feet and crawl up his legs, the nice wool of his pants long forgotten against the harsh stalks of the plants. The plants bloom as it sucks the life away from the very thing they grew on.

Rodrick starts chanting in Greek.

“Prostasía,” He chokes out. “Prostasía.” He chants again and he breathes easier. “Prostasía.” He chants one more time and he’s back to standing at his full height. The plants that were wrapped around him wither away and fell into dust, sucked into the sand vortex around them.

The goddess frowns, she did not realize how much power she had lost until now when a simple protection chant could stave off her attacks. Rodrick lunges at her, hands open and clawed, ready to grab onto any piece of her clothing. In turn, she slams her crook into the ground and a fissure opens up, but not before he can shove her further and her body slams into the wall of the glass prison. The fissure separates the two opponents away from each other and Rodrick steps back before he falls into the Earth.

She braces herself on the glass wall at the impact and loses her breath for a moment. She could feel the warmth of her husband’s hand and she turns away from Rodrick to look at him. His hand was aligned with her own, so close, only inches apart.

“The runes, my love,” Morpheus tells her. She looks down at looks at the graphics that surround them, the sand had erased some of it through the abrasive nature of itself. The magic within the runes would still be strong if not for the defiant smudge she creates with her foot, just in time for the fissure to finish opening. With a final look at her husband, she walks closer to the fissure, pulling the sand vortex smaller so it was just her and Rodrick again.

From the fissure glows a golden light, soft and merciful but quickly overshadowed by the growing dust. The light expands as the golden serpent which holds her daughter emerges. It had grown in size since the last time she had seen it. Its length and mass have nearly tripled in size and the baby bulge it used to flaunt was now merely a small bump.

Rodrick’s stare grows higher and higher as the snake continues to emerge, it stares at the man, tongue flicking angrily at him for daring to harm the goddess. The snake lunges, all fangs and dripping venom, its large scales clattering against each other like gold coins. Rodrick moves to the side and the serpent misses. It hisses in retaliation and comes around again, this time wrapping its body around the legs of the Great Magus.

Panic sets in as the serpent starts to constrict around the man and he can feel his pulse pounding against his head and the blood circulation gets cut off. The bones in his knees pop as they press together.

“Father!” A young boy’s voice screams across the vortex and the goddess sees a glint of silver cross into the vortex arena.

The serpent is halfway up Rodrick’s body when the goddess notices the sharp dagger that Rodrick now possesses. He rises it high in the air and with a large gasp plunges it into the flesh of the serpent. The golden scales provide little to no protection against the artifact.

“No!” She screams and takes a step forward, only to be stopped by the protective tail of the serpent.

The metal hisses as it melts against the golden scales, melting the scales together until they become smooth around the wound. Rodrick slides again and again until the weapon becomes too slippery with blood and he loses grip. The snake is now a mosaic of gold and red as it tightens one last time.

“Curse… you…” Rodrick strains out, his face turning purple as the last bit of air leaves him. The serpent weakens and falls in a slump like an inanimate rope and the sand around them falls like rain.

The goddess leaps over the fissure and after making sure the man is dead runs to the head of the golden serpent. Its eyes were dim, mouth agape as its muscles weakens and she can no longer feel it breathing on her skin when she places a hand above its nostrils.

“No, no no,” She mumbles to herself. She grabs her dress up and away from her feet as she makes her way down the length of the serpent. When she reaches where she last saw the small baby bump, she runs her hand along its underside, soon becoming slick with cooling blood.

She finds a particular cut that was deeper than normal and when she sticks her hand in there, they grab around a small appendage. A cry of relief leaves her lips as she digs deeper. She pulls her baby from the dying body and cradles it to her body. Golden scale imprints are decorated across her arms and legs and a few more along the spine of her back.

Her breath hiccups as silence fills the air. She pats her daughter’s back and wipes her mouth clean and panic seeps into her bones when still she remains quiet.

Morpheus appears behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turns to him, tears streaking down her neck.

“Crying, why-why isn’t she crying?!” She wails and clutches her child harder against her chest.

Morpheus hugs her from behind and holds the two of them to his chest.

“Y/N,” He calls her name, her real name. Not her titles, or what the mortals call her, but the name given to her since her creation.

She weeps into his form, salty tears mixing with blood and the amniotic fluid that covers her child. Her tears fall into her daughter’s mouth and feed into the child her grief, regret, and guilt as well as the hope she still had in her.

A soothing hand pets her and the silence disappears. Loud wailing comes from below and her eyes shoot open. Her daughter was finally crying, her hands in fists as they move around in the air.

“Praises,” She sobs again, this time tears of joy. Her child's eyes peel open and smiles as she grabs at her mother’s hair.

Morpheus smiles, a rare one, all teeth showing as he touches his daughter’s head gently. The three, now a family, return home to the Dreaming. There will be more to do, especially for Morpheus but for now, a small victory lies within the hope that is their daughter.

Extra:

“Well I’ll be baffled, bamboozled, and befuddled,” Phanes says, hands on his hip and his staff leaning against one of the walls of the basement.

He stares at his serpent covered in dried blood and dearly departed, lying alone on the cold basement floor.

“Look at how they massacred my boy!” He screams to no one in particular, arms out in disbelief.

He lets out a huff and crosses his arms. “I’ll let you borrow my snake, blah, blah, blah, take care of it like it’s your own, meh, meh, meh,” He mocks.

Phanes runs a hand across the top of the snake’s head and watches as the dried blood rehydrates and moves thickly back into the cuts. The gnashes done by the weapon stitch itself back close and the gold scales return to their original form.

The snake shrinks smaller and smaller until it is back to its original size. At which, it perks up and flicks a tongue out in thanks to its god.

“All right, let’s go,” Phanes says with a sigh as if this was a mundane chore. He extends out a hand for the serpent to slither up to.

“I am never making a deal with those two ever again, that was crazy.” He says to his snake.

The snake flicks its tongue again and rattles the scales on its back.

“Ohh, that’s nice that she made you an enclosure.” He responds, then remains silent as the snake says something else. “What do you mean she forgot to put mice in the enclosure for you to eat?!”

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus x reader smut #the sandman #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless #dream #dream x reader #dream x reader smut #angst with a happy ending #light angst #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x wife!reader #morpheus x wife reader #dream of the endless smut #dream of the endless x reader

216 notes · View notes

fartistt · 1 day

Text

MAKE YOU MINE!

would you take someone else's hand if you had the chance?

fem reader

warning(s): fanon personality, fanon name, i'm writing this fic literally hours after the video dropped we deadass know nothing about this guy -🍝

if you enjoyed reading this fic, please consider donating to providing aid in palestine!

skelly, as much as he hates to admit it, has to come face-to-face with the fact that his little pumpkin patch has developed a bit of a trespasser issue. normally he wouldn’t mind—after all, what kind of pumpkin king would he be if he weren’t to share the spoils and wonders of his humble kingdom with the rest of his people—if it weren’t for the fact that whoever kept romping about his lovely abode wasn’t like the other pumpkin patch visitors.

see, skelly considers himself to be a gracious host. he is the pumpkin king, and the duty of any good ruler is to ensure that everyone within the gates, or in his case: sprawling fence, of his kingdom is enveloped in joy thanks to his wise governing. be they the resident mice or a lost passerby, his responsibility is to make sure they all leave with a wide grin. macabre perhaps, but his best dealings are in sparking happiness through the morbid.

but you.

each time you come to his pumpkin patch, you come ready to burst into tears. your eyes are watery and glossy, vision undoubtedly blurry as you stumble over the pumpkins through the pitch black dark of the night. the first few times you’d come to the safe haven of his pumpkin kingdom to sniffle your eyes out, he ignored it. he figured you came here after something sad to cheer yourself up and would want space more than the consolation of a pale, creepy lonesome man, but once it becomes a semi-routinely occurrence, he makes the sage decision that now your issues have fallen under his jurisdiction.

isn’t he such a benevolent ruler? he knows it’s wrong to find excitement in someone’s despair, but he can hardly remember the last time he’s had a proper, breathing human visitor. it’s like fate, like destiny itself has drawn you from whatever it is causing you this much sadness and into the soothing comfort of his soon-to-be embraces.

“don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, sweet darling. i’ll be right there,” he hums to no one in particular when the quiet sounds of your clumsy footsteps alert him to your reentrance into his pumpkin patch. he thinks that he looks rather dapper, dressed to the nines in his finest tattered suit and pulling on a matching pair of gloves decorated with bone motifs. “your dearest king is but your humble servant. soon enough, i shall turn that melancholy of yours into unabated joy for none other than me. a far better outcome than whatever is ailing you, don’t you agree?”

there’s no one to respond to him, but he still stretches his dry lips into a satisfied smile. the final touch is his trusty pair of dark sunglasses. a good king never shows his true emotions even during the simplest of diplomatic journeys. that, and he doesn’t want to scare you with his bright orange eyes from the get-go.

it doesn’t take him long to find you. you’re planted in the heart of the pumpkin patch, ensconced and hidden away in the comfort of the long shadows of the night, hunched over and wiping futilely at your eyes while big fat tears drip over your waterline. the sight of you crying makes skelly’s heart wrench inside of his chest. what in the world could possibly make such a sweet creature like you cry like this?

he clears his throat. he’s a gentleman, and he doesn’t want to scare away his lone guest. “my dear… what’s troubling you?”

his voice is soft and careful, but it still makes you gasp and jerk away reflexively. he doesn’t blame you: the last thing you’re expecting during your nightly trips to what you probably assumed was an abandoned pumpkin patch would be a tall, lanky man hovering over you while you cried. he stays in his place and holds his hands up in mock surrender as if to signal to you that he has no foul intentions.

you wipe at your eyes and peer up at him through your clumped lashes, the serene moonlight bouncing off of your wet cheeks. your voice wavers and cracks, “who… who are you?”

“oh! i’m so sorry,” he gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “where are my manners? you may call me skelly. i’m the ruler of this quaint pumpkin patch, so to say. some even call me the pumpkin king. a bit pompous, if i do say so myself. i’d say that maybe you’ve heard of me, but given how surprised you are… i’d wager that you haven’t.”

he flashes you an innocent smile. you know the smart thing would be to run and never look back, but when he squats down so that he’s eye level with you, some part of you can’t bring yourself to muster the strength to flee. you’re already this miserable, what’s the use in trying to wade off an inevitable end?

“so what brings you here? this isn’t the first time i’ve heard you sobbing your heart out. it makes me rather upset to see you this distraught. i’ll lend you an ear, so tell me your troubles.” you can make out the slight glint of his eyes past the dark lenses of his glasses. “maybe i can help you out.”

you bite the inside of your cheeks. your mind is frankly too frazzled to think things through too thoroughly, but you still know better than to spill your deepest darkest secrets to some stranger that crept up on you in the dead of the night in the middle of nowhere. but at the same time, you’re only here because you’re at your wit’s end with nobody to turn to, and a chance encounter like this with a seemingly benevolent being might be your last straw to grasp at desperately.

you suck in a nervous breath. “it’s… it’s silly, really. nothing that the- uh- pumpkin king needs to concern himself over. i’m being dramatic.”

his dry lips twist into a frown as he peers at you. “i doubt it’s anything silly if it’s enough to make you cry like this. you can tell me everything. i promise it. take a chance on me, why don’t you?”

you gaze up at him. his white skin, the strands of his snow white hair, the outline of his body, the silhouette of dark suit and all of the pale ribbons cascading from his chest all seem to glow under the illumination of the night. every part of his man, from his painted smiles to his practiced words, are too good to be true. it makes him look almost deceptively angelic, poised perfectly so that you have no choice but to hand over yourself to him. you should know better than to gamble on something that’s not guaranteed, but you’ve chosen security before only to be stabbed in the back mercilessly.

you swallow back whatever fear bubbles up from the depths of your heart.

“um… i go to a school nearby. night raven college. it’s an all boys school. maybe you’ve heard of it,” the words tumble from your lips clumsily. your heart thunders inside of your chest. “i’m from… somewhere really far away. i can guarantee you haven’t heard of it. no one ever has. the headmaster promised me that he’d help me go home in time, but it’s been so long without any progress. i’m starting to think i’ll never go home.”

you sniffle and hang your head, wanting to bury your face back in your arms. you mumble under your breath, “and… i don’t want to speak badly of anyone… but i’m sick of the students at the school too. they’re all mean and selfish, and i’m just tired. i’m tired, skelly.”

something in his unmoving dead heart stirs slightly when you sigh out his name. he reaches over and places a soothing hand on your shoulder, and a shudder creeps down your spine when you feel just how cold his body is even through the layers of his gloves. it’s like ice against your skin, the grips of frost tracing your body.

“homesickness, is it? i don’t think your sadness is silly at all. it must have hurt you so badly to have to endure everything in such an unwelcoming place. poor thing,” he coos. “no wonder you come here so often. you must have suffered so much if you preferred being alone like this over spending another night in that awful school… if only i knew sooner! i would have done so much more to make you feel welcome.”

you shake your head. “it’s not your fault. i was the one who was too trusting from the beginning. i… i should have never taken the headmaster’s hand through the mirror.”

you feel pitiful under his gaze, but at the same time, you can’t help but feel a knot deep inside of you loosen slightly at his honeyed words. it’s childish, to want to be pitied and cared for, but simultaneously, this was the bare minimum of everything you wanted. all you had asked was for a place to make your own while you waited for a way to return home, and even that much was too much to ask for from the incompetent schoolmaster and his equally intolerable students.

skelly smoothes down the fabric of your clothes on your shoulder, each stroke of his long fingers like the unforgiving touch of winter. it’s like he’s trying to comfort you, but you fight off the urge to shiver under his hand.

“say…,” he starts after a pause of silence, “i know a pumpkin patch is a far cry from the amenities of a school, but if you don’t want to go back… you don’t have to. i know it’s sudden, and you surely don’t have to give me an answer right away if you don’t want to. but what if you were to stay here with me?”

you freeze. you blink slowly, twisting your head so that you’re looking at skelly again. he offers you a placid grin, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

“stay here…?” you mumble. “with you?”

“precisely, my dear. i’ve been growing quite lonely all by myself too. i think we have a perfect deal! a pumpkin queen to a pumpkin king,” his words take on a more lively note. your stomach churns, and skelly claps his hands together. “i would never mistreat you the way those silly boys do. i’m a gentleman, first and foremost. i’ll make you feel at home right away. you won’t even have the time to miss that school and all of the misery it's put you through.”

temptation. you wish you were smarter. more resilient. more grounded to know better than to be swayed by the offer of a total stranger. but you’re at your rope’s end, and anything sounds better than the gilded cage that night raven college has become to you. would it be so bad to take a chance elsewhere? to follow a man who solemnly swears that you can put all of your suffering behind you if you only have the faith to look towards him without any regrets or doubts?

as if he can read your mind, skelly stands up and turns back towards you. he crouches down slightly, dipping forward into a subtle bow, and he holds out a gloved hand towards you.

this scene is all too familiar to you. it harkens you back to the first night you landed in this universe, everything warped and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. the all knowing moon, the darkness threatening to swallow you whole, a dark robed stranger with promises of salvation dripping from their lips, and a chance to take back some semblance of control of your life that’s jumped from your reach. instead of a mirror, your reflection stares back at you with a lifelessness from the wide glass lenses hiding skelly’s eyes.

it’s like you never learn, and a sense of foreboding washes over you as the pumpkin king’s disarming smile widens.

a hand extended to you. a hand taken.

this time around, you hope you’ve chosen correctly.

if you enjoyed reading this fic, please consider donating to providing aid in palestine!

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst jack skellington #x reader #🍝

89 notes · View notes

bigfan-fanfic · 3 days

Text

I'd Hammer in the Morning (Male!Reader x Thor)

Part One

"What do you mean, you're quitting?" Tony practically shouts.

"Hey, hey, I didn't say the Q-word."

"But you are."

"I... I'm going to be moving to Asgard, Tony. I can't be your personal assistant from a realm away."

Tony fidgets, swinging an arm in your direction. "A 'realm away?' Look how they've got you talking - you can say 'realm' with a straight face!"

"Please don't make this difficult." you try to get that stern but kind note in your voice that Frigga gets when managing Odin or Thor, but you don't quite get there.

"Fine, I won't. Recharge, I don't accept your resignation."

"Pretty sure it doesn't work that way."

"Don't care." Tony quips petulantly. When Pepper walks in, he immediately bursts out. "Recharge is quitting!"

Pepper smiles at you. "Yes, he is, and we're so excited for you. Congratulations, Y/N."

Tony's jaw drops.

"I know it's short notice, but Tony's going to host your goodbye party before you leave, if that's alright."

"I am?"

She silences him with a look. Oh, there it is.

"Fine, fine..."

And with that, after an all-too-wild party that Pepper does her best to manage, you're ready to leave Midgard as your primary residence.

Thor meets you atop the Avengers Tower, the burning runic circle etched into the helipad, little drones already trying to clear up the ash and cinders.

You run to his arms, excited to see him.

"Did you truly think I would not wish to witness every moment of your arrival to my home? Our home, now." Thor chuckles.

"No, I actually thought I was going to awkwardly have to call Heimdall."

You notice a few other Asgardians are here, glancing around interestedly. "Father is eager for your arrival. He assumed you'd have more... luggage. Insisted I bring porters."

You don't really have much more than a couple large suitcases and a few boxes to contain everything you own. Tony had insisted on digitizing all of your books and movies and games and ensuring you'd have communication and internet even on Asgard with a tiny prism he assured you had a copy of JARVIS on it for your use.

It's his way of showing he cares, because he can't go more than two sentences without snarking, by law, apparently.

"Wait... your father is eager for my arrival? I... I kinda thought Lord Odin wasn't too fond of Midgardians."

"No, he's not disdainful, simply... he worries about me. Our... lifespans."

You balk instinctively, the notion that Thor may long outlive you a little depressing. "Oh."

"But he seems to be much more open. So either he has a plan, or you have simply won him over as a mortal that can wield Mjolnir and learn my mother's seidr."

You do recall Odin becoming more warm to your presence, especially once you got over the hump of learning magic and started to transcend your electrokinesis. Frigga, of course, loves you. "A plan? To, like... deal with my lifespan?"

"Perhaps. Mother mentioned something about a coronation gift."

"Wow, all of this for your boyfriend? They're that eager to have me?"

"All of Asgard is eager. To be completely honest..." Thor chuckles, almost nervously. "I believe they expect a proposal soon."

"Oh." You chuckle a little, almost nervous as well. "And should they?"

"My prince... my king... you know this has been the greatest year of my life. I am more than eager to share all my days with you."

"Thor... I love you too."

"Then perhaps a proposal is not far off at all." He smirks. "Now, are you certain this is all your luggage?"

"Yes. Underwhelming, I know."

"Not at all. It simply means you will have plenty of room for the gifts I will shower you with."

You giggle. And then it hits you that you are truly leaving Earth. You frown softly, looking around as nostalgia crashes over you in waves.

"What ails you, my love?"

"Just... it's suddenly very hard to leave."

Thor takes you in his arms and kisses you. "I swear that as long as the Bifrost stands, I shall take you to Midgard whenever you wish."

You kiss him back. "You're sweet. But... it's just the change. It's always a big moment. But I'm not leaving home, not really. I'm coming home. To you. To Odin and Frigga. Even to Loki."

Thor grins. "Truly, you think of my misguided brother as your family?"

You nod. "Frigga and I have been taking lessons outside his cell lately as part of his rehabilitation."

His eyes shine with something surpassing gratitude and admiration.

"My king... allow me the honor of bringing you home."

And in a flash of rainbow and lightning, he does.

#thor x male reader #thor headcanons #thor x reader #marvel headcanons #headcanons

57 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

Text

The Sticking Point 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: Work is starting to get pretty busy again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You are left undisturbed for near a day after the news arrives. You should be grateful for the reprieve but you cannot find respite among your unease.

Edith is gone, your world is splintered, yet this marriage must proceed. Not for your own sake, but for your family's. You expect your father wouldn't be content to have you return to his household. The only benefit to your sister's tragedy is that he was able to rid himself of you.

Doreen informs you that you are to ready for another lunch. You choose a gown of faded peach and a bonnet with a narrow rim and white ribbon. She helps you dress before leaving to look in on your mother.

You look in the mirror and wonder if maybe you were prettier your voice wouldn't matter so much. You pin the brooch with the blue bird just below your neckline. You pretend Edith is there with you, talking you through this. I believe in you, sissy, remember when you stole my cap back from that angry hog?

You wait to be called. You hate to presume or wait around where others might be disturbed by your presence. It isn't Doreen who comes but another servant, a broad steely-haired woman. She bids you out and you follow meekly, gaze straying to the golden frames and painted canvas.

The meal is hosted in the dining hall. A long ebony table with matching chairs. Each seat is upholstered with emerald velvet and capped with curlicued posts. You are shown to yours by Parson to the one reserved for you.

Your mother sits with her tears hidden behind her fan, not so much as looking in your direction. Doreen stands at her shoulder and offers a handkerchief. You can only hear the reprimand she would issue should you be blubbering so.

You rise as the duke enters, but not alone. Your mother leans heavily on the way, gathering herself with several flaps of her fan. She snaps it shut and tucks it away as she raises her chin, shooing away Doreen.

“Lady Thea,” Laufeyson begins before addressing you, “my parents, the Grand Duke Odin and the Grand Duchess, Frigga.”

He steps aside as an older couple stand regally in the archway. The man is burly but stout, with dark grey hair streaked with white. His jaw is set squarely and there is a familiar blue tint to his eyes. The woman is tall and blond and fair, her figure untouched by her age and her hair so golden that the grey strands only seem to make her shine.

You recognise them. The portraits in the main hall. Even with some decades since the artist’s work, they are beyond compare to their pigmented likenesses. They are as elegant and resplendent as their son. It sinks a rotten pit in your chest. Perhaps, they might not want you either.

“We’re acquainted, Thea and I,” Frigga declares, “I believe your father might recall her.”

“Yes, Lady Thea,” he bows, “I know your husband better, I’m afraid.”

The duke has a pinched look to his lip as he listens with his chin high. He moves stiffly, gesturing to the table, “mm, yes, let us be seated–”

“Loki,” Frigga says as she slowly wades forward, her skirts rippling like water, “what about your brother? He received an invitation, didn’t he?”

“Mother, certainly he did, but he is ever… unpredictable,” Loki offers. It is jarring to think of him as anything but the duke. To think he is anything but the master of Jade Park.

“Lady Jane is with child,” Frigga counters, “it might take them some time.”

“Lady Frigga, Lord Odin,” your mother begins, “I cannot remark upon your son’s hospitality enough. He’s been a wonderful host, especially…” she pauses and turns her head, touching her cheek with a gloved hand.

“Oh, we were distraught to hear of Lady Edith. Such a tragedy. So young and beautiful.”

You stare at the wall. You try not to think of the statement laced between her words. You are young too but not so beautiful.

“And your younger daughter is endearing, that is a rather charming brooch,” she turns her green irises on you.

“Thank you, Lady Fwigga,” you hold your head high as you cling to a thread of dignity.

Her cheeks bulb and there is a slight tremor in her chin before she can answer, “oh, that is a peculiar accent, dear.”

You don’t know if you should thank her. You can’t tell if she holds any derision but you’d prefer she not mention it. It’s obvious, it needn’t be emphasized.

Your eyes skitter over to Odin who watches you with quiet consideration. He does not hold the same disapproval as your father but you can’t read much in his face.

“She is all I have left,” your mother bemoans, “two daughters. That’s all I got. How I wanted to give my husband his heir but… it was not to be and now…”

“Oh, Thea,” Frigga drawls, “if you are to fraught to remain–”

“No, no,” your mother expands her fan and pushes air into her face, dabbing her tears with her knuckle, “no, I’m so happy for our families to come together.”

“As are we. It is only sensible–”

She is interrupted by some furor at the other end of the house. A smile curls her lips as a booming voice fills the corridor like thunder. As your eyes drift towards the doorway, they meet Loki’s. He looks at you with a furrow between his brows before he shifts his gaze towards the clamour.

The men rise first. You get to your feet as Parson rushes in to announce the new arrival. As he introduces Lord Thor and Lady Jane, he is almost breathless. The couple appears behind him, the towering duke clapping the groom’s shoulder so he staggers. The duchess gives a pretty smile to the grand duchess as her hand rests on her rounding stomach.

“Oh, Jane,” Frigga sweeps across the chamber to embrace her daughter-in-law without pretense, “you are immaculate,” she pulls back and cradles her cheeks, “you look well.”

“Do I? I’ve been struck sick for days.”

“But it shall pass,” Frigga avows and beckons the duchess with her to the table, “Lady Jane, my first son’s wife.”

You bow your head and your mother does the same, taking the lead as you remain silent, “Lady Jane, a delight to… meet you. Oh, my apologies,” your mother fans herself more rapidly, “your eyes, they have the same shape as my dear Edith’s.”

“Edith?” Jane utters and looks at Frigga. The grand duchess leans over to whisper gently. “Oh, my condolences, Lady Thea, oh and such timing as this?” She turns to you, “a betrothal is supposed to be a joyous affair, I cannot bear to think how you are doing.”

You don’t know what to say, as often you find yourself lacking. Your lips tremble but you do your best to keep your composure.

“I will miss my sista vewy much,” you try to speak slow and clear, but it just sounds clumsy, “I didn’t know…” you see the flicker in her eyes, the dimple in her cheek, the judgment casting a shadow over her, “I didn’t know you and yaw husband would attend.”

Jane’s lips part and her brows rise as she looks at her mother-in-law. Frigga tries not to acknowledge the almost taunting expression. You can’t. You feel it throttling you. Just be quiet.

“How fetching,” Thor intones, surprising you as he comes to stand behind his mother and wife, chewing a biscuit he snatched from the tray.

“Fetching?” Jane scoffs.

“The way she speaks, yes? I think it is… interesting.”

“That hardly matters,” Frigga insists, “it is what one says, not how they say it.”

You clamp your lips together. You want to crumple to the floor and sob. You don’t want to be stood here like some jester to entertain these people. You want to go home and see your sister’s casket. You want to be near her, even if she’s not really there.

Again, you find Loki’s distasteful glare. His throat bobs and his lips thin even further.

“Yes, yes, let us sit and eat. My staff has worked the morning to prepare us a fine lunch,” he chides, “I’d hate to see it wasted.”

🔹

You stare at your untouched plate of cold meats and cheese. You’re not very hungry. Perhaps it is grief, or more likely it is shame. You want to shrink down to a morsel of dust and disappear.

There is an odd sort of skill acquired by those who are quiet. Observation. The ability to see so much, to take in every gesture, every twitch, every look with meaning. And you do not miss those errant gazes in your direction. Some with anticipation, others with dread, each waiting for you to say another twisted syllable.

Your mother fills the silence you refuse to break. She regales the table with the story of how she met your father on the promenade, how he trod on her skirts, and she hit him with her reticule. A tale you’ve heard anon.

She hiccups suddenly and cups her hand over her mouth. You turn to look at her as her wrinkles deepen and her gulps become sobs. She shakes her hand and waves her other. Doreen appears at her shoulder.

“My lady,” the servant says.

“Oh, Lady Thea,” Frigga dismisses the maid with a subtle flick of her fingers, “let us get you some air. It is such a lovely day, and I believe we do have some matters to attend to.” She helps your mother to her feet, hanging on to her elbow, “Lord Odin, you will accompany, in case she faints.”

Odin grunts. He hasn’t said much of anything. He seems more enamoured of this plate. As he stands, he stuffs a roll of sliced ham into his mouth. Chairs scrape as you stand to see them off. Doreen follows the older trio through the archway as they set off.

You resume your seat and watch the tablecloth. Your mother was of little assistance while present but without her, you are defenseless. Loki sips from his tea as Jane spears a slice of pear with her fork and Thor cracks a hard-boiled egg in his hand.

“So, I’ve not seen you before. You haven’t debuted?” Jane asks.

Your eyes flit up to hers. You almost don’t believe she’s talking to her. You’d been praying they’d forget you were there.

“My sista was ill and she is older so I was waiting until she went fast.”

“Fast? Went fast?” Jane repeats as she pretends to think, “went fast where?”

Loki sighs and sets his cup on the saucer with a harsh clink, “first. She meant first.”

“Oh, my, apologies, I’m afraid I have a bit of trouble understanding you. I don’t think I’ve heard any sort of affectation,” he smiles falls to something more sinister, “it is rather… garish.”

“Jane,” Thor says through a mouthful of egg, stopping himself to swallow, “she speaks clearly enough.”

“I’ve heard of physicians who can tend to that. They can teach you how to pronounce your words properly. Through repetition.” She enunciates each word, making sure to move her lips deliberately.

You fight a grimace. You swallow and look at your plate. It isn't the first time someone's made those comments, she will doubtful be the last. Just like those boys who used to call you 'widiculous' or 'wavishing'.

“Please, this doesn’t need to be a whole point of conversation,” Loki reproaches.

“I am only offering advice.”

“You are the one who spoke to her. None of us wanted to hear her.”

“Loki,” Thor says appalled, “she is to be your wife.”

“I was supposed to marry her sister. The normal one. The dead one.”

You flinch and let your shoulders slump. You bring your hands up and cover the brooch on your dress, as if holding Edith tight. Your lip pokes out as you fight a tide of grief that threatens to erupt.

“Aw, look, she is going to cry,” Jane taunts.

“Jane,” Thor’s voice hardens, “no more.”

Jane snaps her lips shut and rolls her beautiful hazel eyes. She pops the slice of sugared pear into her mouth behind her cruel smirk. Loki sneers at his fork as he twirls it in his hand. Thor gives you a glum look but it lands like a slap. He cannot relate to you, he can only pity you, and that is worse than contempt.

“If you are cuwious, Lady Jane, I have been to many physicians. They cannot help me,” you shrug, “just like they could not help my sista.”

Thor clucks and lets out a breath through his nostrils. Jane doesn’t falter, smiling as she chews, and Loki pushes himself to his feet. His chair threatens to topple as he swivels on his heel.

“I would see to our parents, make certain they are well and that this… contract is still in effect,” he takes rigid steps along the table, “I should hate to squander any more time in uncertainty.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #the sticking point #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor #jane foster #frigga #odin

203 notes · View notes