#bodes well for both of them really

[bluespring864]

Grigor Dimitrov defeats Holger Rune 7-6 (5), 6-4 to win the Brisbane International 2024

[myreia]

— iv. broken | trust

Trust. It isn’t easily given, nor is it easily accepted. He was the first person she trusted in Eorzea. She doesn’t know how or why, but she did. She took that risk. In the years that followed, there was a time when their friendship had disintegrated to such a degree that it was a stab to the gut, and all they knew was how to twist the knife deeper. Even then—even through that—she trusted him. Trusted him when they were both broken and stupid and fuelled by spite and hate and grief. The faith she has in him is a different kind now. Stronger, implicit, as natural as drawing breath. When they are in the thick of it, he is her guardian and she his shield. She trusts him. Even when he is being impetuous and stubborn and a fool. Even when he has no regard for his own well-being. When sacrifice is a word that comes terrifyingly easily to his mind.   She knows he will do the right thing. And she will be there, to pick him up when he is broken, just as he has done for her. Come what may, she will be there.

[kennyomegasweave]

So Keen def recorded him and Captain in the locker room right? It wasn't Puen because he's basically the only good and non sketch guy in this show.

Captain records Keen, Keen gets expelled.

Keen, most likely, recorded Captain to get him expelled.

Captain gives up Puen to save his own ass.

A mess.

Puen really should just go somewhere else and leave all these bitches alone. Cause not a damn one of them is worth being around him. Including Aob, sorry boo.

[byanyan]

ㅤhave some fledgling verse info that i've been meaning to get into forever but am somehow only getting to now!! i've (finally) done some further reading on vtm lore, looked into merits and flaws, and played around a bit with character sheets, so i feel more confident in getting into how being thin-blooded affects byan and how the curse differs for them compared to a fully-fledged vampire. ...even though i'm still playing fast and loose with the rules and maintaining some creative freedom with it since i'm not creating them for the purpose of running a campaign, and given the fact that being thin-blooded affects everyone differently.

they have about the same resilience to damage as a fully-fledged vampire, but heal more slowly

they are also as prone to frenzy as your average kindred is, if not slightly more so given their temperamental disposition and less than stable mental health

they are slightly more resilient in regard to sunlight, but not nearly enough so to risk actually stepping out into it. they are, however, able to stay awake after the sun rises and even retain a lot of the difficulties in sleeping which they had in life

their heart hasn't ceased beating entirely, but it beats very slowly and weakly. it's actually more unnerving to them when everything is quiet and it's the only thing they can hear than if it didn't beat at all, they think. something about it just feels wrong

they can eat food, but it's incredibly difficult and takes a lot of effort. too much effort to be worth the little sustenance it provides in most cases, outside of maybe some very specific and unlikely emergency situations

similarly, they can indulge in alcohol and drugs, but the effect is weak and requires amounts that would be dangerous to a human for them to actually feel drunk or high. as with food, it requires a lot of effort to keep their body from rejecting it

they can get sick. not easily, but it can happen, and medicine doesn't do a damn thing

they look a little more alive than a fully-fledged vampire, but they're still a bit paler, a bit thinner, and overall look a bit more sickly than they ever did in life

when feeding, they aren't able to lick the wound fully closed. they've tried. they've spent a couple minutes trying before, to no avail

they aren't completely incapable of forming blood bonds and embracing new thin-bloods, but it's very hit or miss — sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. not that they've ever actually tested it because they do fully believe that they're incapable

they aren't able to create ghouls, however

they are faster, stronger, and have better reflexes than a human, but not nearly to the same extent as a full vampire. they got a buff, just not a very strong one

this is less relevant to how the curse affects them, but it's a note i want to make all the same: they're still trying to get a grasp on blood resonances and how to use the disciplines they can temporarily gain from different types. they're also actively seeking a way to learn thin-blood alchemy and/or someone to teach them, but have been unsuccessful thus far

[sayheykid]

i love zegras as much as the next guy but i truly think that mason mctavish is the most interesting young talent on the ducks right now. mark my words, within the next five years we will see him get an A, and he will become captain within his career

[tonycries]

Three's a Crowd (But Four...) - G.S.

Synopsis. “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?” “Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” In which you and your boyfriend find very unconventional uses for his powers.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, foursome (but they’re all Satoru + you LMFAO), NSFW, unprotected sex, double penetration, spit-roasting, face-sitting, doggy, missionary, anal, pet names (sweetheart, pretty, babe), oral sex (male + female receiving), overstimulation (female), swearing, slight breeding kink, cum (like lots).

Word count. 3.0k 

A/N. A lil' sum while I get on with a 10k arranged marriage fic. H O R N Y >>> actual JJK technicalities. 

Jokes, but idc what that technique was, I took that one chapter and ran with it. Art by @_3aem on X.

Cross-posted on AO3

“They just nerfed Naruto in Boruto cuz they knew he’d be too DILF-y.”

“Amen.” 

Sprawled out on Satoru’s couch, both of you were fixated on the Naruto episode playing on-screen. It wasn’t anything new for a Friday night. His soft hairs tickling your chin, and legs dangling off the other end of the couch as he lay atop, cuddling you like a 6’3 housecat. 

Times like this, it’s easy to forget that your boyfriend constantly bears the burden of being “the strongest”. That is- until Satoru, eyes still locked onto the screen, speaks up “I can do that too, y’know.”

You turn to look at Satoru, “Do what?”

He nods his head towards the screen - now showing young Naruto mastering his iconic technique. “You could call it Shadow Clone Jutsu.” he hums.

Raising a brow, “So you could make tens of thousands of Satoru clones? The world may never know rest.”

Eyes brimming with smugness, he grins “Something like that.”

You cock your head, wanting to know more, “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?”

“Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” he wiggles his brows in a way that would definitely be creepy if it was anyone but Satoru.

“You wish.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, before going back to using your breasts as his personal cushions. “Not quite clones or holograms, they’re still me. But also not really, y’know?” he murmurs.

“Ahh. No.”

The conversation dwindles into a comfortable silence.

Or so you’d think. But the air was charged with something, and - knowing Satoru - you had an inkling it didn’t bode well for you down there.

As quickly as you suspected, he turns the TV off and turns to you with twinkling eyes.

“Toru...” you reproach.

He whines dramatically, “Come onnnn. Don’t they say the best way to learn is hands-on experience?”

“You just have ulterior motives, Toru.” 

“Hell yeah, I do.” he mutters into the valley of your breasts. Satoru peeks at you through his thick lashes, eyes bright with mischief. 

How could you say no to those eyes? And, well, you’d be lying if you said that the idea of multiple Satorus didn’t make your pussy clench in excitement.

That’s how you found yourself here.

Shirts thrown across the room and splayed out on Satoru’s overpriced silk bed sheets. You gasp in pleasure as he leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, he rocks into you, pushing you deeper into the plush bed. Your pussy drips with anticipation as you feel the outline of his rock-hard cock straining against his sweatpants.

Hooking two fingers under your waistband, he swiftly pulls off your panties along with your shorts. “Already so wet and ready f’me…” he groans out. Quickly shuffling your bodies around, “C’mon sweetheart.” 

Now, Satoru knows he has a pretty face - too well, in fact, he uses it to his advantage to get his way with you too much. And he thinks there’s nothing that makes his face prettier than you on it.

It’s why he has you bent over and straddling his head. The tighter you squeeze him, the better.

One arm holds you in place while the other spreads your folds. Satoru teases your entrance with a finger, gathering your wetness before popping it into his mouth. He groans sinfully as he tastes you. “Fuck- always so good for me.”

You slowly put your weight onto him, failing against the strong arm that pulls you to sit on him properly. 

Satoru moans around your cunt as he finally dives nose-deep into it. Languidly, he licks long stripes against your folds, purposefully catching your clit in the process. “Hah- Fuck. Toru, more!”

Satisfied with your whines, he finally slides his tongue inside your dripping pussy, fucking you with his mouth till his cock twitches for friction.

You notice, and urgently shuffle his sweatpants down. Satoru’s cock stands achingly hard, precum dripping enticingly along the vein on the side of it. You lean down to kiss the shaft, delighting in his noises that send vibrations down to your clit. 

As you take his blushing red head into your mouth, Satoru increases his abuse on your cunt.

You arch your back further into his face - moaning around his thick cock. He starts fucking into your mouth steadily, forcing you to take more and more of his length. Drool drips down the corners of your mouth, “Mmm Toru- Feels so good.”

If one Satoru makes you feel this good…what would two feel like?

As if reading your mind - you wouldn’t be surprised if he actually could - Satoru pulls away slightly, ropes of spit still connecting him to you.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he murmurs lowly, hot breath making your cunt quiver.

And before you can respond, the hairs on your body raise as the air stills with the crackle of jujutsu. You remove yourself from Satoru’s cock with a wet pop! Looking up to see…those cerulean eyes. 

Another set.

“Toru…” you drone out, turning behind to glare at Satoru - who was now placing innocent kisses to your dripping pussy. His eyes peek out with visible amusement, “Jus’ say the word and I’ll stop.”

Satoru knew he had you cornered. He’d fully felt the way your walls clenched around his tongue once you saw the other version of him. This was going to be fun.

Harshly rolling his tongue against your clit, he lightly smacks your ass - signaling you to pay attention to the other Satoru in front of you now. 

So you do.

It was quite surreal seeing an exact copy of your boyfriend grinning down devilishly at you. He cups the back of your head, bringing you closer to him. “Don’t be scared, pretty. It’s jus’ me.” 

At first, you were unsure of what to do, the only thing you know being that - clone or not - this one was just as well-endowed as your boyfriend.

Experimentally, you press soft kisses to his hot tip, relishing in his drawn-out groan. You take him in deeper, tonguing the slit in the way you knew your boyfriend liked. “Yeah- Jus’ like that.”

He tightens his grip on your head. Pumping your Satoru with one hand, you use the other to steady yourself as your mouth gets used as the other’s own personal fucktoy. 

Shit. This was heaven.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you pull away, “Hngh- Toru, feels so fucking good.” Mewling at the stimulation on your cunt as well as the depravity of the act, you grind your hips deeper into Satoru’s mouth - searching for your high. 

Soon, you feel that familiar snap in your stomach. Satoru uses his fingers to spread your lips as you cum all over his tongue. He laps up your juices with lewd squelching sounds as his clone fucks your face deeper. Nose meeting his snowy white pubes and balls hitting your chin, you choke from both the position and Satoru’s relentless tongue. 

“Yeah, cum all over my tongue, sweetheart.”

You ride out your high on Satoru’s pretty face, slick spreading all over his mouth and nose. With a final kiss to your cunt, he shifts your legs and moves to tower over from behind. 

Removing yourself from the other’s cock, you look over your shoulder to see your boyfriend sensually pumping himself, readying to enter your eager pussy.

“Hey now, eyes on me, pretty.” A long finger moves your chin so that you face the Satoru in front of you. Seems that no matter what, every Satoru was a little possessive over you.

He rubs his dripping tip on your face, smearing his precum as a gloss before fucking into your mouth once more. 

Almost at the same time, Satoru fully rams his cock inside your pussy without any warning, tip kissing your cervix.

 “Shit. Always taking me in so good, sweetheart.” he huffs out as your walls flutter around his length.

You groan loudly around the cock in your mouth, partly from the pain of being unprepared and partly from the pleasure of getting what you wanted the most - both ends filled by your loving boyfriend.

Your eyes were dazed as you stare doe-eyed up at the Satoru that was plunging into your mouth mercilessly - the other fucking your hole at a similar pace. Strangled yelps leave your mouth as his balls sinfully slap against your clit. 

The room fills with loud, wet noises, and the slapping of skin. Both Satorus hunch over you in pleasure, muscles rippling. Your cunt quivers in an almost-animalistic way at the small grunts falling from their pretty lips.

You whine as he finds that one spot inside you which makes you see stars every time his hips meet yours. One hand - you were too far gone to recognize whose - reaches under you to draw harsh circles on your clit.

Tears spring to your eyes at the sheer overstimulation, and you rock your hips to meet his powerful cadence. One of your hands reaches for the other’s hip for stability, nose meeting his pelvis nails dragging along the soft skin. He grips your hair tighter, lips bitten and swollen at the stimulation.

From the way your pussy was clenching, you knew it wouldn’t be long before you were cumming again.

Now, throughout his life, Satoru has been called crazy many times. Crazy powerful, crazy handsome (in front of the mirror), and just downright mad. But it’s right about now - watching as you choke and cry around his own dick as he plows into you from behind - that he truly thinks he just might actually be a little crazy.

Slowing to shallow rocks, he focuses on his technique. 

Satoru basks in amusement when your whines of disappointment at his slowing pace die down as you register the tugging and sucking on your nipples from below.

You gasp as you break away from the Satoru in front of you and look down, breath catching in your chest as you realize that your boyfriend has conjured up another clone of himself. 

He was going to be the death of you.

“Pay attention, sweetheart.” you hear from behind you as Satoru starts up his relentless rhythm once more, hand now moving to squeeze and spread your ass. 

You knew where this was going, and you didn’t mind it one bit.

The stretch of your cunt as it adapted to Satoru’s length burned almost as much as your nipples as his clone continued to bite and tease them. “Feels good, babe?” he sighs around your breasts. Yet your whines of pleasure are quickly muffled by the flushed tip kissing your lips once more. 

“Hope you didn’t forget about me, pretty.” 

“More- Hngh, Toru!” you whine, not sure which Satoru you were addressing anymore . All three of them speed up their motions, the pleasure from all points pushing you over the edge.

You as you cum fast and hard. 

But your Satoru(s) don’t let you have a moment’s rest as your orgasm is quickly overshadowed by your boyfriend’s hands on your ass. Teasingly drawing circles around the rim. You shiver, hole quivering at the cold feeling of his saliva hitting you. 

His cock still ramming into your abused cunt, Satoru enters a finger into your ass. Using his spit and your slick from before to stretch you out till he’s satisfied. “Fuck- Taking me so good, sweetheart.” he moans out at the sight of you being stretched out from all ends by him and only him.

You continue mewling as the pleasure overtakes you. He was going to ruin you.

Half-delirious from all the stimulation, you barely hear the lowly “Ready, babe?” from below you before Satoru pulls out and suddenly you’re flipped. Easily manhandled by your boyfriend, your head lolls against his replica’s strong shoulder as you’re caressed from three sides once more.

“Feeling alright, sweetheart?” your boyfriend rasps from above. Now hot and bothered once more from how your loving boyfriend was using you like a ragdoll, you gasp out “Yeah, Toru. Need you so bad.”

“Oh yeah?” he grins, lining himself up with your pulsing pussy. “Tell me how badly you want me in all your tight lil’ holes.”

You choke out a sob at the way your Satoru was teasing your folds with his thick cock. “So bad- Need you so bad Toru. Want you to fill me up everywhere.” 

Arching your back, you grind your ass against the furiously hard cock prodding at your asshole. Hearing choked gasps from below you, your pussy clenches in anticipation around nothing. To Satoru, your arousal is almost palpable - as strong as the cursed technique in the air surrounding you two.

And that seems to be what finally makes Satoru snap before he sheathes himself entirely in your dripping cunt. Your strangled moans are cut off by the other Satoru slowly bullying himself into your other hole.

“Ah- Ah!” you yelp in both pain and pleasure as you’re stretched to your limits. You feel full. So full. You were going to snap - like a rubber band - and your boyfriend was going to be reveling in his success. The man in question furrows his brows, groaning at the sweet feeling of his pretty lil’ girlfriend being so tight.

A single tear streaming down your face is gently brushed away as a pair of muscular thighs come to rest beside your face. “Shhh, pretty. You can take it.”  

Both of them start moving carefully.

Satoru would never admit it, but feeling his own dick stretch you out twofold has been a little fantasy tucked in a deep, dark corner of his mind ever since he realized the nefarious purposes his technique could be used for.

He could feel his other version pumping into you from behind as he ruts into your cunt mindlessly. The friction mixed with the gummy wetness of your pussy was mind-blowing - fuck, he really should have watched Naruto with you sooner.

Satoru gazes at you through half-lidded eyes as you press kittenish pecks to his clone’s cock above you. You stare right into your boyfriend’s eyes as you take the length into your mouth once more, inch by inch. Nose meeting his pelvis.

Shit. Satoru feels like he could pass out - whether from seeing the sinful image of all your holes filled by him or from the excessive use of his cursed technique, he doesn’t question. Your walls flutter, struggling to take him both.

Fuck, he really feels like he’s gonna explode.

Satoru pulls out fully before harshly thrusting into you once more, keeping up a pace that has his abs burning and you struggling for air. He sees another tear fall delicately down your cheek.

“My girl takes me so well, huh? Fuck. Made jus’ for me, sweetheart.”

The air was stagnant with the smell of sex and jujutsu. 

All three Satorus thrust into you fiercely, the bed creaking furiously. Satoru has half a mind to worry about whether it would break down in the middle of all this. How inconvenient that would be, he’s so close. 

It was animalistic, the way you could just sit there and take it as your boyfriend used you in all sorts of ways you never deemed possible. 

You’re pretty sure your body is completely bruised and raw at this point. Eyes fluttering shut, tears cling to your lashes as you’re filled up. Your brain, as well as your holes, were overwhelmed with only Satoru Satoru Satoru. If your mouth wasn’t suckling on his length, you’re sure you’d be screaming loud enough for Satoru’s neighbor’s to file a noise complaint.

Good. So good.

Feeling that sharp tug on your stomach again, your legs flail as you steadily reach your climax. Held down by three sets of large hands - all caressing you relentlessly in various ways - you finally cum with an exhausted whimper.

Brain foggy and eyes unfocused, you barely feel the twitch of Satoru’s cock. 

With a throaty moan, all three versions of your boyfriend cum - not one pulling out. Your senses are overtaken as Satoru doesn’t relent his pace, fucking his cum deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

Ah- He felt he was gonna fuck another Gojo into you. Carry on his legacy. Shut those old cows up about a Gojo heir.

You’d look so round and beautiful with his kids. 

“Only I get to cum in this pussy.” he drawls out as he keeps rutting his sensitive cock into you. Low whines get stuck in his throat as he loses himself in the feeling of your tight walls coated in his semen. His other versions were also at their limit, shooting out thick streams of cum to paint your face and ass. 

You were so beautiful like this. Fucked out and covered in his seed. 

His and only his.

As you slowly come to your senses, the first thing you feel is wet. Not from your own slick, but from Satoru’s thick cum - it was everywhere, decorating your lips, your tits, all the way down to your holes below. 

The second thing you feel is raw. You weren’t too sure anymore that you’d be able to make it to that family dinner tomorrow, Satoru had absolutely gone all out tonight. 

Laying there, willing yourself to move, you flinch as something soft and wet touches your legs. “Shhh…easy there, sweetheart. Get some rest, I’ll take care of it.” you hear the soothing whisper of your one and only boyfriend. 

You muster up the strength to look up and see his gentle smile. “Rest.” he breathes out as he continues to wipe you down. In the back of your mind you register the distinct lack of the other presences of your boyfriend.

“T-Toru...” you were too fucked up to formulate proper sentences.

“Shhh it’s okay.”

At his tender whispers, you easily drift into a fatigued sleep. You dream of shadow clones and blue, blue skies. 

Waking up after your brief nap, you find yourself dressed and cuddled by Satoru on a fresh set of sheets. “You okay?” he mutters in-between innocent pecks to your bruised lips.

At your affirmative nod, he probes further “Learn anything about my technique?”

“Absolutely not.” you sigh, pulling him in closer. As you snuggle into the crook of his neck, you almost miss the devious grin spreading across his face.

“Then…wanna try six next time?”

A/N. No Part 2 till I figure out better ways to differentiate these bitches LMAO.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[greatestexpectationss]

Cherry Lip Gloss- Luke Castellan

Luke Castellan x Fem!Aphrodite Reader

You don’t feel like a daughter of Aphrodite today. Your hair won’t cooperate with you, it feels like none of your clothes fit right, and you’d somehow lost your favorite cherry lip gloss and had to borrow your sisters which tasted distinctly nonfruity, some vanilla something that left way too much of a taste in your mouth.

You just don’t feel like you. There's some sort of despair deep in your bones, you ignore the cause of it and trudge through the day in a haze, by them time you make it to lunch all you want to do is go back to bed and pray to the gods tomorrow is better.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Silena, your sister, asks you from her seat at lunch beside you. The rest of your siblings, true children of Aphrodite, turn their eyes and ears to listen in. Across from you and Silena is Drew, whose perfectly plucked brows furrow, “You haven’t touched your cherries,”

“You love cherries,” Jake, your brother, chimes in.

“I’m fine,” you tell them, forcing a smile. You pop a cherry in your mouth, “See?”

“No you’re not, you’ve been off all day,” Drew retorts, arms crossing as she turns to look at you. “Is this about that fight you had with Luke?”

Under the table Silena kicks her, and above it Jake elbows her.

“Drew,” he hisses, gesturing toward the rest of your siblings who all promptly turn back to their meals. 

“Sorry, but are we not gonna talk about it, seriously?”

You, in fact, weren’t gonna talk about it. Luke had been your best friend for most of your time at Camp Half-Blood, you’d met him in the Hermes Cabin before your mother had claimed you. You’d only stayed there for 3 days, but by the time you were headed to Cabin 10 and away from him, Luke was already ready to help you carry your stuff and remind you if you needed anything he was still right next door. 

You hadn’t really needed anything,. It was no shock to anyone you were Aphrodite's daughter, with your pretty smile and long shiny (y/h/c) hair. You had always had this way about you, something that lay between perfection and humanity. Confidence radiated off of you in waves, and you always smelt of fruit and cherry lipgloss.

You were fine on your own, perfectly capable of making your own life and friends for yourself in camp.

But Luke was charming, and maybe a little persistent. When you struggled to find a weapon you could actually wield, he knew your siblings would be no help, he’d approached you with two daggers in hand and told you to follow him. You were good with daggers but with Luke’s help, you were a damn force to be reckoned with. From there your friendship had blossomed and as you’d both grown up something more bubbled beneath the surface. A sort of "Will they?Might they?"

You never did, but you desperately wanted to. 

At least you did, before your fight

A few days ago, Luke had been pretty worked up about Capture the Flag. Normally, you liked him like this, all argumentative and technical, jaw and fists clenched. Mainly because you're never on the receiving end and also because a small part of you prides yourself on the ability to calm him down afterward. He's always soft with you, but when he confides in you, truly, you think he’s the best person you’ve ever met.

But this time he’s just pissing you off.

Luke, Annabeth, and a few other children of Athena worked tirelessly on a strategy for your team to beat Ares. Ares was on a winning streak and it was putting damage in all of your egos. Annabeth’s idea to put you in front of the flag had bode well with the rest of the group, everyone always underestimates you as a daughter of Aphrodite. You'd told Luke how much this irks you, in quiet moments alone, there's this stereotype, a mold Aphrodite kids are "supposed" to fit into, and you don't fit it, you just wish other people would realize it too.

Maybe that's why when Luke didn’t like the idea, when he openly protested it, it stung so much. When he Annabeth that putting you, a child of Aphrodite (he didn’t say it in so many words but still) as the last line of defense for the flag was "fatal strategic error" you'd blinked at him. Luke had talked Annabeth out of it or at least talked her into him and Chris waiting behind the tree line out of site “just in case”. 

After the meeting when it was just you and Luke, you’d fought, or more so Luke had tried to explain while you yelled at him.

“C’mon Y/N, this isn’t personal,” he’d told you after you’d ignored him the 3 minutes it took to get back to your respective cabins, he halted you in front of the Aphrodite cabin, coming to stand in front of you and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “leaving you there by yourself wasn’t a good idea, what if you needed back up?”

You’d slapped his hand away from your face. 

“No but if Annabeth had wanted to leave you there, or herself there it wouldn’t have been a doubt in your mind you’d both be fine right?” He says nothing but you know what he’s thinking, and you scoff in disbelief. 

“Don’t be like that,” Luke begged, eyes sad and soft, you almost wanted to cave when he lowered his voice and stepped closer to you, “Will you just let me explain?”

You take a step back, “What? You wanna explain that because I’m in Aphrodite I’m somehow less than you and Annabeth? Like I can’t look like this,” you gesture to your black mini skirt, camp half-blood tee, altered to be shorter and tighter, and your dainty jewelry, “and kick your ass at the same time?”

“I’m not saying–”

“Just forget it, Luke,” you’d said bitterly, “you know for the record I’m used to everyone treating me like some dizzy Aphrodite kid without a clue, I just never thought you’d be the one doing it.”

And then in the greatest storm off in Camp Half-Blood history you’d bumped his shoulder, stomped up the steps of your cabin, and slammed the door right in his cute puppy dog face. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you told your siblings. Silena scoffs while Drew and Jake roll their eyes. “Y/N, you haven’t talked to him in almost a week.”

You pop another cherry in your mouth, “Look its fine, I’m fine, everything is fine, I’m just tired and this morning was rough”

They share an unconvinced look. “You know he keeps asking about you,” Jake tells you after a moment of silence, “I think he’s worried about losing you.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you say bitterly, you take your fork and stab it into your salad.

“Hmm, I don’t know because he’s totally in love with you??” Drew deadpans, she’s kicked and nudged again. She throws her hands up in the air and sighs loudly before she grabs her trey and stands up. “Look Y/N I love you, and if you want us to totally ignore your problems we will, again because we love you. But we just want you to be happy, and I think for the most part Castellan makes you happy.”

She smiles and then leaves. Jake stands too, “Plus he’s super hot, you are not gonna find better arm candy in this camp. Trust me I’ve looked.”

That draws a laugh out of you, “I’ll keep that in mind Jake, thanks.”

Silena goes to stand up too, “Are you gonna come to archery practice today? I heard Lee and the Apollo kids are gonna show off, might be kind of cool.”

“You go ahead I think maybe I just don’t feel well,” she looks unsure, and double-checks again. You just wave her off, tell her to have fun before retreating to your cabin.

You don’t feel well, you repeated, you must be coming down with a cold, your feeling of despair and lessthanness has nothing to do with Luke, with missing him, with wanting him.

You curl up in your empty cabin, in your bunk. Your siblings call it your nook, a bunk in the corner of the cabin, the top unclaimed, but the bottom bunk is yours. It's covered in pretty floral sheets, a fuzzy blanket, and a fluffy pillow. You had hung up (or had Luke hang them up for you) a long curtain rod across the bed frame with light pink curtains, the inside of your bunk lined with pretty fairy lights. Usually, your nook is comforting, today it just makes you miss your best friend. 

The door to the Aphrodite Cabin opens and closes, you close your eyes, hoping desperately to fall asleep, and that whichever sibling walked in doesn’t realize you’re hiding in here. 

A shadow appears outside your curtains, you internally groan and bury your face deeper in your pillow,

“Y/N?” the voice asks, you recognize it right away. You think you’d know him anywhere. It’s Luke, you let him peek into your curtain, and he gives you a small smile.

“Hey,” he says. His curly hair looks stupidly good, in a way that makes you wanna run your fingers through it. It's unfair really.

“Hi.”

“You okay?”

“M’fine,” you try to say voice muffle by the pillow, his smile grows. 

“Mind if I come in?” You hesitate, you’re still reeling from his rejection of the idea that you could be of value as the last line of defense for the flag like you're some damsel that needs him to rescue her. Your ego isn’t the only thing that's wounded though. Luke hurt your feelings, all this time you thought he was the only person who saw you, all of you, and loved you for it and despite it. Never in a million years would you have imagined that your one episode of self-loathing would be triggered by his words. But, still, you miss him, and you're sad, so against your better judgment, you mutter a quiet sure and scoot over. 

He crawls in with you and lays down on his back beside you, side by side the two of you stare up at your twinkle lights. 

“You’ve kind of got it made in here don’t you?” he asks in order to break the terribly awkward silence. You mumble a quite yeah, and then you’re both silent again. It’s incredibly painful. You turn your head to look at him, and find he’s already staring at you. 

“Hey,” you say.

“Hi,” he replies. He reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, you savor the feeling of his touch, leaning into his hand. He smiles at you something sweet and sad all at once.

“I miss you,” Luke tells you, “and I’m sorry.”

“Luke–” he turns all the way to face you on his side, you follow suit even when he cuts you off.

“Just listen okay?” he pleads. 

You nod once. 

“I was worried about you,” he starts running a tired hand through his hair, your brows furrow in confusion, you open your mouth to protest, but he puts a finger to your lips, “You promised you’d listen remember?” 

You glare at him but relent as he pulls his finger away from your lips and down your arm. “Peter from Ares, all week had been talking about how he’s leading the charge for our flag, and how he couldn’t wait to get his hand on the pretty Aphrodite girl who always takes all the cherries,” it doesn’t take a genius to realize that Peter had been talking about you. He’d flirted up a wild storm with you a few weeks prior and you’d turned him down, Peter, a true Ares kid at heart, didn’t take it well. “I didn’t want you out there all alone if he came looking for you and actually found you.”

Luke’s always had a hero complex, the desire to prove himself worthy of being called a hero, no matter the cost, the pink scar on his face is a testament to that. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so fucking sweet. “I can take care of myself, Luke.”

“I know that,” he says earnestly, and you think he means it. Luke reaches for your hands and holds both of them close to his chest, he brings one to his lips and kisses your wrist. “The thing is you don’t have to. And I guess I just wanted to protect you and I went about it all wrong, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him and before you know it Luke is pulling you to his chest hugging you and kissing the top of your head. “I know you can take care of yourself, and I know you could kick anyones ass and look gorgeous doing it, you always do.” Another kiss to your head, before you’re looking up at him grinning. 

“You think I’m gorgeous?” you can’t help teasing him. Your self consciousness is melting away under his gaze, how can it not when he’s looking at you like you hung the damn moon?

This is that something else that bubbles under the surface of your friendship.

“Are you kidding?” he scoffs, moving his arm from your waist to place a hand on your cheek, stroking it with his thumb, “Look at you, of course I do.”

“Even when I’m mad at you?” You tilt your face upwards and closer to his

Luke grins, “I don’t know are you still mad at me?” You smile right back, bringing one of your hands between your faces, and pinch your index finger and thumb together only a tiny sliver of space between them. Luke knows you’re kidding by the glint in your eyes.

“Well then especially when you’re mad at me.”

You laugh and it does something funny to Luke’s chest. He looks at your lips, and the air changes. 

“Luke?”

“Yeah?” 

“Would you really have protected me if I needed it? From Paul?” you ask quietly, eyes darting to his lips drawn between his teeth. 

“From anything,” Luke swears, thumb still caressing your cheek, you want him closer, you need him closer. You could just reach up and kiss him but first you have to know, you have to make sure.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

And then he’s kissing you, like you’ve never been kissed before. You let out a squeak of surprise by the sudden pull at the back of your neck, toward him, then he’s shifting you on your back and hovering over you all the while never breaking your lips apart. 

You’re glad for that, when he slips his tongue in your mouth, you think you’d die if he stopped kissing you. You reach one perfectly manicured hand at the base of his neck and thread your fingers through the shorter strands, Luke lets out a little groan, and you grin into your kiss. Your grin is cut short by his hand on the skin of your waist where your shirt had ridden up, he caresses it there and you absolutely melt. 

This is it, you think, no one else will ever be able to kiss me again, you know you’re completely and totally screwed before you even pull away to catch your breath. 

“You taste like vanilla,” Luke says, grinning at you with the sheen of borrowed lip gloss on his lips, he brings his thumb up to wipe the reminisce of the lip gloss off of yours, “I thought you use cherry.”

“I do,” you pout, reaching up to wipe his lips the way he did yours, he kisses the inside of your lips, “I lost mine.”

Luke reaches into his shorts, and appears with not one but two new, not yet opened, cherry lipglosses, her grins as you sit up and greedily grab them from him, “I brought them as a peace offering, you know in case you didn’t want to make out.”

You laugh before pulling the little handheld mirror off the window ledge next to your bed, you apply it and already you feel more like yourself. 

You fling yourself back on top of Luke and cling to him like a Koala.

“Thank you,” you mumble into his chest. He laughs, and you can feel it in your cheek.

“Anytime sweetheart.”

You kiss him again, and this time when you pull away, it's your lips gloss that smeared on his mouth. You think you like him best like this, shiny swollen lips, tousled hair, and grinning.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

what do you think stalker!anis body count is?

i can’t work out if he’s had a “fuck everything that walks” phase or not

I’ve thought about this a lot actually, cause I’ve also had trouble deciding that lmao. I originally intended for stalker!ani to have BPD, but as he developed as a character I think antisocial personality disorder fits him much, much better. Both disorders experience hypersexuality.

In this essay I will…

Stalker!Anakin has never had a girlfriend before reader. Unfortunately he was painfully awkward and strange during his elementary school years:

Exhibit A: tying nettles together with worms (a beautiful bouquet if you ask me) and giving them to a girl he thought was pretty.

Exhibit B: staring and unapologetically eavesdropping on any conversation.

Exhibit C: starting conversations with “I am Anakin Skywalker, I am seven years old and I like to collect Hot Wheels. Do you like to collect Hot Wheels?” (Bc his therapist said he should try to be ‘relatable’ by finding people with similar interests. How is he expected to do that unless he systematically goes through his entire class list and initiates/interviews his classmates??)

Moving onto his middle school years were even worse bc he found out that girls are hot and hot girls make him horny. Everyone remembered him as the weird kid, told the other sixth graders and ruined his chances of winning people over with his new, carefully crafted personality/mask.

So when he asked his crush to the homecoming dance he bought real flowers (sans worms!!), and his mom helped him find a cute sign on Pinterest to copy… She refused the flowers and said “ew”, thinking there were prob bugs in it (she’d heard the gossip). Anakin unwrapped the flowers and shook them out to prove they were indeed wormless, made a joke and then the girl reconsidered her refusal and decided ‘hey maybe he’s not so bad, all kids are weird anyway so he’s probably fine now’.

Turns out he was in fact trying to be fine & normal. But ended up in a ‘Carrie at prom’ situation at the homecoming dance bc the guy who also liked Anakin’s date was there. Anakin ended up with a suspension and the other guy ended up with the girl.

Then the summer of 7th grade he wacked a grown man with a table.

That didn’t bode well for his highschool conquests of course! So he got his rocks off with the occasional use of the good ol’ ‘hide in the bushes with binoculars and hope Becky from Algebra changes in front of her window again’

Anakin got his first job at the Hot Topic when he was 17. This is where he tried out everything he’d learned over the years and he realized he was actually very decent at speaking to girls as long as he kept up his masked personality. Anakin stayed a virgin until a pretty girl with a nose ring (she worked at Claire’s, he was getting his ear pierced) complimented his Suicidal Tendencies t-shirt and he smooth talked his way into getting her in his car after his shift. Then… continued to do that for a while, strictly fucking. She thought it was strange that he never really wanted to talk before or after.

He was just trying to perfect his sex game and she was just a body. She wasn’t his dream gal, so she was perfect for making mistakes and learning from them. He didn’t have to worry about appearances or properly apologizing for accidentally not doing super great at something, he could just move on and keep going. After all, she was just a body to practice on.

Unfortunately for Anakin he had a brand new court appointed therapist at the time who didn’t think promiscuity was good for the healing and reconditioning process (it wasn’t).

So Anakin put a stop to fuckin’ the girl from Claire’s. He was very confused that she was so upset when he just completely ignored her. The next time they both worked, she waited at his truck like usual and he walked right past her and got in his truck, locked the door and backed out of the parking spot without waiting for her to move (she was fine just really mad).

Claire’s girl confronted him about it, thinking she’d done something to upset him and asked if that was his way of breaking up with her. Anakin’s like??? Break up?? We were never dating!!?? (This is how he found out that when you fuck someone weekly for over four months they will more than likely form an emotional attachment)

To avoid a repeat of that incident when he moved to the city for college (he dropped out obvi), he got a job as a bartender for the sole purpose of people watching for research and practicing being a normal dude. Being a normal dude includes learning how to pick up chicks, so I think he probably took a girl home once or twice a month just to keep sharp on his pretending and fucking skills so he’d be on his best game when he found the right girl.

So in conclusion, yes he did have a ‘fuck everything that walks’ phase. Just not for the sex. For research.

me reading the DSM-5 and diagnosing him. [im a doctor you can trust me]

Tag List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi i @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker r @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @hopesworlld @lonaah @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco @demieyesore @hemmoxloser @ahano

[writingseaslugs]

Diasomnia NSFW Headcanons

Me: Don’t give Malleus a breeding kink, don’t give Malleus a breeding kink…EXTRA BULLET HE HAS ONE! I really cannot contain myself…I don’t apologize. Also might’ve been a little drunk while writing this, so I will not be taking criticism. I drank a glass of Moscato midway through Malleus, a shot of fireball/rumchata at Sebek, and a second shot midway through Silver. So you know…I did the best I could while under the influence of my bad decisions.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series is aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please do a quick read of THIS post. This post also has explicit content. If you’re under the age of 18, or are uncomfortable with this form of content, please skip this post. Content Warning: Marking, Edging, Oral Sex, Loss of Virginity, Body Worship, Soft Sex, Consensual Somnophilia.

Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia (You’re Here)

NSFW Headcanons

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is the biggest student at NRC…and not just in the height department. He’s pretty well endowed, and the anatomy might not be totally human, so be prepared to feel like you’re being split in half when he’s inside you. This bodes well since he has a size kink, and being a bigger presence to his lover is a huge turn-on. Watching his lover squirm when they see his size for the first time as he assures you it’ll all fit as long as you let him prep you for a while. The size kink goes both ways as well; if he has a lover who is somehow taller than him, he’s going to love being manhandled by them.

Fae have stamina for days, which means it’ll be hard to catch up with him. There’s likely never going to be a moment when he’s on top that you can keep up with his stamina. He will always manage to outlast you as he overstimulates your body until it’s almost at the breaking point. He’ll give you a break, though, and never judges since he knows you are simply a child of man. If you happen to be on top that night, though and drag him to orgasm time and time again until he’s twitching under you, you might be able to outlast his stamina. Maybe.

He is a switch, despite what others may think. Outside around others, he keeps his appearance up, but when it’s just the two, you’re on equal grounds at all times. If you want to be dominated, then say no more. He’ll have you screaming his name until you lose your voice; fucking you dumb is a fun pastime of his. If you want to be on top, he’ll let you play with his body to your heart’s content. He still is in charge during those moments, though, unless you manage to really overstimulate him or edge him until his brilliant green eyes are starting to tear up.

It’s not unheard of to leave his room with a few new bruises and scratch marks. He’ll heal them for you instantly if you ask, but honestly, he really likes how well-marked up you are. It’s never on purpose either; he just kind of loses himself sometimes and forgets how delicate humans are. He’ll apologize and kiss every inch of skin he might have injured and promise to be more careful moving forwards…unless you’re into that kinda thing.

When the mood strikes him, he’s going to have his way with you. Doesn’t shy away from public sex at all since he will be able to tell if someone is nearby and take the appropriate measures. If he wants to absolutely ravish you while he’s in class, the moment the bell rings, he’s going to find you and drag you somewhere and fuck you against the wall. Be careful what you wear around him as well. You have something on that he wants to tear off you like a present; he will with no remorse. Even if it’s your favorite underwear, he swears he will buy you fifty more of them later.

Bonus Bullet: He has a breeding kink. Not only from being a dragon fae but from being royalty and the thought of one day needing to produce an heir. He’s going to have you in a mating press, chest against his, as he tells you how good you’re taking his cock. Coming inside you several times as you go into overstimulation, fucked dumb by him, all while he wipes away your tears and tells you you’re doing so good for him. Watching his cum flow out of your abused hole and maybe even plugging you up after. Even if you are AMAB or on birth control, he’ll still do this. Seeing you so thoroughly fucked full of his cum makes him absolutely feral.

Lilia Vanrouge

There is no doubt about it, Lilia has experience when it comes to being intimate with someone. Whether you’re experienced or not doesn’t matter to Lilia, he can still show you a thing or two. In fact, he’ll be begging to show you what he knows, using techniques that have made past partners squirm. He will have you begging for more by the end of it. His mouth isn’t just good for smart quips, after all.

Very open to kinks and honestly has probably partaken in them once or twice. If you name a kink that’s new, he’s going to be intrigued and want to test it out and see if he’s into it. If you’re really into something and bring it up, he’s more than happy to show you. He has a pretty extensive kink list that he’ll sit you down and go through to see what you’re down with trying. Biting his partner is definitely one of them, and he’s had several partners in the past swoon over his sharp teeth. If you’re willing to let him mark you with bites and hickies, he’s going to be a very happy man.

You get the best of both worlds when it comes to Lilia. You can have him be small and breedable if you want, fucking your cock or strap into him while he’s moaning and whining mess, begging you for more. Or he can take on his more mature and taller form, looking over you while your wrists are tied as he drives his cock into you. He’s happy with being a top and a bottom and will be happy if he has a partner willing to indulge with both sides. Not to say he won’t be submissive in his taller form and dominant in his smaller form. He is versatile and enjoys making his partner or himself a mess in whatever way possible.

Lilia loves to tease his partners in friendly, romantic, and sexual ways. He’ll be between your legs for hours if you let him, bringing you so close to coming only to lift away and tap his slick-coated chin, pondering out loud if he thinks you deserve to cum. If you return the favor, expect him to be overdramatic about it. He’ll be so loud with your lips around his cock, begging you to let him cum with tears flowing down his red face. Some of it’s just for show, but damn, it’s easy to rile you up even with that sight. He’s also going to edge both of you, taking his cock out of you as soon as the two of you are almost at the edge while leaning down and kissing your cheek and neck, saying, “One more time, and we can cum together.”

He’s going to adore teasing you between classes. Coming over and whispering something dirty in your ear as you pass by him. Putting his hand a bit too high on your leg while at lunch. Maybe dragging you to an empty classroom for a heavy make-out session before parting and telling, talking against your lips, that you should head to your next class. It’s a fun game of his to see how far he can take it before you’re the one grabbing him by his arm and dragging him to an empty broom closet and begging him to make you cum before you go crazy. Depending on his mood, he might just use his hands while calling you a needy little slut to get you to cum and then leave you in your messed-up underwear until after school.

Bonus Bullet: Make fun of his height, and he's going to see that as a challenge. Either he's going to take on his larger form that towers over you at 6'8" (203.2cm) and tell you how tiny you are compared to him now as he impales you on his cock. Or he's going to drag you to his room and tie you up and fuck you in his short form, edging you for hours while saying you should be nicer to short people judging by how well they can wreck you.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek is…sadly, not well-versed in sex. He knows how babies are made, but his fae mother probably never sat him down for the bird and the bees, he probably never spoke to his father about it, and Lilia had just assumed he knew. Not to mention the lack of friends his age, and well…there’s some explaining to do. He’s not clueless; he knows what to do. He just doesn’t know about all the technical things, like foreplay. So it’s going to be fun to teach him all those things and watch as his face goes red when you tell him he needs to use his hands to stretch you out before he can stick his dick into you.

It might be a little awkward because he will be asking to ensure he’s doing things correctly. What kind of man would he be if he couldn’t even please his partner? So as he’s first exploring your body, caressing every inch of skin he can, he’s going to be asking what feels right. It’s almost going to be sensual as he gropes your chest, tweaking your nipples and watching as your back arches up into his touch, and he smiles, asking if that felt nice. The moment his hand goes between your legs, he’ll be a bit nervous but hearing you moaning out his name breathlessly is going to encourage him to keep at it.

His composure is going to be lost pretty fast when he’s fucking you. For once, he might be speechless as he watches your face morphing in pleasure. His entire face will be painted scarlet at the sight as he stops thrusting to admire you. When you ask him why he stopped, he’s going to stutter out an excuse before giving a harsher thrust. His hair is going to be disheveled, and the fluffy locks might even be in his face. He’s going to look absolutely wrecked when he feels your walls convulsing around you, and if he had any thought to pull out, it’ll be lost as he’s coming hard in you.

He will worship every inch of your skin. Every mole, freckle, blemish, scar…you name it. If you have curves, he’ll pinch them between his fingers and tell you how beautiful they make you. Expect to be bombarded with praise. You think his obsession with Malleus is bad? He could talk about your body, what noises you make, your expressions…he could go on for days. Just make sure to inform him not to accidentally slip up around friends when discussing you. The last thing you need is Sebek telling everyone how you are in bed and how last night your moans went a pitch higher than normal when you came, and how you left scratches all along his shoulders that he swears he’ll wear with pride and hopes they scar.

He’s a service dom to the max. He’ll always want to be on top because, again, “What kind of man would I be if I hogged all the pleasure to myself by letting you do that?”. He can be convinced, though. Ask if you can suck him off, and he might tell you it’s not necessary, but if you give him the puppy dog eyes, he’ll oblige. Watching as he bites his knuckles in an attempt to be quiet before breaking and moaning loud enough for the entire school to hear is ethereal. He’ll never ask you to do those things, but if you offer, he’ll allow it since you want to, and he has a hard time telling you no.

Bonus Bullet: No public sex. He is far too loud, and you will be caught instantly. There’s also no sneaking when you two are having sex. If it’s in Ramshackle, make sure Grim is out because even he can’t sleep through that. If it’s at Diasomnia, the dorm is going to hear you two. Lilia will chuckle and congratulate Sebek, which will make the boy beam. Malleus won’t say anything, but Silver will be visibly annoyed. Lilia might suggest that you keep your affairs at Ramshackle next time…or he could always let you borrow a gag for Sebek.

Silver

Since Lilia raised him, he was given sex ed like a normal kid would when they reached puberty, but Lilia had drilled into Silver the importance of protection and how he didn’t want to be a gilf anytime soon. Silver took the protection part to heart and will be using a condom unless you tell him it’s okay and he doesn’t need to. He also knows a thing or two from overhearing people talk when they thought he was asleep. He’s not clueless, but experienced is another thing…thankfully he’s a quick study.

Generally, having sex with Silver isn’t really “Fucking” but more of “Making Love.” He’s going to be gentle and make you feel wanted like you’re the only thing that exists at the moment. It’s almost suffocating how the air sometimes changes when he begins having sex with you. You’re going to feel cherished and secure in his arms. He’s going to kiss you all over your body and murmur sweet nothings to you as he slowly brings you to an earth-shattering orgasm. Your entire body will feel like a live wire as you feel every vein of his cock rubbing inside you.

Silver tends to sleep over at your place more often than not, as long as Lilia assures him Malleus will be fine. So if you wake him up with kisses, he’s going to slowly reciprocate before groping your body and pulling you close enough to feel his morning wood through his pants. Slowly riding him with the morning beams of sun coming in through the cracks in the blinds is going to be the best wake-up call he could ask for. If you get tired of doing that, he’s more than happy to flip you onto the bed and slowly grind his cock into you until you’re both coming. Just be careful not to fall back asleep after that.

When the mood strikes him, he can be a bit more energetic in bed. Especially if you request him to go a little bit harder next time, he’s happy to oblige. He’ll keep fucking into you until your legs are turned to jelly. His hands touch every inch of skin as he roughly thrusts into you, pulling each orgasm out of you until your brain is short-circuiting. He might be the number one sleepy boy in the school, but his stamina is nothing to scoff at. He’s still a trained knight, and his body is up to par because of it. He can also try a lot of different positions with you, even fucking you against the cool tiles of the shower without worrying about slipping at all.

Sex with Silver is amazing, in all honesty, but the best thing is after. He’ll make sure you’re both cleaned up and then cuddle you. Normally he likes to be the big spoon so he can wrap his arms around your midsection and pull you against his chest. You’re almost like a stuffed animal for him. He’ll leave kisses along your shoulders and tell you everything he thinks about you and how much he adores you. He’ll keep this up for a while until suddenly, he drifts off and is quiet. It’s a clear sign he fell asleep, and his grip will loosen enough to turn around and face him to see his peaceful sleeping face.

Bonus Bullet: He’ll only be okay if it’s discussed beforehand and it's in a private location, but he is okay with you using his body while he’s asleep. He knows he’s got a condition of some kind, and that might leave you feeling needy at moments while he’s asleep. Not to mention he might get tired midway through sex and just fall asleep. So if you have discussed it, he doesn’t mind you using his body to pleasure yourself. If he wakes up to you riding his cock and moaning lewdly, he’ll think he died in his sleep and went to heaven somehow. Remember, though, it has to be consensual. He probably wouldn’t appreciate you doing it if it hadn’t been discussed.

[demonicbaby666]

"Are you listening?"

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut 

Words: 3.4k+

Warnings: SMUT (R & E receiving), swearing, top!Emily, bottom/switch!reader, fingering, oral sex, semi-public sex (office sex), tinniest bit of degradation.

Summary: There's not really a plot here, just a bit of office sex fuelled by Emily reprimanding you for not listening in the field/in general.

A/n: As always- apologises for any mistakes. Please do let me know if you catch anything I’ve missed, or if I’ve missed something from the warnings 💜

You were sitting in Emily’s office, receiving an ear full; following up on a suspect alone did not bode well with her and you were feeling and seeing the full brunt of her wrath. She had made a point of not calling the rest of the team in, which you both appreciated and despised her for. It only meant you were alone having to manage your own shame spiral for your ‘insubordination’. Which was, in layman's terms, ridiculous. But what was even more ridiculous was how low the shirt Emily had conscientiously decided to wear that day. 

When she leant over, hands braced on the desk, it was painstakingly hard not to let your eyes drop just a few inches, she had to know it too because every time you dared to sneak a look south, a faint smirk flickered across her lips. 

“Are you listening?”

You weren’t. 

“Yes. I messed up, you’re pissed off, I won’t do it again.” 

There were quite a few things you could have said that would have got you out of that office a lot faster, and that was not one of them. When you looked into her eyes your stomach dropped, suddenly winding Emily up didn’t seem like such a good idea. 

The whites of her eyes doubled in size, dilated pupils bore down on you, burning two lazer rays right through you. She arched an eyebrow, pressing her lips together, practically huffing steam out of her nose with each breath. Fear, shame and dread were all emotions appropriate for the current situation you’d clearly aggravated, arousal however, was not. 

Emily pushed herself off the desk, circling around until she was barely half a meter away, leaning back, hands crossed, staring at you like a predator to their prey. The silence was deafening, the faint ticking of the clock in time with the thudding of Emily’s shoe against the carpeted floor was driving you mad, each second stretching out for what seemed like hours. 

You were both waiting for something, and you both knew what. She wanted an apology and you wanted out, the two worked hand in hand, yet you sat there, the magic words refusing to come out. There was something else, the fire in her eyes wasn’t just from anger and you needed to know what it was. 

“You’re a stubborn asshole, you know that?” A smirk ghosted over her lips, coffee orbs grew darker, without even knowing it, Emily had baited you - with that elusive smile - into a trap you had no qualms falling into. 

“I do.”

Up on your feet in milliseconds, you surged forward at the same time as Emily, meeting her half way between her desk and the chair you’d previously been perched in. Eager hands gripped onto your waist, pulling you into an embrace you needed no encouragement for, which you showed as you mirrored her enthusiasm, anchoring your hands around her neck, latching them onto each other, leaving her all but trapped in your arms, and you in hers. Two sets of lips found each other, meeting for a kiss that burned through your whole body, faster than should be humanly possible; leaving behind a pile of soot that had already set about dirtying your ‘clean’ record of office affairs.

Sure, you’d stolen a couple looks Emily’s way, she’d never seemed to notice, or if she did, didn’t mind in the least bit. When she’d caught you with your eyes glued to her chest it was hard to reply with anything other than a sheepish shrug and awkward smile - the kind of smile that says, ‘well you caught me, and I don’t exactly know what else to do so I’m going to shrug and pray you don’t report me to HR.’ - that kind of smile.

It was almost impossible to pull away from her lips and think logically, and as her lips continued to what can only be described as brutally attack yours, you allowed yourself two more minutes, vowing once the infernal ticking had reached the ripe number of 120, you’d pull yourself away and deal with the repercussions, preferably by avoiding them entirely. 

Her lips were soft, coffee lingered on her tongue, sweeping the length of your bottom lip, it was soft and polite, nothing you’d expect from an intense heat of the moment kiss, but that’s what it was, slower, softer and gentler; slow enough to serve you a reminder you were nearing a full minute in. 

Racing against time that would soon be forgotten entirely, you let her in, welcoming the strong, nutty, smoky aroma with a minty slide of your tongue against hers. 40 ticks left. The two flavours danced in your mouth, and you’d never tasted anything better, a deep exploration was taking place within the cove of your mouth, every nook being explored, measurements being mentally taken and placed for safe keeping, 20 ticks left. 

A small moan escaped your lips when Emily’s tongue found the roof of your mouth, brushing along small ridges that felt smooth under the pressure of her tongue. A chilling breeze grazed the skin of your hips, then cold fingers slid down the material and back up until they were warmed with the heat you were radiating. The feel of her fingers on your bare skin drowned the whole world out, not a single chime could have penetrated the thick outer wall of fire that was bubbling within you and flowing through the room. 

Minus 10 ticks and hands were aimlessly wandering the planes of your stomach, back and ribs, progressively getting higher and higher. There was next to no air left in your lungs and it was hard to tell whether the shaking of your legs was from oxygen deprivation or the all-consuming urge to take things further. 

Emily’s hand firmly cupped your left breast and all the air lost was suddenly found within one harsh breath in, breaking the kiss. For those few moments you stood in the eye of the storm, different possibilities surrounding you, not having yet consumed you, but taunting you with their presence. Looking into her near blackened eyes, you saw a modicum of emotions swirling in the chocolate pupils, dark tendrils of lust ebbed and darkened the rings, whilst beneath the surface you could see a glimmer of doubt, regret, something else. Then in the blink of an eye it was gone. 

There was barely a slither of brown in the sea of black wanting, the predatorial look boring down once more, working your stomach into knots and sending blood straight to your head. The internal battle ceased and was no more when the silence was broken by Emily. 

“On your knees.” She calmly said, “now.” 

It was almost embarrassing how fast you did as you were told, if it hadn’t been for the soft carpet that lined the floor of Emily’s office, your knees would have shattered, not that it would have stopped you. Looking through your lashes, you saw her standing tall, grinning like a Cheshire cat with a quirked eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your sudden will to obey.  

“Look at that, you can listen.” 

The remark lingered for all of two seconds before you did exactly the opposite, hands darting to her hip of their own accord, ripping the shirt out from the trousers they were neatly tucked into. The shock registering on Emily’s face quickly subsided and any thoughts of interfering disappeared when you brought your lips to freshly exposed skin, peppering a trail of kisses along her stomach, then hip to hip, sucking gently, leaving behind a visual path of red blotches that mapped a course down to where she most needed you. 

A small hum came from above you. Peering up, Emily’s eyes were shut, her bottom lip wedged between her teeth, trying - unsuccessfully - to stop any noise from passing through her lips. It was easy to see she was enjoying herself. 

You noted the way she looked, her cheeks were flush, chest rising and falling faster than normal. You were doing this her, hand delivering small kisses that were leaving her powerless and at your mercy. Yet, something niggled away at you, reminding you, you weren’t the one who gave the orders, but what was the harm in testing that theory. 

Feeling more secure in your actions, you pushed on her waist, forcing her to stubble back until she was leaning back on her desk. Shuffling along the floor with her, you continued to work the open space between her hips, moving a hand southward to pop the button of her slacks and pull her zipper down. When she pushed herself off the desk ever so slightly, you took it as an indication to keep going, pulling the trousers down her legs until the material pooled at her ankles, before being swept away to the side, leaving her in just a button up shirt and lacy black underwear. 

“Inside me.” She breathed out, eyes pinned down onto you, “Now.”

“Are you sure?” you dared to ask, whispering over the sound of your own beating heart. 

“Did I stutter?” Her eyes were colder, demanding and she had taken on the familiar tone of unit chief, plucking elements of the role she wanted - the power it gave her - projecting that dominance over every word that danced from her lips, and it was working. 

Her panties quickly joined the discarded trousers on the floor, and you refocussed your attention to the mouth-watering sight in front of you. The smell of her slick arousal flooded all your senses, blinding ever logical thought that once took residence within your mind, all you knew in that moment was Emily, and you wanted all of her. 

Edging closer you ran your tongue through wet folds, quietly moaning into Emily’s core, tangy sweet flavours frolicked and burst to life in your mouth, licking your tastebuds and you knew that you had found your new drug, your new addiction. You took her clit into your mouth, sucking lightly on the delicate bud. Finding a steady pace, you started to switch between sucking and licking, revelling at the small mewls that were being emitted from above you. 

Along with the heavenly symphony of sounds you were pulling from Emily it was the sight of her struggling against her body’s instinct that spurred you on, the heaving of her chest, her teeth brutally holding her kiss stained lips between them, her hips swaying in time with your tongue. Taking one hand off the desk she ran her finger through your hair before latching on tightly, holding you in place. 

“Put your fingers in me.” Emily breathlessly moaned, never taking her eyes off of you whilst you continued to ravish her. Two fingers slithered into Emily; needing no further instruction, you began pumping them in and out at a controlled pace. 

“More.” 

Filling her tight canal, a third finger slipped inside, following in suit and accelerating the pace and rhythm previously set. Your tongue continued to work at her clit, running circles over it faster and faster, fingernails grazed your scalp and the thighs perched either side of your head struggled to hold themselves up, shaking more and more with each lick, with each thrust. 

Using your free hand, you placed Emily’s left thigh over your shoulder. The new position offering a delicious opportunity to curl your fingers and caress her g-spot, toppling her over the edge. Nails clawed into your skin, painfully clasping around your hair, her neck arched, black hair tussled over her back, her hand flying over her mouth in an effort to muffle the roaring moan that was brewing in her throat. 

To anyone who was listening in, it would have just sounded like a loud groan, which wasn't out of the ordinary, all the same, stopped you from pushing Emily into another orgasm. Instead, you opted for slowing down and helping her ride out every ounce of pleasure she could until her fingers released their tight grip and her breathing steadied. 

Once Emily had regained control over herself, running her fingers through her hair, focussing on her breathing, she removed her thigh from your shoulder and leered down at you.

“Up.” 

Fumbling a second too long for Emily’s liking, she gripped your shirt, yanking you up to your feet and flipped you both around. Piles of paper were swept to the side, swaying, and dropping to the floor before hands flipped you around again and slammed your chest down against hard mahogany, everything was happening too fast, stars swam across you line of sight, the room swayed from the sudden dizziness that swarmed your sense of gravity. Cold air hitting your centre anchored you back to the here and down, looking back to see Emily had made swift work of removing your jeans and adding them to the growing pile of discarded clothes.  

“You’re going to keep quiet unless you want someone to come in and see me fucking you on this desk like the dirty girl you are.” 

“I-” 

Cutting you off, the weight of Emily’s upper body pressed against your back, hot breath tickling the shell of your ear. 

“When will you learn to just do as you’re fucking told?” she husked sharply, taking a lobe into her hot mouth and biting down, sending shivers down your spine, and a pool of wetness between your legs. Quiet whimpers echoed through the room when Emily’s lips claimed your neck, salaciously sucking and laving small portions of skin into her mouth, releasing them only to move onto the next. Without warning two fingers pushed deep and hard into you. 

“Oh fuck.” you sobbed out, helplessly trying to keep quiet, when all you wanted was the complete opposite. Mimicking her previous action, your bottom lip wedged itself between two rows of pearly whites, biting down, simultaneously trying to locate the ability to breathe again. 

A hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pushing you further into the desk, and stopping you from following Emily as she steeled her spine and stood upright behind you, fingers still deep inside you, unmoving around your twitching walls. 

“Think you can follow orders?” Emily teased. 

She knew exactly what you wanted, and she knew she had you in the palm of her hands, ready to beg for it, she knew she was the only person with the ability to quench your thirst. You’d have done anything just to feel movement in you, to have your insatiable appetite finally fed with the sound of your own screams echoing in your ears. 

And that is why you said nothing, made no arguments, there was no reason to. She wanted this as much as you did, deep within those brown eyes burned a fire so hot you knew it would eventually come to consume you, there was no point preventing the inevitable - is what you told yourself - eagerly nodding against the desk. 

“Good girl.” 

An instant reward was delivered for your obedience, fingers twisted inside of you, then began pumping hard and fast. Your hips jerked forward, not seeking to get away, instead looking for a hard surface to harbour yourself to, needing to experience every waking moment of this; the full force of each thrust, remember every wave of pleasure that swept over your body and consumed your entire being to the point you thought, only there in that office was where you’d ever know true pleasure. 

Knuckles whitened under the pressured grip you’d forced your hands to take on the edge of the desk. Your breath was coming out in sharp bursts, making it near impossible to take in sufficient amounts of air through your nose. The only option was to pry your lip from your teeth and hope you had the willpower to stop any sounds that threatened to spill from your agape mouth. 

The hand pushing you against the desk set about finding a new home, moving down your back, curling round your torso and slowly working downwards to your clit, where it finally settled, hovering over the small delicate bundle of nerves. 

Her fingers continued to slide in and out, picking up more speed and vigour when they were joined by a third, then a fourth, forcing you to bite down on your arm to stop a scream from alerting the whole office to what exactly was going on. Your hips were grinding back and forth against her fingers until you were writhing beneath her, your whole body on fire teetering on the cusp of your orgasm.

Another wave of pleasure crested over your body when two finger pressed down on your clit, drawing small circles over it, switching tempo with every other slide of her fingers, gradually reaching an earth-shattering speed that had your knees giving out and small cries to bury deep into your skin, skin that now had two crescent shaped bite marked etched into it.  

Your mind was a mess, body out of control, the pressure in your abdomen was at an all-time high, short shaky breaths passed in and out of your nose, some interrupted with small moans breaking and crackling in your throat. You tightened around her, feeling her more than ever, and with three more partially vigorous jabs of Emily’s supple fingers, you folded; silently screaming, reaching the height of your pleasure, there was nothing more to be done other than involuntarily roll your hips backwards, riding out every second of your powerful orgasm. 

With exhaustion weighing heavy on every muscle, you let your body stay slumped on the desk till you found some of the composure you lost whilst riding Emily’s fingers, fucking you from behind within earshot of the people you work with on the daily. 

Unwillingly, you had to admit, there was something precariously arousing about it. A different heat travelled through your body. One that spiralled in your stomach, nibbled away at your pride, you were lying face down on your boss’s desk, half naked, leaking down your thigh, still wanting more. It was all wrong, yet so right. 

The ticking of the clock rang through the silence, hands wrapped around your waist, softer than any touch you had felt before. Gently Emily guided you up, planting her hands firmly on your waist - in case your quivering legs buckled under you - she turned you around to face her and leaned in to press a light kiss against your lips, which you in turn melted into. 

Flinging your hands over her shoulders you let her take charge of the kiss, keeping it slow and steady, hands moving down to cup your ass and hoist your thighs around her midsection. The two of you stayed that way for what you told yourself was an ‘appropriate’ length of time, lips encapsulating each other, hands roaming freely, just feeling your lithe bodies pressed against one another. 

“Next time, try to listen to what I have to say instead of gluing your eyes to my chest.” Emily said, breaking you out of your trance, sat behind her desk, casually enough that doubt flickered in your mind, maybe you were wrong, did you get lost in a sea of cleavage and fall into a makeshift reality - a detailed one at that - of Emily having her way with you. The bite mark on your arm, the feelings tingling through your body in all the places she had touched you, they were real, they had to be. 

“That wasn’t-” there was no point fighting back, you were too confused, too shocked with whatever had just happened either in the compounds of your mind or pressed up against that desk. You turned and started walking to the door.

“I’ll see you at my place. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.” Her voice boomed from behind you. Looking back at her, her eyes were lazily roaming over scattered paperwork until they met your gaze. An eyebrow quirked up, accompanied by a pert smile, she began to survey the sight in front of her, eyes dropping at the nape of your neck. 

Pushing her chair back and striding towards you, butterflies fluttered low in your stomach at the authority she exuded from doing something as simple as walking. She ran her fingers through locks of your hair, moving them so they cascaded over your shoulder and were snug around your face, concealing your neck. 

“Don’t want anyone seeing what a good girl you were for me, do we?” She teased, placing a smirked peck to your lips and pulling the door open behind you.

Not a daydream, definitely not a daydream. 

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[queenendless]

😂Ticklish Remedy(Student!SatoSuguxStudent!Fem!Reader)😂

A/N: Sorry this took me so long to get out! I gotta write more JJK tk fics in the future. This one I rushed, it's true.

Content: Angst, hurt/comfort, more exposition than tickles but obvious tickles, mention of reader gaining seer vision cursed technique powers for possible future plot development, Shoko Ieiri cameo, and SatoSugu poly loving.

Credit for characters and art used goes to Gege sensei.

* Please DON'T plagarize, translate, or repost my FANFIC content. Reblog, like, and follow instead.

I hope you enjoy.

Why were you in such a pathetic mood?

Waking up from a messed up dream in a cold sweat?

Coming back from a mission where more damage than saving was done?

Or a hard downpour out of nowhere soaked you and would be around for the remainder of the evening?

All of the above.

In this life, you are the quiet, sweet protective being. But it takes certain things to set you off. All of the above, for instance.

Another big one would be the only friends turned found family you ever had and known getting harmed in any way, whether from slander from those foolish higher ups or certain corrupted humans you were obligated to save and not harm for retribution despite getting injured on the job because of them. Those indeed pissed you off.

That wasn't the case this time.

Nah, you're just having one of those days.

You had just left the shower, clad in a dry tee shirt and short shorts, going stomach first flopping on your dorm room bed in a downtrodden sense, when a loud knock on your door made you moan in refusal, smothering your face in your pillow.

"L/n? Sweetie? Y/n-chaaaaaan~?!"

Satoru's loud rambles; his voice always making you smile, now sounded irritating to you. "Go away." Your muffled yell made a new voice join in.

"Y/n? Honey? Are you alright?"

Suguru's concerned voice made you feel bad at behaving this way towards them when it wasn't their fault at all. "Not really."

"Excuse us. We're coming in." Suguru's warning was followed by your dorm room door sliding opening as their heads popped up through behind the door, your weak wave giving them the prompt to just come in.

They were both still in uniform but also in socks and slippers, as Satoru flopped down, jostling the bed, before spooning you from behind and Suguru sliding your door closed before sitting on the edge of the bed in front of you and held your hand in his; rubbing comforting circles on your knuckles with his thumb when he asked.

"How bad?"

Your hesitant sigh didn't bode well. "I was sent alone to exorcize a second-grade curse spirit after it ended several regulars working at a cemetery."

"Yaga-sensei told us." Suguru's pitying gaze made you whine weakly. "We're sorry we couldn't go with you."

Flashes of your nightmare from early morning resurfaced; your pinched expression being a sign of your discomfort. "The same nightmare happened again. Just … bloodied corpses … of those I care for …that shadowed, stitched forehead bastard's smile ... and I'm unable to move or scream or do anything …" Your voice wavered as your form trembled with a deep-rooted frustration and pain on this particular dilemma.

You still had no freaking idea who or what it was; human or cursed spirit, let alone why you kept having these dreams. A warning? Perhaps. You were slowly climbing up the ranks in terms of developing your Innate technique; as odd as it was in getting impactful visions followed by side effecting migraines. And this was yet another unknown future threat standing in your way.

"Plus I got rained down hard coming back here. So there." You pouted, taking Suguru's hand in your own, just to splat it over your face, amusing the latter despite the gloomy vibe.

"That bad, huh? God, quite the depressing mood bundle you are!" Satoru sighed loudly.

You jammed your thumb over your shoulder into Satoru's cheek, dryly retorting. "Obnoxious creep." You thrusted your pointer finger of the same hand forward in Suguru's face. "Weird bangs guy."

"Now sweetie, I know you're just saying those things because you're down in the dumps… but it still wounds me!" Satoru mockingly cried out, ruffling your hair, further driving the point of getting stabbed in the feels.

"Honey, you're wrong. About my bangs, I mean. Satoru … nah that's right on the mark." Geto poked your nose, smirking like the smart ass he is, rubbing salt in the wound.

"Hey!" Gojo flared up, dagger eyes on his bestie at the betrayal.

You snorted at their interaction. Satoru's face stubbornly set in a pouting expression, when the sound you just made gave him quite the amusing idea as he kissed your forehead down from up above you. "So, what you need right now is some serious cheering up, 101."

A twisted smile suddenly wormed up on his face. It makes your gut squirm with nerves.

"Suguru~" The sing-song tone to his name snatched the younger man's attention. "It seems our lovely girlfriend is too grumpy for our liking~!"

The same twisted feeling inside you doubled as Suguru smiled at you in the same manner.

"Yes … we should remedy that right away."

Able to read each other's thoughts down pat; synced as the best friends they are, meant they were both on board for their evil agenda.

"Uh, chotto matte," Your Nihongo Jouzu reflexes came spilling out as nervous giggles did as well, fidgeting as your attempts to get up and pull away from Satoru's hold were futile for his arms tightened around your waist and pulled quick enough to flush your back against his front. "Not that. Anything but that!"

"Y/n-chan … if you plead more, I'll consider it." Suguru calmly mused as he climbed up on your bed, trapping your legs in between his knees, coyly smiling. "Maybe~"

A squeal sprung free from your lips as the spider-like fingers of Satoru squeezed your sides before wriggling into your ribs. "I'd rather she beg. After all, she wants this so much~!" Satoru smugly taunted, that fat ass smirk plastered on his face when you jabbed your elbow hard in his side.

"Liar liar pants on fire – AAH~!" Your retort was cut off by your own shriek as Satoru's fingertips slithered around to deeply drag across your belly.

"Oh ho, you're gonna get it now!" Satoru's deepened tone spoke doom for you. Suguru's snickers only added to it.

Your spastic, laughing form was kicking, flailing, and bouncing to both their inner amusement and glee; the bed squeaking and the headboard hitting the wall many times in the process.

"Cootchie cootchie coo~!" Satoru's fingers slid through your shirt sleeves to pinch and wring the bare skin of your armpits.

"Tohohohohoru you ahahahahahass~!" You slam your shoulders into his in another attempt to push him off, but that lean skinny bode hid such strength beneath.

"Hey! I have a fine ass, I'll have you know!" Gojo's pursed lips were made to good use as he began doing raspberries from the crook of your neck to the base of it to under your ear, speaking in between every tingling blow. "Very. Fine. Indeed!" His snowy hair added to the ticklish sensation as his puffy locks brushed your cheek.

"You twohoohoo beheheheheter stahahahap or I swehehehear I'll – EEK~!" You squeaked harder as Suguru exchanges wiggling squeezes between your shaking kneecaps and your thighs. "Suhuhuhuhugu qu – quihihihit it~!!"

Geto snorted. "Jackass is more like it."

"Your face up my ass the other day spoke otherwise, if you recall~" Satoru's buzzing wet lips pulled from your neck to give bedroom eyes to Suguru.

Who returns the look, just as gluttonous for another go. "The face you made proves you enjoyed it just as much~"

Their raunchy talk was halted as a pillow got whacked in Suguru's face, followed by said pillow being thrown to Satoru's, who barely caught it in one hand. But that enough commotion lets you slip free from his loosened grasp.

Though the truth was he let you go free for now, laughing slowly at the look of sheer disbelief on his raven haired lover's face at what you just pulled, the more bangs loosely gracing his forehead from the commotion.

"Ooh, you're in trouble~!" Gojo singing spoke of doom.

Your panting, pink cheeked self could only have a moment's reprieve as chills raked your skin at the dark edge tainting Suguru's almond eyes. Unlike the smile in your nightmares, bearing callousness and insanity, Suguru's bore a more eerily calm smiling face.

"Indeed … it's on."

He dodged the kick to his face by your freed foot, toothily smiling as he caught your ankle, viewed your squirming foot with scrutinizing intrigue, before dragging his finger up and down your sole lightly enough to have you become a cute chortling mess.

Your other foot moved to kick his arm to free yourself when Gojo snatched it straight away, clicking his tongue to scold you. "Naughty, naughty~"

The two looming devils you love jumped you!

Shoko Ieiri, twirling her non lite cigarette between her fingers, jumped at the ear-piercing scream striking the air of the dorm, high tailing to the source as curiosity beckoned her.

Discovering the loud slamming ruckus jumbled in as well, it all is coming from your room followed by your jumbled cackling wordplay in the mix had her sliding the door open, her cigarette nearly slipping from her grasp at the sight she just witnessed.

You were flipped to lay on your stomach, laughing your sweaty red face off, as both those bastards each straddled a thigh of yours, with a footsie for each to tickle savagely.

"And this is why I stopped questioning why this is your norm now." Shoko shrugged.

"She whacked us with her pillow!" Suguru gruffly complained as his fingers wringed through your toes.

"Hilarious move on her part but she did wound my pride." Satoru's mirthful grin then drooped as his pride did deflate. "So, retribution!" Killing your restraint as he nibbled on your padded piggies.

"SHOHOHOHOHOHOHOKO~!!! MAHAHAHAHAHAKE THEHEHEHEHEHEM STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP~!!!"

Your flailing calves nearly whacking them were immediately taken care of as their forearms wrapped around them to hold them in place, their hands squeezing your ankles in their ironclad grip. Suguru nibbled and dragged his teeth and tongue down your wrinkled sole while Satoru's lips and tongue suckled and wriggled between your toes.

"PLEHEHEHEHEHESE HAHAHAHAHAHAVE MEHEHEHEHEHERCY~!!!"

"Yeah, as the resident healer of our group, I see the telltale signs she's gonna pass out at this rate." Shoko nearly toppled over you as your hands needed some support to dig and squeeze your fingers in something to keep your unhinged self-grounded.

Suguru hummed in contemplation. "Hmmm … while seeing and hearing our love in this state does please me greatly, this overall was supposed to cheer her up."

"Your cheering up brand is quite savage indeed." Shoko's apathetic tone made them both stifle a groan; Satoru's vibrating through your foot made you squeal louder, as he finally popped his mouth off your saliva covered minies.

"Alright, alright! We will," Satoru gave a big wet smooch to your topside. "I'd say we're even now."

Suguru kissed your other topside in the same manner, before their arms released your calves, moving off your thighs so they could lay your legs fully down on your rustled sheeted bed.

You breathed in and out your relief as tranquility came at last; giggles from ghost tickles slipping in, releasing your hold on Shoko's arm to fold yours and use them as your personal resting pillow. "Ah … f … freedom … thank you." You were now more exhausted but less depressing. Pro? Perhaps. For now, anyway.

"Y/n." You leaned your head into Satoru's smooth warm hand as he brushed your hair strands sticking to your forehead aside, rubbing your forehead before brushing your hair back in gentle motions, as he flopped down on his stomach on your right side, resting his cheek on his free forearm, the vibrant Six Eyes looking at you over his lowered shades, straightforward truth teeming in them. "In this life, you can't save everyone."

You frowned at that, blunt and to the point, when Suguru also flopped down the same way on your left side, his giant firm hand rubbing massaging circles on your back, surging with tender care, bringing blessed sighs out of you, as his eyes met yours next, teemed with solace. "Nor will the fear of the unknown go away just like that."

"We can't promise that nothing will happen to all of us later on down the line, either." Satoru's distaste for it showed.

"But we can promise that when they do, come what may, we'll give it our all." Suguru's empathy shined through in his beautiful almond eyes.

"We have to in order to be the strongest duo, after all." Satoru chuckled as his cheek nuzzled yours.

"Eh? And me?" You pouted.

"Then trio." Suguru pecked your lips just to see that smile of yours blossom.

"Ahem!" Shoko fake coughed, sitting against the front of the bed on the floor, plopping her head back, lips puckered and batting eyes at you all in fake sadness.

"Okay, squad then! Point being! Whatever comes our way, we face it together, as best we can. We are there for each other. None of us should be alone. Right?" Satoru's sincere toothy smile sealed the deal.

You sighed deeply. "Fine … but any more savage tickling cheering up schemes in the future are off the table! I swear to God –!"

"Hai hai." The duo agreed in unison as they each pressed a deep noisy smooch to your cheeks.

"Ehem." Shoko pointed at her own face, wanting smooches too. That brought laughs out of all three of you before you kissed her forehead, and the guys kissed her cheeks.

The downpour had finally ceased, and you fell asleep from the tiring experience that toppled the rest.

"Too precious for this kind of life, she is." Shoko smiled faintly as the guys kept their eyes on yourself, softly breathing, slowly lifting and lowering your slumbering self.

"Suguru? Those dreams of hers …"

"Premonitions, you mean?"

Satoru nodded. "It's been happening for weeks now."

"She could be a cursed Seer of sorts. See the future and all that." Shoko interjected.

"Her cursed energy has been increasing. Her output as well. Still … I say we keep close to her. Keep our guard up." Suguru suggested.

"And if Yaga-sensei sends her out solo tasking again?" Satoru dreaded that possible outcome.

"We should inform him of this. If a possible dire threat does arrive in our future, I'd suggest one of us go with her on missions just in case. We both can handle solo missions just fine."

"Then I call dibs~!"

Suguru's eyes narrowed intensely. "My idea, my dibs."

Satoru flared up. "Eh~?!"

Your groggy stirring mumbles alerted the bois to keep it down, your settling down leaving them puffing out their reliefs.

"Compromise then, Satoru~?"

Said man groaned. "You're lucky you're you."

Suguru chuckled at that before smooching his snowy haired lover over your resting head.

"Your throuple is a cursed miracle in and of itself, alright." Shoko murmured, toying with the cig between her lips.

Your throuple life story.

Cursed miracle indeed.

[anonymous-dentist]

Part two of the Catboy in the Village AU

-

Cellbit wakes up handcuffed, which really doesn't bode well.

He's... moving. He's sitting up with his head pillowed on something soft, yet firm, and he's moving.

Ah. So he has been kidnapped, then. Great.

Groaning, Cellbit hides his face in his pillow's shoulder, confident that he isn't sticking his face anywhere it shouldn't be. He knows this shoulder, it's one of his favorites.

"Buenos días, gatinho," Roier warmly says. A kiss lands itself in Cellbit's hair right between his ears.

Cellbit fights the urge to purr (not now!), and he murmurs, "Am I going to be angry when I open my eyes?"

"Mmm, probably."

Cellbit sighs. So it's like that, then.

Eyes still closed, he pricks his ears up and tries to take in his environment. Horses, someone guiding them. Wheels noisily turning. Roier breathing, Cellbit himself breathing, someone else breathing. Three people total in the carriage- because they have to be in one, Cellbit doubts a supposed "prince" would be left to travel in a simple wagon.

Absolutely no signs of Richarlyson and Pepito. No arguing, no crying, no complaining. Nothing.

Slowly, Cellbit lets out a breath. He's calm.

"Roier," he asks, "where are our children?"

Roier stiffens minutely beneath him. "Um."

"Your children are fine," someone else says, and, ah, it would be her, wouldn't it?

Cellbit swallows his anger. He's calm.

He sits up, scooting closer to Roier so their arms are brushing because he is not about to be away from him right now. He opens his eyes, and he stares at the woman who has to be the newly-crowned Queen of the Gato Kingdom, and he hates.

"Your highness," he coolly says. "Where the fuck are my children?"

The queen's eyebrow twitches. "Don't call me that."

"Your highness. My children?"

"Not... with us at the moment, but I have my finest knights searching for them as we speak. Once we find them-"

She screeches as Cellbit lunges at her with his fangs bared. He can't use his hands, but that's fine, he was in prison once, he knows how to tear a throat out without using his claws.

He "oof"s as he's swiftly kicked in the chest by a heeled shoe and shoved back into his seat opposite the queen.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" the queen demands.

Cellbit answers her with a snarl and a second attempt at political assassination. This time, though, he's stopped by Roier, who grabs him around the middle with both arms and pulls him to his chest.

Immediately, Cellbit feels his body relax. Damnit.

"I told you you'd be angry," Roier hums.

He slips a hand under Cellbit's shirt and just leaves it splayed across his stomach. The queen looks mildly disturbed. What, is she homophobic, too? Rich and homophobic? Pick a struggle.

"Of course I'm angry," Cellbit sneers. He glares at the queen, who glares right back. "We've been kidnapped."

The queen rolls her eyes. "You aren't being kidnapped. You are being escorted."

"In handcuffs!"

"Yeah!" Roier agrees. "Only I can put my husband in handcuffs!"

The queen's face goes mildly green. Oh, so she is homophobic. Great.

Cellbit, though, groans and slams his head against Roier's shoulder. Roier just grins at him, the piece of shit.

"Well," the queen hesitantly says, "it was either this or ropes."

Roier protests, "Only I can put my husband in ro-"

He cuts himself off with a moan as Cellbit pinches his thigh.

"Cállate," Cellbit huffs. "She doesn't need to know."

"I really don't," the queen agrees, complete with a nod of the head. "You're my brother, I don't want or need to be hearing any of this."

(Not that the 'any of this' is real. The most extreme thing Cellbit and Roier have done in bed is play board games and lose the pieces in their blankets, but it's just so fun to make people uncomfortable.)

"I'm not," Cellbit tells her.

He tilts his head back and looks up at Roier. "Did you know that she thinks I'm the missing Gato Kingdom prince?"

Roier laughs. "What, really? You?"

Cellbit smiles. "I know, right?"

"I'm right here," the queen flatly says. "And you are my brother. His name is Cellbit, your name is Cellbit. You have feline features. Only members of-"

Cellbit finishes her sentence for her: "-the Gato royal family are cat hybrids. I know. But you're wrong."

The queen crosses her arms and her legs, her foot bouncing impatiently on the floor.

"Oh, yeah?" she asks. "How?"

"Because," Cellbit simply says.

Nothing else.

Roier snorts. He adjusts his hold on Cellbit, halfway pulling him onto his lap and hooking his chin over Cellbit's shoulder.

Cellbit looks down at Roier's very un-handcuffed hands and pouts.

"Why aren't you restrained?" he complains.

"Because I haven't tried to kill the queen," Roier smugly says. He pokes Cellbit's nose, making Cellbit go cross-eyed. "This is what you get, pendejo."

"Fuck you," Cellbit grumbles. "You didn't try to fight her a little? For me?"

"Nah. I killed all her knights, though."

Gods.

Cellbit's eyes practically glitter. "Wow. I bet you got real sweaty."

Roier nods. "And I took my shirt off."

Gods!!

Cellbit turns to glare at the queen. "You made me miss that!"

The queen's mouth opens in shock. "You tried stabbing me!"

"And you kidnapped me! I think stabbing you would've been worth it!"

"Calma, gatinho," Roier lightly says. He slips his other hand under Cellbit's shirt; his two hands link together, his thumb rubbing soothing little circles above Cellbit's bellybutton. "Don't threaten royalty when I don't have my sword."

"You aren't being kidnapped!" the queen shouts. "This could've gone a lot easier if you had just come with me to begin with!"

"And why the fuck would I do that?" Cellbit sneers.

"Because I'm your sister, idiot!"

"I'm an orphan, idiot!"

The queen bodily flinches, recoiling into the back of her seat with wide eyes and a trembling mouth.

Sensing a tense moment, Roier takes the opportunity to say, "You know, maybe he isn't your brother. Maybe I'm your brother, hm? Maybe my ears fell off in the war."

It's just the kind of statement that would blow Pepito's mind. Pepito, oh, Pepito...

Cellbit wants his kids.

The queen ignores Roier. She continues staring at Cellbit, instead.

"What happened to you?" she asks, voice hoarse.

Cellbit gives her a flat look in response. "What hasn't. I'm not who you think I am. I'm... me. You have the wrong guy."

He twists his wrists in his handcuffs. They're simple enough...

"This really isn't a good first impression," Roier adds.

As Roier continues speaking, Cellbit pops his thumb out of its socket and starts subtly pulling his hand through the cuff.

Roier says, "Like, I get you wanted to see him, but this is kinda fucked, you know? You couldn't have sent a letter? We could have had brunch, but, noooooo, you just had to show up like this and freak him out."

"I'm not freaked out," Cellbit grumbles.

(And now the other hand...)

"I didn't want it to be this way," the queen says. She looks painedly at Cellbit. "It's- I- we need you back, Cellbit. Our parents- the king and queen are both dead. You promised that you would help me when I took the throne. I've been looking for you for years, and-"

"Okay," Roier interrupts. "See? Talking's good. Gatinho, do you have anything to say?"

"Yeah," Cellbit replies. He looks at the queen, and he says, "Guapito, hold on."

He sticks his tongue out at the queen (childish, maybe, but she's pissing him off), and he slams himself against the carriage door.

And... nothing happens.

He smacks his head, and he sees stars, and he falls backwards onto the carriage's floor with a pained grunt.

The queen gives him a mocking look. "What, you didn't think I would lock the door? You really are my brother, dumbass. You haven't changed a bit."

Roier, at least, looks somewhat pitying.

"That would've been cool if it had worked?" he tries.

Cellbit just groans in response and drops his head back down onto the floor.

He used to be an escape artist. And now he's trapped in a carriage with an insane woman.

"Sit tight," the queen says, settling back into her seat and making sure to kick Cellbit in the side as she does so. "It's a long trip back to the castle."

"If I don't see my children when we're there, I'll actually kill you," Cellbit threatens.

Her lips quirk into a smirk. "You can try."

And he hates her.

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [7/…]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

“It's funny how I still forgot, it would be a hundred times easier if we were young again,”

— Mitski, “Two Slow Dancers”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 8

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. 

In the aftermath of your drunken escapades, you wake up to find yourself faced with new challenges, including a killer headache, a group of fish people, and the very clown responsible for putting you in this position. Needless to say, it does not bode well to take on fights while still inebriated.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), morally grey reader, violence, descriptions of blood and wounds,

A/N: The next chapter will be fully dedicated to Buggy and Reader/"Cross Hairs"

"Chug, chug, chug!" Both Buggy and Shanks cheer you on as you all but inhale the contents in your bottle in one go, not stopping until all of it has gone down. You pull back with an audible inhale, and after a couple of quiet seconds, the loudest BUUUURP! ever to cross the oceans erupt from the pits of your stomach.

Your two crewmates watch in awe, then erupt into hard fits of laughter that have them rolling on the ground while clenching their stomach. 

After pumping your fists victoriously into the air and discarding the bottle, you join them soon after and settle down around the campfire. You three barely managed to put one together, but with the help of a few thin twigs and a bottle of the captain's purest liquor, you got it going soon enough.

Buggy wipes the tears away from his eyes and pulls another bottle of stolen beverages from his bag. "Not bad, not bad at all. Still, listen to this."

Jumping to his feet, Buggy swings the bottle, takes a glorious gulp, and punches his chest a few times. Out comes a large BUUUURP! that surpasses yours by miles, and continues to echo from around the island.

You immediately raise your hands in applause, laughing in that sweet way that makes his pulse quicken. In truth, your laughter is hardly elegant, more like the sounds a dying boar makes, yet he enjoys it all the same.

With one arm straightened out whereas the other goes to his chest, he makes a dramatic bow in front of you across the fire. "Thank you, thank you, my fair lady. I'll be here all day."

When he straightens up again, he sees the fire shine so clearly in your eyes; the flames dancing in your irises, and he feels warmer than the fire itself. You're looking at him - him - with such adoration that his stomach feels funny. Maybe it's the liquor playing a part in this, yet he doubts it.

"Buggy, that was so gross!" Shanks says with mirth, then gestures for the bottle. "Give it here! I'll show you how it's really done."

"Sure, I'd like to see you try!" Buggy hands him the bottle.

"There's no way you can surpass that, Shanks." You oppose lightly. "No fucking way."

"Yeah, watch me!" 

Shanks takes a generous portion, pats his stomach, and out comes yet another BUUURP! 

Sure, it's impressive enough, but nowhere near Buggy's, and the redhead acknowledges this with a defeated sigh before anyone even says anything.

"It's alright," Buggy severs his hand to pat him patronizingly on the back. "You tried. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, you know?"

Shanks pushes his hand away with a grin. "Oh, lay of it!"

The night continues like that, with some more drinking, some more burping contests, and sharing their thoughts on the latest endeavors of the Oro Jackson. Whenever the crew docked for a while someplace, the three of you would usually find some way to enjoy your time off away from the crew's supervision like this.

It also involves the three of you singing sea shanties together, arms hooked around each other as you sing at the top of your lungs:

"Gather up all of the crew, It's time to ship out Bink's brew. Pirates we, eternally, Are challenging the seas!"

It is just fun; three teenagers enjoying their teenage years to the fullest until the day they can venture on their own.

After a while, Buggy starts to feel his bladder press, probably from the liquor. He tries to ignore it at first, not wanting to miss anything, but it does not take long before he has to oblige with his body's request.

You're the first to notice him moving. "Where are you going, Buggy?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "Just got to take a piss."

"Don't go too far," Shanks adds with a twinge of mischief in his eyes. "I've heard there are boars on this island, don't want to get chased, do you?"

Buggy feels chills run up his arms, but he refuses to acknowledge it. "S-Shut it! There aren't any shitty boars here, or we'd see them by now!"

"Yeah, but I've also heard that they catch the smell of piss particularly strong,"

"Bullshit!" He trudges off. "Boars, my ass!"

"Be careful, Buggy!" you call after him.

The chills across his body immediately get replaced with a sense of pride, and he disappears to do his business with a smile.

Once he's finished and headed back, he can hear your soft laughter as he approaches the makeshift campsite. His heart nearly drops into his stomach when he sees what's going on.

You and Shanks are sitting closer together now, knees width apart, and you're laughing. Shanks just told a joke, a terrible joke that makes even Buggy cringe, yet you laugh all the same. 

That soft laughter, just not for him this time.

It shouldn't make him feel as shitty as it does, yet a nauseous feeling settles in the pits of his stomach. You and Shanks are crew mates and friends, just as he is. He's never caught onto any implications that you like him in that sense, but why does it sting so much then to watch the two of you like this? So close, so at ease, so carefree and soft.

He often thinks about the time you saved him, about the time you brought an entire crew down just for him. You held his hand, you were worried; he’s been thinking that maybe there’s something there that isn’t just in his imagination.

But, wouldn’t you have done the same thing for Shanks, too? Has he maybe mistaken camaraderie for something else? Something that's not there?

Buggy suddenly feels ill, and he can’t blame it on the alcohol this time.

He thinks that it makes sense, in a way that gives his deep-rooted insecurity a boost. Shanks has always been the better of the two; a natural leader, calm in battle, and strategic in the ways that he himself is unable to be. 

Meanwhile, Buggy is ... Well, just Buggy. 

Buggy with the weird, red, enlarged nose people always make fun of. 

Buggy, who can never seem to pull off the same stunts as successfully as Shanks can. 

Buggy, who cracks the worst kinds of jokes that oftentimes make people laugh more out of pity than genuine humor. 

You always laugh at them, laugh with him, but maybe he’s been mistaken there too?

It's obvious that Shanks is the better choice. Buggy would follow him anywhere, and he'd follow you anywhere, yet the thought of you following Shanks whereas Buggy trails behind the both of you like a stray puppy just feels ...

"Ah, there you are." Your voice snaps him out of his head as you wave him over. "You didn't come across any boars, did you?"

It takes him a moment to respond, and when he does, it's nothing grand. His voice has been reduced to a demure murmur as he steps closer to the fire. "No, there is nothing."

"You sure?" Shanks asks with a grin. "Thought I heard some noises back there!"

For some reason, Buggy snaps "IT'S NOTHING!"

His outburst evidently catches the both of you off-guard. 

"Buggy, are you al—?"

"I'm fine." He's not. "But we should head back before the captain instigates a damn search party for us. We've probably been out too long."

He turns his back to you and starts heading in the direction you came from, and he feels his chest tighten so fucking much it makes breathing hard. He tries to tell himself it's not what he thinks, but at the same time, that nagging whisper in the back of his head that always stalks him is incessant.

"It makes sense," it whispers. "After all, it's never you."

———

"What in the hell is the matter with you?"

It takes you several minutes to force your eyes open. You're in the restaurant, you uncover, lounging over a table with a thin napkin serving as the only cushion for your cheek. 

By some miracle, you manage to aim your eyes up from behind your arms and see Zeff standing there with his hands on his hips, like an angry grandfather of sorts.

"Zeff," you groan and heave a tired breath. Fuck, your head is killing you, as though a hamster wheel has found residence in your cranium. "It's too early for this."

"It's almost eleven o'clock, the sun is up."

"Still too early," 

"Heard you practically robbed the bar last night; the bill is through the damn roo-"

Before he gets to finish, you dig into the pocket of your pants and pull out a hefty pouch of berries on the table. A few spill out on the wooden surface, clinking. "Just take this as compensation and give me another bottle while you're at it."

Zeff looks at the pouch, does a mental count, and finally takes it after deciding that it's enough. "Huh, thought that scrawny chore boy was broke?"

"They are." You turn to let your chin rest on the table, giving you a little better view than before. "But I did have a pension plan before I retired. Keep it with me when it counts."

Zeff sighs and pockets the berries without complaint, but not before giving you an unimpressed one-over. You're happy you don't carry a mirror with you; probably look like shit, and you feel like shit, too. Your hangover could've been considerably worse, but at this moment in time, you'd prefer it if you went to sleep and didn't wake up for another twenty years or so.

"What the hell is going on with you, lass?" Zeff finally asks, and this time, he retains some of his usual roughness. 

"Nothing ..." you murmur.

His bushy eyebrows scrunch. "I've been working at this place for almost a decade, seen people at their worst. People down on their luck, people who've lost, people who've grieved."

"And?"

"And I'll tell you something, lass. No one looks quite as damn destroyed as someone who's had their hearts broken."

The hamster wheel comes to a screeching halt, and you abruptly sit up to glare at him. "I'm not heartbroken. Why does everyone insist on that?"

His lips tug into a halfway smirk like he's just caught a fish on his hook. "You're strong, I'll give you that much, but no one's above the loss of love. So, who was the bloke?"

"No one," you almost spit, narrowing your eyes. 

Zeff remains undeterred, even a little proud. "Couldn't have been a 'no one' if they managed to capture the interest of the Beast of the East, can they?"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from lunging at the old man for even insinuating that someone - specifically him - has managed to put you in such a sorry state. You won't give the Chief the satisfaction.

With some herculean effort on your part, you take a deep breath and recline in your seat. Quietly, without looking at the chief, you order: "Three beers and today's lunch."

Zeff shrugs. "Fine, but after, you should check on your crew. That swordsman really took a hit,"

Right, Zoro challenged Mihawk to a fucking duel, and the memories come flooding back to you. You glance up at that chief, masking the underlying concern with a face of indifference. "He alive?"

"Yes and no. If you want to know, go see for yourself."

You nod, and he leaves you to stir your hangover. Maybe it was a mistake to get as shitfaced as you did, but that doesn't change the fact that you tried to keep them from making mistakes. You did what you were supposed to, yet still, why does it feel like this is your fault?

You've grown fond of the crew, and it's become more of a headache than you initially bargained for.

The waiter comes with your order on a plate, not Sanji this time, you discover. In fact, he's nowhere to be seen. 

Without wasting your breath, you immediately dig into your meal like a woman starved of sustenance. It tastes delicious, but the residue of yesterday's liquor on your tongue dilutes the taste. You don't care, though.

Shortly after finishing half a portion of your lunch, you resume with your bottles. A slower pace this time, to ensure that your current condition doesn't significantly worsen, but still fast enough to keep you from remembering.

Remembering too much.

Half a bottle into your stupor, the entrance doors slam open and a pang of pain burst through the nerves in your brain. All you can think is that it's way too early for someone to be stirring shit up.

A round of gasps echoes through the establishment, and when you peek up from over your shoulder, you see three fish people making their entrance from the top of the staircase. 

You've had your share of encounters with fish people in the past, some more ... tolerable than the rest. In hindsight, there's no difference between the way you treat people; if they get on your nerves, you deal with them. If they don't, you leave them be.

Your instincts tell you that these people will fall into the former category.

However, you notice that the one with the sharp nose looks awfully familiar, but your temporary amnesia might have something to do with the alcohol circling in your veins. Still, it's not a face that's easy to forget.

A few people try to get up from their seats, but with a simple, "Sit down!", they comply.

You narrow your eyes at the spectacle but don't move to get away. As long as he doesn't bother you, there's no reason for you to get involved. Baratie's had worse customers before, so this is nothing new. Zeff'll handle it like he always does.

So, you continue with your drinks, already annoyed and in desperate need of the numbing sensation only the bottle can provide. Zeff appears to deal with it, and it doesn't pique your interest until the fish man proclaims: 

"Listen up! I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy."

Now this catches your attention mid-sip. 

You look at the particular fish man discreetly over your shoulder, your sobriety making a quick return once you discover that you do know of him. He's Arlong the Saw; a misanthrope who makes a living killing humans. 

"Arlong," he said moments ago to Zeff. "I own the East Blue."

You don't know why he's after Luffy, and quite frankly, you don't care. With your fucking luck, he's after the map, too. 

He can pretend to own the seas all he wants, but what matters to you is that he won't get to the boy, and it's something that Zeff seems on board with if his negotiation tactics mean anything.

So, in silence, you continue with your drinking, content with laying low until one of Arlong's henchmen - one with black hair tied up on each side of his head - appears at your side. 

He leers over your shoulder, the stench of seawater evading your nostrils, and reaches for one of your bottles.

"Hope you don't mind sharing," he chuckles, and for some reason, this gesture pisses you off.

You're not in the fucking mood.

Before his hand can as much as graze the bottle's fine surface, you grip the back of his shirt and all but fling him back from whence he came. The sound of a table breaking behind you interrupts the eerie quietness that's befallen the other patrons, and you get up from your seat to glare at the other fish people.

"Fucking get lost," your voice rings out like an ominous warning across the air of the establishment, rendering everyone mute. Well, everyone except for Arlong, who proceeds to laugh heartedly at the spectacle whereas his other henchman quickly moves to aid his fallen colleague.

"Well, well, who do we have here?" He stands up from the table, two sharp rows of teeth reflecting the light from the restaurant as he grins. "If it ain't the Beast of the East, in the flesh." He tilts his head to the side. "I was expecting someone ... younger."

"I'm retired."

"So I've heard, but someone else seems to think otherwise."

"Well, this 'someone else’ must’ve been mistaken."

"No, no," he wags his 'finger?'. "You see, he was quite adamant that you're back in business. If that is the case, I am owed tribute for the stunts you've pulled."

You quirk an eyebrow, so lowly that it hardly seems to move at all. "Tribute?"

"Half of whatever plunder you acquired during the years you were active," he waves his hand. "And half of what you've acquired as of late."

Capitalism, truly. Seems that not even fishmen can deny its pull.

Your answer is simple. 

"No."

Arlong's grin shapes into a snarl quite easily. "You may have the highest bounty, but it is still I who own the East Blue."

"The sea belongs to no one," you counter sharply. "Not me, and certainly not you."

It's clear that he perceives this as a slight in the highest degree if the downward tug of his lips serves as an indication. "Do you even know who I am?"

"I don't care who you are." Your fist clenches into a tight knot that almost draws blood as you stare him down from across the room; two beasts in their own respective ways. 

"I'm Arlong the Saw."

"More like Arlong the Nailfile." This earns you a growl you're not nearly sober enough to worry about. "Look, I don't care who you are, and I don't care why you're here. The point is, you're not wanted."

You glance over at Zeff. For once, in the time you've known him, he's cautious but allows you to get your words across.

Arlong does not share the same sentiments. "When I learned that Cross-Hairs was here, I expected a woman with fists of irons and eyes sharp as knives. However, all I seem to be presented with is an old captain who does not know how to hold her liquor. It's pathetic, even by human standards."

This time, you're not vocal about your rather ... brutally honest opinions about him. Without breaking eye contact, you reach for your bottle and take a hefty swing from it. It all goes down without pause, and once it's gone, you put it back with enough force to permanently dent the table. Zeff'll be pissed.

Arlong snorts at the display. "I'm not here for you specifically. The boy, Luffy, where is he?"

"Never heard of him,"

"I don't quite believe that."

"Not my problem."

Arlong tilts his head to the side, almost condescendingly. "My informant knows otherwise."

"Your informant seems to know a lot of things," you say, dangerously low. "If you tell me who they are, and I'll pay them a visit myself to set the record straight,"

He chuckles. "There's no need for a visit. He's already here, and he's famished." He snaps his jaws to a nearby table, scaring the patrons into fleeing. "But I don't need the meals from the menu to quench my hunger."

You glance over at the other patrons, seeing the fear in their eyes reflect the light above. You've seen it before; you used to see it back when you were still Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates. People used to quake at the sound of your footsteps, and whisper among themselves. in fear of evoking your wrath.

Back in the day, you lived up to your reputation. You didn't necessarily enjoy installing fear into people's hearts, but it was a means to an end. You were angry, and all that anger manifested itself in the way you acted as a captain. All that fighting, all that beating, all that rage.

Now, when you see the patrons acting like a herd of sheep, you can't help but feel like you're back there. But they're not afraid of you, not this time.

You look back at Arlong. "Find your meal someplace else."

He growls and steps closer. "I'm telling you this, Cross-Hairs, one beast to another. You may be strong, but we both know that you're not strong enough to take me on. Fish men are superior to humans in every single way. Stronger, faster, —"

He gets close enough to grab for your hand and lift it, his face a breath's width from your own. You can smell the stench of salt on him, of raw meat. "— Hungrier. Wouldn't you agree?"

In a flash, you grip your other hand around his wrist, fingers digging into his flesh until you can find the corners of his joints. You relish in the pained expression that crosses his face.

"You're not a beast," you say, not raising your voice a pitch. "You're vermin."

Arlong parts his jaws when the doors to the Baratie burst open. 

"Which one of you is Arlong?" 

You snap your attention to the top of the staircase, and your face drains. Fuck, it's Luffy. Why's he here?

"Who's asking?" Arlong asks, his grip around yours remains tight.

"I'm Monkey D. Luffy. I hear you're looking for me."

Once Luffy descends the stairs, Arlong lets go of you and turns to face the younger opponent. You watch with mild impressiveness as Luffy faces the bigger fish man, and you have to grant him that, he doesn't exhibit an ounce of fear. 

"How'd you find me anyway?" Luffy finally asks.

Arlong snickers. "An old friend helped track you down."

Then, you watch as the big-lipped fish man pulls something out from his bag and it's ... and it's ...

"Heya, Straw Hat! Did you miss me?"

It's fucking Buggy!

Your heart skips several beats before it remembers to start pumping again. He's here. You thought Orange Town would be the last time you saw him, but he's really here. Truth be told, he looks worse for wear; his make-up is all smudged, a bruise forming on the right side of his cheek, and he's been dowsed in seawater.

But it's him. It's him.

Buggy's eyes glance over at you, and the smile that was previously there gets momentarily replaced with an expression you can't precisely pinpoint. "Hey, there," he says, surprisingly demure. "how's it going?" 

You're not nearly sober nor coherent enough to reply.

"Burpy?" Luffy asks surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Believe me it wasn't my first choice either, but these fine fishy folk persuaded me to point them in the right direction, which ain't easy when you don't have any hands."

"How'd you even know how to find me?"

"I told you, I got eyes and ears everywhere."

To your horror, you watch as an ear pulls itself out of Luffy's hat and attaches to the clown's head. That ear was there all along, which means ...

"You were listening all along?" Luffy cradles his hat. "You heard everything?"

Everything, you think to yourself as you feel the blood drain from your face. He heard everything, everything you'd said to Luffy, everything about your whereabouts. Every—

"Everything," Buggy answers. "And that got old quick, 'cause you shidiots got no idea what you're doing. Hey, Lips!" He turns his head sideways to face the fish man who's just returned from aiding his colleague. "How about a scratch behind the old ear, huh?"

"Sorry, honey."

You don't know what compels you, but something fierce does. An animalistic instinct settled in the marrow of your bones, rampant with rage and assertiveness. When the fish man grabs a hold of Buggy and puts him in the bag, you feel the need to get him out. Free him.

You were friends with him once, something even more from your side long ago, and you've tried to kill each other on at least one occasion. Still, that piece of you that remains in your youthhood demands that you get to him before anyone else.

The conversation that takes place between Luffy and Arlong doesn't register with your ears, as all you can focus on is him. Before you know it, the sound of gunshots echoes through the restaurant, and a fight erupts between Luffy's crew and Arlong's.

Truth be told, it all flashes in front of you like pictures from a movie you've seen. All you can recall, with the alcohol still flooding through your veins, is the feeling of flesh between your digits, the sound of cries and painful moans from Arlong's henchpeople as you force them to the side, and the pure adrenaline that muddles all your thoughts of ration.

Before Arlong can even hope to make a grasp at Luffy, you're there to deflect his claws with your wrist. The impact pushes his hand several inches away from your skin, and without a moment's notice, you strike him in the middle of his sternum.

He's knocked several feet back and into a nearby pillar, not enough to completely knock him out, but enough to keep him away if only for a few moments.

He laughs, his teeth bleeding from the gums. "The Beast of the East. I was wondering when I'd finally get to meet you."

You don't say a word, with the primitive instincts overwhelming your rational ones. In a second, you lunge for him, your hand aimed towards his head. Someone, most likely yourself, must have miscalculated because as much as you intend to hit him and maim him and strike him, the most prominent sense that strikes you is not the feeling of blood under your knuckles.

It's pain.

You're in pain.

Arlong manages to hit you with his clawed fingers. The sharp feeling of something piercing the side of your abdomen through your clothes causes an eerie feeling of hurt. You gasp and bend to your knees, clutching your side. Blood paints your palm as you withdraw it. You're bleeding. Fuck, you're actually bleeding. It's not a light cut either, it's several ones, an inch deep each, and they're bleeding profusely.

When was the last time you bled like this?

The collision between your head and something hard knocks you back before you can even hope to register your state properly. The floorboards leave stinging burns across your lower back until a pillar cushions your fall.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"A pity, truly." Arlong taunts, towering over you. "My informant seemed so confident in your skills. How disappointed he’ll be, seeing you crawl like a maggot on the floor."

You know this is a fight you cannot win, not as you are right now, but you don’t care. Pure spite motivates you to do your worst, even if it’s all for naught.

An act produced from pure adrenaline, you jump back to your feet and prepare to pounce at him. An outstretched hand — Luffy's — beat you to it and preoccupied the fish man in the nick of time. He's pulled away from your reach before you can hope to get him, and a familiar feeling of bloodlust in your veins awakens to life after its hibernation.

Hot, boiling.

You want to kill him. 

Maim him. 

Crush him until his bones break. 

Feel the warmth of his blood coat your fingers as you dig into his body, through veins and arteries and flesh. 

You want him dead.

Suddenly, you catch it from your peripheral vision. A bag on the floor that's currently being tossed back and forth amid all the fighting like a ball of yarn between two quarreling cats. A string of curses erupts from the fabric.

He's still here, you remember. Buggy is still here. 

You have the option to leave him at the mercy of the fight between the Straw Hats and Arlong, but something in your body won't let it. Call it instinct, call it sentiment, but you move towards it all the same. Before any man can even touch the surface of the bag, you lunge for it like a flash of light. 

Grabbing the top of the old fabric, you all but yank it from the floor and maintain him in the steady grip of both your hands. 

"Hey, hey!" the voice in the bag calls. "Keep me out of this!"

"Shut up!" You shout back.

The voice immediately quiets down. In the middle of the fight, while you cling to the bag like a sacred object, you can hear him call your name several times, though you don’t answer.

You cradle the bag in the crook of your elbow as someone — doesn’t matter who — kicks your ribs and sends you crashing into a nearby wall. The impact knocks the air out of your lungs and leaves you with stars at the corners of your vision, yet all you can seem to think is ‘keep .... safe, keep .... safe, KEEP .... SAFE’.

You cough several times, static noise filling your eardrums as you crawl back to your feet. The sensation of something warm dribbling down the side of your ribs strikes you, yet your only concern in the midst of the blood loss is to carry that damn bag to safety. 

It doesn’t make any sense. Luffy should be your only concern, but you can't find him, and the core of your being wants nothing more than to just get that bag the hell out of there. 

Why? you think to yourself in a haze, your breath becoming heavier. What’s in that bag again? Why does it mean so much?

You try to get up, but the weight of your body overwhelms you. You stumble and fall back to your knees, dizziness making everything hazy and disoriented, but pure spite motivates you to keep going. At least, it tries to, but sheer will cannot outweigh the body’s needs alone.

Someone calls your name, and as your cheek meets the floor, an image of blue hair invades your vision. Blue hair, soft promises, and tight embraces.

Then, there are scornful glares, a shove against your body, so firm and cold that it’s reminiscent of ice.

“I hate you,” a blurry voice says, so filled with resentment that it reminds you of a knife. “I wish we’d never even met. Go be with him if that’s what you fucking want. What do I care?”

It hurts. It hurts more than your ribs do. It hurts to listen to those words — that voice — as it reverberates through your skull. It hurts so fucking much that you don’t think you can survive it. You feel small, small and vulnerable; like a child stuck in a crowd of people they don't know.

“He- Hey! Are you there?” The same voice - deeper and darker now - calls desperately as darkness starts to cloud your vision. “Come on, get up!”

You can’t tell if this is a voice from inside your head or outside it, but you don’t fight it when the darkness decides to lay claim over you. The same voice calls your name urgently, time and time again, but you can't answer it.

———

Everything hurts. Your body, your arms, your legs, but most prominently, the right side of your body. It’s burning, stinging, fucking carving at you. Whatever you call it. It just hurts.

“You’re awake!”

You barely have time to open your eyes when a warm body presses itself against yours from above. A sting of pain from the side of your body immediately surges through your nerves and you hiss.

“Oh, sorry, sorry!”

When you finally do look up, you see Luffy sitting beside you, a concerned yet hopeful look in those round eyes of his. You blink at him, then shift your head around to see where you are. You’re in your cabin, a blanket pulled up to your midsection, with something wrapped tightly around your stomach under your shirt.

At first, you’re at a loss for thoughts, but it only takes you a moment for everything to fall back into place. You immediately sit up, only to regret it as the pain explodes once more from your wounds.

“Don’t move too much,” Luffy protests and puts a hand on your shoulder to guide you down, but you resist it.

“What happened?” you demand. “How long was I out for?”

“Only a few hours.” Luffy frowns and gestures to your side. “You were badly hurt and lost a bit of blood. Zeff looked over it and managed to stop the bleeding, but he said you’ll need stitches eventually.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before your gaze trails down to your side. Lifting your shirt far enough so that you can evaluate the damage. Crimson-stained bandages greet your vision, under which you can only guess Arlong left his mark. Several marks to be precise, if your memory holds any value.

It’s not the wound itself that fills you with shame, but it’s the fact that you let your own grievances put you and – to some extent – the crew in such a vulnerable position to begin with. 

If only you’d stopped feeling so sorry for yourself, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“Luffy,” you say softly, not removing your focus from the bandages. “I’m … sorry.”

“For what?” he asks, completely confused.

“… I got distracted.” You slowly swing your feet to the edge of the hammock, the movements warranting more bouts of pain, yet you ignore it. “I … Let my guard down, and it put the crew in danger.”

“I don’t think so.” He says it so casually like he doesn’t find you at fault in the slightest. You don’t know whether deem his forgiving demeanor endearing or naïve to a fault. “You were sad.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything!” You jump to your feet while cradling your side. Luffy immediately comes to your side and offers you a shoulder to lean onto. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “And so is Zoro! He’s alive!”

“That’s … good.” Relief floods your body.

“But Nami…” Luffy pauses as he helps you out of the room towards the kitchen. “She went with Arlong,”

You raise an eyebrow, not expecting this. “Why?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find her.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“Well …” he trails off sheepishly, and you’re immediately suspicious. 

It’s not until you finally reach the kitchen that you hear it.

“Hey! Look who it ... is ...”

It’s Buggy … 

His head is on top of the kitchen table. 

———

Taglist:

@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107 (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[aaliyg]

Mine All Mine, All Mine

Word Count: 1.1K+

Pairing: Azzi Fudd x black!fem!OC

Prompt: Jealousy + Friends to Lovers

Warnings: drinking, tipsy oc, VERY suggestive but nothing actually happens

Dialogue Color Code: Azzi, Liyah

(You have this edit to thank and also @iminlovewithpaigebueckers for enabling me🤭)

Azzi had never really been one for bars, especially if her team was involved. Tonight was a little different though. It was the last night of her freshman year at Uconn, and her roommate Liyah had made it her business to get Azzi out of the dorm one last time. At first, Azzi thought they were going to Ted’s since it was closest, but obviously, the shorter girl had other things in mind.

Now, Azzi found herself trailing her roomie around the new bar further into the city called Pour Decisions. It wasn't hard, she just had to keep an eye on the full head of black and copper locs. While she of course trusted Liyah when she was sober, tipsy Liyah was another beast entirely. Within twenty minutes of them being here, Liyah had somehow gotten at least five free drinks with varying levels of alcohol from other girls that had gone out that night. While Azzi and Liyah weren’t exactly an item, she still couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Maybe it was because they had lived together all year, but Azzi had just gotten so…used to having Liyah’s undivided attention. Now to see her multitask like this…

Before she could even continue her train of thought, another girl was already coming up to Liyah and asking if she wanted a drink. By now, Liyah was swaying slightly, so Azzi politely pulled her away.

“Sorry, but I gotta take this one home. She’s had a bit too much for one night.”

Azzi made it a point to ignore Liyah’s obvious confusion as she steered her out into some fresh air. The campus wasn’t too far away, so they walked over in silence. Azzi could practically feel Liyah’s gaze burning into the side of her head, but she didn’t want to talk in public about this where anyone could listen in. Instead, she chose to speed up her gait, which made Liyah huff in annoyance as the click-clack of her heels sed up in tempo.

As soon as they crossed the threshold of their dorm, Liyah gave Azzi a look.

“Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

Suddenly the floor looked really nice to Azzi, but even then, she could see Liyah’s foot tapping impatiently. She mustered up what courage she could and sighed softly.

“...Six drinks would be a bit much don’t you think?”

“Azzi.”

Azzi took a deep breath and finally looked up, meeting Liyah’s unimpressed gaze. She usually found humor in that withering look since it usually wasn’t directed at her. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Okay, it’s not just about the drinks. You were getting all this attention, and I just..”

Azzi could practically hear the puzzle pieces click together in Liyah’s mind as her frown slowly turned into a knowing shit-eating smirk. She knew that look all too well, and it never boded well for her in any situation, especially not this one.

"Ohhhhh…"

That smirk stayed in place as Liyah swayed her hips slowly towards Azzi. Suddenly the already small dorm felt VERY cramped and humid.

"I think I see what's going on here."

Azzi felt her chest flutter as she was slowly backed against the wall.

"Liyah…it's not like that."

Liyah raised a brow knowingly and chuckled a bit.

“Oh, but I think it is like that. You’re not exactly subtle about it, you know.”

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut as Liyah leaned in, and the scent of alcohol on her tongue wafting around was certainly not making the situation any better.

“...Are you jealous?”

“If I say yes will you lay off me?”

“If I say yes will you lay on me?”

Azzi's eyes flew open as Liyah's words registered, her heart pounding in her chest. The sheer boldness and flirtatiousness of her roommate's response left Azzi feeling both flustered and oddly intrigued. Liyah grinned as Azzi’s eyes darted every which way, visibly trying to grapple for a shred of control over herself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Mhm aight then, Az. Please remember that I am a STEM major…I’m not dumb babes.”

“I never said you were…”

Liyah hummed as her fingers traced Azzi’s arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and Azzi's voice wavered slightly as she tried to find the right words.

"I didn't mean to come across as jealous. I just... I guess I've gotten so used to having you all to myself, you know? And seeing you with all those other girls, it just..."

Liyah could almost coo at how vulnerable Azzi looked. Taking pity, she backed off a bit, but kept her tone low and enticing as her eyes twinkled in a way that Azzi just knew meant trouble.

"You don't have to be jealous, you know…. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re literally the only girl I’ve actively flirted back with."

Azzi felt her chest burn as Liyah's words sunk in. She had been so caught up in her own insecurities that she hadn't even noticed the clear implication behind Liyah's actions. But…now that she said it…Azzi realized she was right.

“You look like you’re having a midlife crisis…”

Azzi ducked her head and smiled shyly despite herself. She didn’t know she could be this blind.

"I guess I just never thought you saw me that way. I mean, we're roommates and all that. I didn’t wanna…you know…"

“Ruin anything? While I appreciate it…”

Liyah gently tilted Azzi’s chin up and smiled softly at the woman before her.

“I really do like you, Azzi. If I had known getting free drinks would’ve done this then we should’ve gone out WAY sooner.”

Azzi felt a flutter in her chest as Liyah's words sank in. All this time, her feelings hadn't been one-sided after all. She couldn't help but chuckle at Liyah's playful remark. Azzi could already feel her confidence and composure seeping back in.

"So all I had to do was get a little jealous, huh? I guess I should’ve known better."

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully, even as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She couldn’t help but look down at Liyah’s lips as she moved closer.

"Well, if that's the case, maybe I should get jealous more often."

Liyah let out a low chuckle, her thumb tracing the outline of Azzi's mouth, voice heavy with want and promise.

"I don't think that'll be necessary babes, because from now on, you've got my undivided attention."

That’s all Azzi needed before she leaned in to kiss the woman in front of her. It felt like everything was being put into place as the universe intended it to be, and she couldn't be happier.

[the-darklings]

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

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

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

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

notes: all good things come to an end : )

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

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?” 

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Why?”

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

.

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

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

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

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

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These damn Constantines. 

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

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

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

“Can it be done?” you bite out. 

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

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

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

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

.

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

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

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

.

A thousand reflections stare back at you. 

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

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

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

.

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace. 

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

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

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

A beautiful dream. 

.

“Who did you say you were again?”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s answer enough. 

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

The demons make good on that order. 

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

Somehow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

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

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

“Wait, wait…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

“I shouldn’t be here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily. 

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

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

And then…

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

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

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

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

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you…?”

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

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

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

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume… 

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

You had foolishly believed you were friends. 

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

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

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

A bit of fun. 

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

“Fun.” 

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

It makes it worse. So much worse. 

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

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

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

Destiny says nothing. 

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

“Wanderer—”

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

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

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

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

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

No one laughs. No one responds. 

Only a bit of fun.

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

For once, the curse listens. 

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

“No.”

You turn to go. 

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

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

“No,” you repeat.

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

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

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

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

Fine. You’ll find another way. 

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

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

And then, impossibly, you see him. 

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

“Corinthian.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ring. Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You’re hurting them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’ve been times—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you do to yourself?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, through horror, darkness closes in. 

.

Motion. 

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar. 

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

“But I thought—”

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

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

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

“Cori…”

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

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

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

Then nothing. 

.

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

.

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

.

Blank page. 

Blank page.

Blank page.

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

“My lord.”

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

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

“No! No, no.”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything. 

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

“What are you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

“You’re bleeding.”

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

.

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

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

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

“You mourn him.”

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

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

Sad. 

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

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

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

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

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

“But you mourn him still.”

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

“Of course I do,” you exhale, pained. 

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

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

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet. 

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

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Name it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’s gone. 

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not this time. 

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

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

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

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

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

Madness and despair. 

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

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

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

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

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

.

“Happy Dreamfall.”

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

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

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

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

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

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

“Are you well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Giving you my present.”

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

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

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

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

“Dream this is…”

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

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

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

“We begin… with a spin.”

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

“Dream. I…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

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

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

Dream’s hand on your shoulder squeezes lightly. Same amusement, even centuries later. You’re both changed, but a familiar outline of an island starts taking shape on the horizon. 

“The sun that shines on the island is never too hot. The air is sweet and light. The flowers never wilt, and trees never shed leaves.” It’s pouring from your mouth now, an avalanche of memory. You’ve missed the island so dearly, and details from five centuries ago come readily. “The sky is an endless periwinkle shade. There’s always food and drinks. Books and games. And…”

Your heart bleeds, fresh wounds gushing. But you push on because it’s not about you.

“And an old friend waits at the beach to greet you with a patient smile whenever you arrive. Because not everyone has a family, and not everyone needs a lover, but everyone should have a friend. The island will be there whenever someone feels lonely, lost, or desperate for an escape. It’ll be there to welcome you. To give you a corner to hide. There is no sadness there. No loneliness or confusion. Only…”

Dream’s lips tickle over the shell of your ear. “… hope.”

And then stillness. 

The water settles in a gurgling slosh. In the distance, a patch of land once again floats. There to welcome new dreamers. Wanderer Island blurs. The heel of your hand presses over your eyes, overwhelmed. 

Blindly, you tug on Dream’s coat; a mute request. Between one inhale and the next, wood underfoot is exchanged for sand. 

Everything is the same down to the last blade of grass and tree composition. Either your vision was so clear Dream could pluck every last detail from your mind or…

Or he remembered the Island with the same clarity as you. 

You sink to your knees. Sand crumbles around your digits when you dip them into the pliable sand. 

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

Grass sprouts unprompted around your hand, tiny daisies twining across your thumb. Utterly impossible, yet tonight, here, anything is possible. A choked laugh escapes you. Your cheeks ache from your beaming smile. 

“She’s missed you,” Dream reveals quietly.

Your head lifts in surprise. You stroke the miniature, perfect blooms. “I missed you too.”

With another tickle, the flowers and grass retreat, shrinking into the golden beach. Several moments pass by until you unearth the strength to stand. Dream’s profile greets you. He’s turned away, giving you privacy, but subtle uncertainty lines his features. Sensing your attention, he peers towards you, then past you. 

“Thank you,” you breathe. Despite your verbal gratitude, Dream’s attention remains fixed over your shoulder. “What?”

His low words reach you over the sound of lapping waves. “Are you not going to say hello to an old friend?”

You follow his line of sight. Behind you, at a distance with falling dreams as his backdrop, stands a tall, pale-haired figure. 

Everything inside you falls very, very quiet—all those tumultuous emotions freeze. Your head snaps back to Dream with a stifled gulp. It can’t be real. Surely it’s some mirage, a feedback loop, a ghost conjured from your love for the now-gone nightmare. 

But Dream only slants his head in a marginal, affirming nod. You dare to peek behind you once more. There he stands. The nightmare. Not a twisted joke. 

Your feet carry you towards him without conscious thought; half-running, half-walking, stumbling all the while. Corinthian stands with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders in a slight slouch. His nude-coloured slacks and white shirt shine like beacons in the pale moonlight. Round shades cover his eyes, his blonde strands fluttering in the light breeze. 

He's a figment. Not quite tangible until your body crashes into him, your arms scrambling to hold onto him. “Oh, God!”

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can feel it, if not hear it. A pained, whining sound bubbles up in your throat, gripping him closer.

“I… how…” You wrench yourself back, a horrible thought occurring. You search his handsome features. That infuriating smirk always curling his mouth is absent. “Do you remember me?”

Corinthian stands there, not moving, with no real emotion on display, either. Your heart sinks. Could it be that he—

Dull throb flares across your forehead. He’s flicked you—

A wide, toothy grin stretches across Corinthian’s mouth. “Gotcha.”

With a choked laugh, you punch his shoulder, hugging him close with a wide smile. “I hate you.”

A pleased hum. This time, the nightmare’s arm settles around you. “Hate you more.”

You’re not sure how long you both stand there. When you do part, reluctance keeps your hand on him. Fingertips connecting to some part of him. Remembering the Dream Lord you came here with—who gave you this, his present—you find Dream no longer on the beach. Or anywhere in sight. He’s given you privacy and time. Your heart softens further.  

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Corinthian’s subdued question tugs your attention back towards him. You almost wish he didn’t remind you. Because now you’re faced with the reality that even though he’s been returned to you, there’s much you both need to overcome and fix. That losing him did not magically wipe away the wrongs he’s done. If you hope to return to the relationship you once had, you’ll need time.

You consider him for a moment. 

“You’re always forgiven,” you tell him honestly. 

Standing in the moonglow, you pretend you don’t notice how something coiled tightly seems to loosen inside him at your reassurance. Instead, you reach for his face. Your fingertips brush over Corinthain’s glasses, and his hand snap out, wrapping around your wrist tightly. Bones making up his jaw roll beneath the skin. Tension throbs between you while seconds tick by. Through clenched teeth, Corinthian unwraps his hold finger by finger. 

You tug his shades away from his face. He’s tense as a bowstring, his head slanted at an angle. The same jagged teeth sit where most have eyeballs. They’re hooded, though. His discomfort—and anger at said discomfort—couldn’t be more perspicuous. 

His shades close as you fold arm temples one at a time. You hold his stare, staring right at those jagged teeth with a slight frown. You extend his shades back to him mutely. 

“But my trust is something you will have to earn back,” you state earnestly. 

The nightmare hesitates halfway to reaching for his glasses. Those pale fingers dance over them before he plucks them from you.

“Sounds like a fair deal,” he muses absently. You expect him to put the shades back on, but instead, Corinthian hooks them on his shirt pocket. Turning to go, he calls out a honeyed, “You coming?”

He gazes at you over his shoulder, jagged teeth on full show, and you feel yourself smile.

“Always.”

.

Sun shines luminous and warm today. The Wanderer Island stretches as far as your eye can perceive, teeming with life and greenery around every corner. Flowers and trees bloom everywhere—an awe-inspiring marriage between tropical and temperate climates. The Island once again oozes a sense of magick and wonder that was once so prominent here. No place in the universe can compare.  

“Rebuilding is almost complete,” you begin conversationally. “The Dreaming is more beautiful than ever.”

The Endless keeps pace beside you, a pensive sound rumbling from him. “It was not without aid.”

A smile twitches your lips upwards. “You’re welcome.”

Two weeks have gone by since Dreamfall. Things have mended—between you individually and the atmosphere around the Dreaming. While Corinthian’s return was met with some side glances, no one discussed it further. Dreamfolk trust Dream to make the right decision. Or perhaps Gault was right; they’re wiser than to outright question.  

“The Corinthian has also been making progress,” Dream says. “I am hoping to place him under supervision and monitor his conduct. To make sure what happened is never repeated. Should the need arise, he will be allocated duties back in the waking world.”

Joy flutters in your heart. “Yeah? That’s great. Someone you trust, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And?” you probe. “Are you going to tell me who or not?”

In your peripheral, Dream inclines in your direction. “Yours.”

You nearly trip. “Dream, I—” You clear your throat, pausing. “Are you sure? It didn’t exactly work out last time.”

Dream’s intent scrutiny slides over your facial features. “It was due to no fault of yours. And this Corinthian is the same in all but one function. He will not fail again. He has a different purpose now.”

There’s a solemn sort of finality about the way he articulates those words. A tiny shiver skitters down your spine. He will not expand further upon those words. Whatever that purpose is, you imagine time will reveal it. 

You chew on your inner cheek. “Okay. I would like that.”

You smile at him. But Dream’s expression stutters, overcome by some foreign emotion. His mouth parts, then closes, his fingers folding into white-knuckled fists. 

Just as you’re about to ask what’s wrong, Dream speaks: “Wanderer. Stay.”

You muster up an uncertain, perplexed smile. “I’m right here.”

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair. 

“Stay however long you want,” he insists softly. “Stay forever if it should so please you.”

Shock envelops you, freezing you in your spot. You’ve told him, didn’t you? That you would stay forever by his side if only he asked. Now he’s asking. Except confusion and unease battle in your chest. Can you trust his word? Did Dream change enough? He brought back Corinthian. He freed Gault from the Darkness. He insists this is a new age. But…

“And if I wanted to leave?” you question. “If I chose never to return, what then?”

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

Dream falters, shackled by your insistence. His lashes flutter, his head lowering in near palpable struggle. You’re challenging him, but you refuse to continue with the charade. If he wants forever, you can’t live with the fear he might change his mind about it. 

“It would pain me, also. A great deal.” He hesitates again, and it’s bizarre because this degree of uncertainty is not something you associate Dream with. “But you are free. You've always been free. The Dreaming is your home. Should you wish to return, its gates will always await you.”

Doubt twists your mouth downwards. “I thought that once—”

“I swear it. No matter what the future may hold. No matter how angry I get, I shall never again take the Dreaming away from you.” Sheer power woven into those words leaves no room for doubt. It’s a vow. He will not break it. There would be a price to pay if he did. Dream’s fingertips ghost over yours, a graze leaving fire in its wake. “I read your book in the library. I did not wish to tell you sooner because I worried you would leave. Because… you were right. I could never understand the sheer devastation. Or the harm I inflicted.”

You drag your hand back, stepping away from him. Dream’s features fall subtly. You face away, giving him your back while you process. Raising the hand he was caressing seconds prior, you cradle it to your chest. Sunshine prickles your cheek, but you ignore it. 

“I’m not ashamed of my past,” you tell him, turning back to face him. “I always knew there was a chance you could read it. So, what did you think?”

He appears pained. At least now you know why he’s been so melancholy these last several weeks. “That I should wish for nothing more than for you to stay by my side.”

Those unadorned words devastated you. 

Smiling through your inflated, overjoyed heart, you mumble, “Stay forever… I can’t technically do that.”

But Dream is unruffled. If anything, you glimpse the beginnings of hope starting to take root in him. 

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows. 

“To what?” An incredulous chuckle escapes you. “Break the curse?”

Destiny’s warning jump back to the forefront of your mind, and you swallow thickly. You don’t dare to ponder freedom for longer than an indulgent moment. 

“Yes,” Dream replies. 

You stare at him. Tall and dark, sunlit and more open than you’ve ever seen him. Determined and golden. Your Dream Lord. He terrifies you. You love him. 

“You can’t interfere,” you remind him emptily. “And I might die.”

“Or you may live,” Dream argues. “Freely. And choose for yourself. Always.”

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

Sudden tension between you loosens around the edges. Once more, the susurration of the trees trickles into your mind, elevating the brewing anxiety. 

A thousand years. The curse has defined your existence and has kept you alive this long. What are you without it? There’s always been an unspoken acknowledgement that you could never break the curse without dying. Simply too much time has passed. No mortal vessel can survive over a millennium otherwise. When you asked Destiny, it was only to understand more about the nature of the curse. Not because you ever assumed you could survive breaking the curse. 

Dream’s mouth compresses as if he’s attempting not to smile. “I would never.”

“Stay by your side, huh?” you mutter, looking away while you mull over your conversation. “And what exactly would that entail?”

His response is immediate, smooth, “Whatever you wish.”

“A companion, then?” Your words pitch lower and silkier while you close the minimal distance with relaxed, unhurried steps. Dream’s eyes darken a shade. “An emissary? A consort? A queen?”

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale. 

“Those are but words,” he murmurs silkily. “For you would be all those things, and more.”

You examine his profile, those starlit irises, the doubt swimming there. Does he doubt you would stay? After such long years harbouring this affection for him? Silly, wonderful anthropomorphic personification. “I’ll stay, but only if you answer a question.”

“Even if the price were a hundred thousand questions, Wanderer, I would pay it gladly. What is this question?”

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinise him. Dream does not balk under your exigent examination, waiting patiently. Biting back a smile, you permit your features to relax. He’s unfairly fun to tease. 

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

Relish bubbles in your chest at the way Dream’s expression comes undone. As if from a thousand questions he was bracing for, nothing could have prepared him for this. Birds chirp a merry tune somewhere in the tree line, a warm breeze ruffling Dream’s dark hair while he gazes at you with utterly confused wonderment. A slight, fond smile curls his lips.  

“A thousand years,” he begins in a bewildered drawl. “And still, you ask the same question.”

You laugh faintly, shrugging. “Well, in all fairness, you never answered me the last time. Which was very rude, by the way—”

In an inhale Dream of the Endless materialises in front of you. His hands slip to hold your face, cupping it with delicate hands as he tugs you closer. His kiss falls over you like stars. Silky, gentle warmth that washes over you with such fervent passion you gasp against his mouth. Your hands grasp onto him blindly. You part only long enough for you to gulp down oxygen before your mouths meet again, and again, and again, burning with need unquenched. Heat spreads through every inch of you. A thousand years being cold, floating unearthed, but now someone is holding you. 

Dream presses another kiss to your mouth, desperate and hungry, gentle in his handling, and you return it with equal enthusiasm, equal need. Dizziness envelops you, and Dream pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. You shudder, a delicious heat licking up your senses. This closeness hurts better than anything ever has. You remind yourself to breathe, to remember this is real, he’s here, holding you, and nothing matters in this moment. Whatever the future holds, you do not fear it. Because Hob was right: there are people out there who love, and that makes all the difference. 

Dream’s thumb grazes over your bunched-up cheek. Your smile is wide enough to light your entire face. 

It continues with a gentle, rasping: “I’ll tell you one day, stardust.”

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

I set out to write nothing more than a fun little story that I expected to have maybe 3-4 parts max. Something entirely self-indulgent and fun for no one but me and maybe one or two mutuals. I never quite expected it would become as beloved as it did. I suppose here, in the end, I would like to take the time to thank everyone who read this and supported it. Be it by commenting, making edits/art for it or just sending me encouraging/funny messages. You guys are the reason this story became what it did. I'm immensely grateful for each and every single one of you. It was a rough month, but I'm glad I could offer you this conclusion at long last. Thank you for being here, thank you for being kind, and thank you again for reading.

Goodnight, and see you all in dreams, wanderers ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

[nepxnth3]

Your Secret Admirer

ONESHOT. Wally Darling x G!N reader

Ever since you moved to the neighborhood you’ve been getting love letters in your mailbox daily.

In the letters they always complimented your hair, your eyes, your features, the way you dress and talked, your hobbies, etc. they sounded so passionate when you read them, you should have been weirded out but they way they wrote you was as if they yearned for you as if they were devoted to you. It was such a romantic way they wrote. It’s was so loving, passionate they wrote as if they desired. Like they were longing for your touch, your affection, most importantly you.

In the morning, before you were awake, you would receive the letters. At this point you wanted to find out who your secret admirer is, so, you called for your best friend, the one who always on your side, Wally. You invited to your house to discuss who it might be. You heard a knock on your door, it was Wally! “I was expecting you, Come in” you said with a warm smile. He smiled back “Thank you, Neighbor. So what’s the thing you wanted to discuss with me?” He asked. “Well, I have a secret admirer. I was wondering if you could help me find out who it is?” You questioned him.

Wally stayed quiet for a second, he seemed nervous, slightly turning a red- shade. “Are you alright, Wally?” You asked confused. “Yes, I will.” He boded, I smiled “Thank you, you’re the best!”, “well how do you plan to find the admirer?” He questioned. “I plan to stay up all night and wait for him!” You beamed a smile at him. He chuckles slightly, “Alright.”

You and Wally stay up all night. It was quite late. Both of you playing at the floor staring at the plain celling. “You think this will work?” He smiled as if to tease you. “Of course this’ll work!” You grinned. “Isn’t it getting late?” He asked. “Nope, I’m busy waiting for my admirer.” You slowly got tired and you started yawning. “Can you keep up, like let’s have a conversation so we can stay up.” You turn to him. “Mmmm, Alright.. so how about we ask questions to each other?” He asks. “Mmmm, Okay that sounds fun! I’ll go first!” You say with a cheery voice. “What is one thing about me that you never want to see change?” You asked looking at him before looking to the ceiling, not really thinking a lot about the question.

He stayed quiet for a few seconds. It got you nervous how quiet he got. You turn to him, you see him stare at you. “ Everything. I I never want you to change. You’re already perfect the way you are. The way you laugh, the way you smile, I love your jokes I love how positive you can be, I love how you help out in the community. I love how caring and kind you are. I love how you always show compassion. I love the way you look, your eyes are so beautiful I never want to look away from you. My heart aches for you, every time we are away I think of you. I love your insecurities, I love and accept everything about you. I love your scent I love how it stays with me even while you are gone. When I pass by beautiful things like the sky, the sun, the moon the stars, etc. and I think of you, when I wake up I wish to see you, every second I am awake, I think of you. I don’t want to be places where I am not with you. I’ve never felt this way with anyone. There’s no other person I rather be with.” Wally says with a straight face, while staring at you. His pupils seemed bigger.

Now you knew who your secret admirer was. It was Wally, well it was quite obvious now. Your heart skipped a beat, you turned red and you opened your mouth. “Wally, I feel the same way, I’m so surprised you feel this way about me.” Your face turns red and you cover your mouth not to show yourself smiling and giggling. He smiled and his eyeslids slightly closed. You could hear your heart pounding through your chest.

“Are we official?” He asks. “Yes. Yes we are.” You smiles at him. “Can I hold you?” He said softly. You nodded softly and gave him a smile. Your stomach felt as if it had butterflies.

He slowly and gently wraps with arms around your waist and gets close to your ear, “ I love you,Neighbor.” before he puts his chin on your shoulder. You blushed at his affection but you smiled. You squeezed him slightly tighter.

“I love you too.”

Author’s comment:

I suddenly have motivation to write, which is great but I don’t have ideas what to write ( ಠ◡ಠ )