#dream witch x reader

[rosemaze-reveries]

Hello! I found your blog and love the writing

Here’s sit with me while I tell you my favorite idea 💡

✨So the hunters (all if possible) come back to the manor after a long match of smelling sweat and blood upon walking towards their shred room with reader they catch a scent of their lovers perfume- mind going a mile a minute with the idea of their lover being in they arms and just melting from the stress of the day ✨

Thoughts 💭

ANON. anon...... this is the kind of scenario that makes me CRAZY uegh.. when their judgment's clouded by bloodlust but inhaling your scent brings them back to their senses >>> 🤒 let me be your lighthouse home etc etc. sign me UP.

for some blurbs, this turned into a broader "hunter comes straight to you after a rough match" without the perfume bit. kind of misunderstood the assignment but either way, here's this!

🌪️✂️👘🏳️🏴🦌🐍🪞🎻🔩🐟🕯️

🌪️ Ithaqua brings an air of gloom with him into your bedroom. Driven by nothing but a searing want for you, he skips over any pleasantries to tear off his mask and shove you onto the ground. A bed of wind tries to break your fall, but his impatience gets the better of him; he pins you to the floor with such force that he disrupts his own gale from cushioning your way down. Not that you care in the moment. You’ve been waiting to have him in your arms all day. He leaves a scattering of love bites and wet kisses up your neck.

✂️ Jack has one particular tune that he hums after his worst matches. Months of living together have left you all too familiar with it. His song begins from the foot of the staircase and steadily crisps itself to your ears as he draws nearer. Afraid of the state you might find him in, you rush outside to meet him at the top of the banister. He pauses with one foot on the next step. “Curious,” he says, greeting you with a cordial smile. “It’s not often a little mouse stands in my path—not on purpose.” His blouse is soaked a shade of reddish brown, and no amount of easy banter can hide the weariness in his eye. “Well, you’ve saved me the trouble. I was on my way to ravage you next.”

👘 Michiko drags her nails along the walls of the corridor, leaving a dull streak of blood behind. She doesn’t make a sound when she slips inside your room, practised in her delicate step; you don’t even feel the dip in the mattress before she has her shoulders arched over you. Eyeing you tenderly, she rolls a warm thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m home,” she murmurs. “Your sweet scent led the way again.” She realizes she left a smear of red on your skin, and her hand jerks away, startled by the reminder of what she had been doing just minutes ago.

🏳️ Bi’an’s arms wind around the small of your back, drawing you into his chest for a slow, tender embrace. It’s the first thing he does after returning to the manor: falling straight into your arms. As his lips trail down your forehead, peppering soft kisses in their path, you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer. A whisper escapes you about how out of the blue this is, and in response he brings a kiss to the corner of your eye, prompting them to flutter shut. “Let me have you, just for a little while…” Those sweet kisses he’s so good at descend your neck, growing rougher the lower he goes.

🏴 Wujiu’s arms wind around your stomach, pressing his chest flush against your back. He hasn’t uttered a word since returning from his match, aside from a tepid “Nothing worth mentioning” when asked about his day. This sudden affection takes you by surprise. You try to turn your head to face him but he catches your chin, steering your gaze back to the wall. “Don’t look at me.” Whatever is clouding his mind today is better left alone, you realize. You lay your hands on top of his, squeezing them, encouraging him to let your presence blot out everything on his mind. Warm breath fans your collarbone as he nuzzles into your neck, drinking in your scent.

🦌 Bane doesn’t like to discuss his matches. It makes no difference whether they are quick or slow, a win or a lose, they always weigh on him the same way. He sits on the edge of the bed lost in thought. You decide to break the tension first by greeting him with a hug from behind, your chin hooking over his shoulder. Bane isn’t big on physical affection. But after a while he cups a tender hand to your temple, palm taking up the entirety of your face, and presses you gently into him.

🐍 Yidhra might be the hunter most detached from the nightmares of the manor games. They provide nothing but leisure for her, and she’s never felt particularly passionate about them, win or lose. Her followers are the ones who give her the most trouble. When they resist her will, her consciousness splinters apart, some days leaving her too weak to herd them back again. These are typically the days she comes for you. You aren’t sure when she enters your room, but sometimes you catch glimpses of her tail in your peripheral, never to be seen when you’re looking on purpose. Her voice floats in the back of your mind: Mine, mine, mine, mine… There is nothing that binds you to her, yet you’re the only one who never resists her.

🪞 Mary barges into the room clumsily for someone of her poise. She struggles to prop herself against the door, muddy skirt stiff in awkward folds. “My mind is a mess,” she exclaims, voice clear but breathless at the same time. “Where are you? Come settle me.” The second she spots you, she sulks over to toss her arms around your neck, finding a seat in your lap. Clearly she isn’t concerned about observing her usual decorum today. Her dress is heavy and splotched with muck you don’t care to identify, but you don’t mind holding her as the burdens of the day ease off her shoulders.

🎻 Antonio’s fingers instinctively travel to the liquor cart by the window. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but feeling around to find nothing but an empty platter gives him pause. One resigned cluck of his tongue later, you feel tendrils of hair coil around your waist and wrists. They pluck you up from your side of the bed and present you in front of him as if you’re nothing more than a doll. “Not a drop to console me?” he complains, knowing you’ve hidden his bottles again. Then his head tilts slightly, taking in your scent. You can practically see detention’s fiery glow return to his eyes. “No, perhaps you are right—there is something more intoxicating for me here.”

🔩 Percy - “Hm...” He’s scrutinizing you with such intensity that you wonder if something’s on your face. He leans over to take an exaggerated whiff of you, and your heart sinks in offense. You have half a mind to tell him you showered just that morning, so it’s probably not you — besides, he’s the one who’s been tangoing with carcasses all day — but Percy keeps a thoughtful look about him. “You smell full of life,” he muses. “That fragrance you wear, it was popular back in the day. Transports me to the city again.” He would know better than you; you just found this perfume in the trunk of a dusty old room. When he comes closer, clasping either hand around your face, you let him lose himself in the nostalgia. Moments like these are all you have to keep yourselves sane in the manor.

🐟 Grace’s mouth is pulled into a taut frown when she flings open the door. You can see a slight quiver in her lip if you squint. Her harpoon clatters on the ground and she drops onto your bed, braid falling out, face buried in a pillow. There’s little you can do except rub a soothing hand in circles on her back. When she peeks over her arm with a gentle plea in her eyes, you wonder if she’s asking for a deeper massage—but you don’t get the chance to ask before her hand latches onto your forearm, tugging you down to lie with her.

🕯️ Philippe settles for a glass of brandy and his bundle of sketches. He’s resting on the chaise by the foot of the bed, not his work desk where he’d usually be. Rather than drafting new ideas he’s simply thumbing through the old ones, mechanically, breaking from his cycle only for a sip of his glass. It’s like your lover’s been replaced by a puppet. You feel unnerved enough to intervene: stripping him first of his glass, his sketches, then his monocle, you tip him back onto the cushion. You expect him to complain about having to get back to work, but he doesn’t protest. Tonight is for him, you decide. As his dark hair sprawls out beneath him, you straddle his thighs, and his hand reaches up to cup your cheek. “I’m terribly jealous of this magic of yours,” he murmurs, faint lilt in his voice. “It’s always you who brings me back from the stars.”

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinktober (24)- Hair Pulling

Scarlet Witch X Reader 18+

Summary: Waking up in her variant's body, Wanda has one thought on her mind. Find her family. What happens when she discovers that in this reality she has a wife not a husband.

Warnings/Tags: Scarlet Witch, Dream walking, Fingering, Oral, Strap-Ons, Rough Sex, Light Angst

Kinktober Masterlist

Opening her eyes, the red slowly faded back to green while she took in her surroundings, the unfamiliar room catching her interest. Wanda noticed she was now in a bed, soft and gentle breaths coming from the person behind as she moved to sit up right. Her fingers didn’t hold the corruption of the darkhold in this variant, her fingertips free from the black and darkness that stained her hands. Magic still coursed through her body though, bringing a smile to her lips as she tried to get up.

A pair of arms wrapped around her middle, the witch now only noticing how she was in nothing, the only thing covering her body being the thin sheet that covered the bed. A pair of lips pressed a soft kiss at the base of her neck, travelling further up the skin till their teeth nibbled on her ear lobe, hands tightening their grip around her middle.

“Where do you think you’re going, love?” you rasped out at the shell of her ear, your bare front now flush against her back.

Wanda’s mind practically froze as you continued to press your lips against her skin, her body warming up at the feeling. Her variant was with a woman? Where was Vision? The boys? The darkhold-

“Come on love, I’m sure I could persuade you to stay,” you tease while moving your hand lower on her stomach, Wanda tensing at the touch, trying to ignore the heat building in between her legs. She was here to find her husband and twins, not to fuck whoever was currently in her bed.

“I have to go,” she mutters, turning around to see you, breath hitching slightly at the sight of you. You were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen; your body now being raked over by her green eyes that darkened with every second she looked at you, your hands cupping her jaw and angling her head to look into your eyes.

Maybe staying for a little bit wouldn't be such a bad thing.

“Do you?” you murmur, leaning forward slowly and claiming her lips. The kiss was intimate and passionate, something Wanda has craved to feel for so long. You moan when she kisses back hungrily, guiding you onto your back as you smile into the kiss, your fingers threading through her brunette locks and keeping her head close. “I think you could stay a little longer,” you mutter, her hands drifting down your body experimentally.

“I think I could too,” she whispers in response, her fingers now at your hip bone. Maybe it was wrong to enjoy the love and affection you were giving her, pretending for the moment that you were hers and not her variants. “What do you want, Detka?” the low rasp of her voice, accent delicately wrapping around her words making your eyes darken with lust.

“You,” the tone of your voice a breathy sigh as you let your head loll back against the soft mattress, Wanda busying herself with kissing your neck, teeth scraping the juncture of your neck sending a shiver down your spine. Your words make her groan against your skin, moving to kiss the top of your breasts while looking up at you, pure desire swirling in her eyes. “I need you to touch me,” your fingers softly scratch at her scalp, “Fuck me however you want to, just use me love.”

Your words awaken something primal in Wanda, moving up to crash her lips to yours, tongue sliding into your mouth and dominating it while her fingers swipe through your folds. Both of you moan at the feeling, her amazed at the abundance of arousal now coating her fingers while you moan at the way her fingers draw circles on your clit perfectly.

“Fuck,” you groan against her lips when she slides a long slender digit inside you, curling it perfectly against your velvety walls to have you squirming under her.

“You like that Detka?” she taunts, repeating the action and hitting the spots that make you see stars, pleasure clouding your mind. “Of course you do, you’re just a little slut for me, aren’t you?” A sinful noise escapes you as she increases the pace of her fingers, pumping them in and out of you brutally.

“Yes,” you sigh out, back arching when she slides another digit into you, stretching you out. Your hands move to her back, nails digging into the skin as she crawls down your body, littering it in open mouthed kisses until she reaches your core. Her hot breath fans over you, teasingly kissing around your thighs to have you whimpering under her. “Please,” she licks a stripe up your core, groaning at the taste of you, the addictive sounds pouring out of your mouth encouraging her as she continues to thrust her fingers into you, tongue now swirling around your clit, mouth occasionally sucking on it making you buck against her face. “Oh god Wanda,” your hands move to clutch the sheets next to you, knuckles bleeding white as she eats you out like she’s starved. “I’m going to come,” Wanda merely groans into your dripping core at your words, sending you over the edge as you scream her name, legs trembling around her head as you clamp your thighs around her, rutting against her face to ride your orgasm out.

“Detka,” she moans out when you release her, your arousal now coating the lower part of her face as she moves away from your core. Her eyes gaze down at you, her want and need for you not fulfilled yet. “Turn over,” her voice dropping an octave, you instantly rolling onto your stomach and moaning as you feel a strap on pressing into your ass. You look back to see her magic fading around the conjured-up toy, her kneeling behind you as she teases the tip at your entrance.

“Are you going to take this like a good girl?” she husks out, pushing her hips into you making an unabashed moan reverberate around the room from you. The feeling of the false cock hitting even deeper inside you, Wanda pounding into you from behind makes your brain cloud with the thought of her. One of her hands goes to your hair, bunching it into a makeshift ponytail and pulling on your hair, your head craning back as her hips snap into you.

“Yes, I’m your good girl,” you moan out, hands grasping at the sheets in front of you for support as she relentlessly thrusts into you. A grunt leaves her lips as she continues to snap her hips into you so hard the whole bed is shaking and smacking against the wall with each thrust. Your body writhes under hers as she drills into you with no mercy, desperate to make you numb with pleasure.

“Look at you stretched out and trembling around me,” she husks out between especially hard thrusts before looking down to see the toy being swallowed up by your needy cunt and groans at the sight. “Taking me so well.”

“Please,” you whimper out, Wanda never wanting to forget the way you sound when she’s fucking you like this. Her other hand moves to press her thumb firmly against your clit, your body squirming at her touch. She tugs on your hair again causing a lewd noise to be ripped from the back of your throat, her thumb never easing up from circling your clit. “Please can I come?” you whimper out, body buzzing with pleasure.

“Come for me,” she pants out, keeping up her pace of pounding into you mercilessly. A scream leaves your lips as you tense, pussy spasming around the toy as her name falls from your lips like a prayer, Wanda slowing down to help you with your aftershocks and not overstimulate you. “Good girl,” she murmurs, moving down to interlock her fingers with yours as she kisses along your back.

When you’re ready, she pulls out of you, magic dissipating the toy away and moving to cradle you in her arms, your face instinctively going to the crook of her neck.

“I love you,” you whisper, making the witch tense.

“I..” your finger moves to press against her lips to quieten her, not wanting her to say it back.

“Shush love,” You pull away from her neck to look her in the eyes, a hand cupping her jaw, “I don’t need you to say it back, I just want you to know I love you, in every universe.” Her brows furrow as she looks at you, tears forming in her eyes at the care and love in yours.

“How did you know?” she whispers, you just smiling softly at her before pressing your forehead to hers, letting her enjoy the intimate moment.

“My Wanda would never fuck me like that,” you tease, “She’s scared I’ll break, but it’s ok because I love the way she makes me feel. I love the way any of you make me feel.” You let her move to your neck, basking in the warmth there as tears threaten to spill, arms snaking around your middle and holding you as close as possible, desperate to feel anything but the pain of her reality.

[prythianpages]

Love Me Like You Do | Cassian

cassian x love witch reader | summary: Cassian has a bad mission and you're there to comfort him.

warnings: fluff, angst

word count: 1,887

a/n: Just something short and sweet I wrote after getting stuck on another part for this series.

Heart thudding madly against your chest, you stood at the gates of the High Lord’s riverhouse. The grand ironwork arched above you, intricate designs woven into the metal, casting shadows that danced in the late afternoon sun. The air was filled with the scent of blooming jasmine, mingling with the cool breeze coming off the nearby river.

You were tense, fingers curling and uncurling against the cute, pink cake carrier you held. A strange feeling that was becoming way too familiar for your own comfort settled into your stomach, spurred on by your concern for Cassian.

Your letters had gone unanswered for the past week and a half. You hadn’t seen him since before that, and worry began to gnaw at you. Had you done something to upset him? Or worse, had something happened to him?

It’s why you had baked a chocolate cake to have an excuse to check up on him. Taking a deep breath, you finally gathered the courage to press the buzzer. After a few moments, the gates were opening. Your legs moved almost on their own, carrying you up the cobblestoned pathway lined with neatly trimmed hedges and colorful flower beds.

As you reached the doorsteps, the door swung open, revealing the Night Court’s High Lord. Rhysand was as captivating as ever, donning that signature smile of his that seemed to hold a thousand secrets. “Y/n,” he greeted you. “What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in.”

"Thank you," you reply, stepping inside the grand foyer. "I, uh, made this for Cas…”

Rhysand’s smile softened, his violet eyes twinkling with a warmth that eased some of your tension. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had ventured off into your mind or you were simply that easy to read.

“Nyx will be disappointed it’s not for him.”

“I’ll make sure Cas shares.”

“He’s not going to,” Rhysand chuckles but all amusement leaves his face as he turns his head slightly. “He’s in his study. Third room to the right. He might be in a mood. He hasn’t spoken to us much these past couple of days. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. Maybe you can figure out why he’s been avoiding us.”

**

When you reached Cassian's study, you paused, taking another deep breath before gently pushing the door open. 

Cassian stood in front of his desk, papers strewn about. His head was lowered, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he leaned his palms against the wood. His wings drooped slightly, their usual proud arc diminished. 

His head perked up at the sound of the door. “Go away, Rhys,” he said, voice rough, as if he hadn’t used it in hours.

“It’s not him.”

"y/n?" 

You offered a tentative smile, despite the fact his back was turned to you. "I brought you something.”

“You should go.”

Setting the cake on a nearby table, you approached him slowly, giving him time to tell you to go away. If he did, you would do so. But his silence let you know that despite his words, he didn’t want you to go. 

You moved behind him, your heart aching at the sight of his tension. Cassian didn’t talk about his role as general in the Night Court much. Though he was proud of his title, he preferred to leave work at work. You knew enough to understand how jarring and exhausting his job could be—a never-ending demand to keep the Night Court’s warriors in check and ensure their readiness for any threat.

The last time he had visited your shop, he spoke about the mission he had been dreading. One that involved visiting multiple Illyrian war camps and restoring order to the recent disturbances in Illyria. The unrest there was a knot of conflict and simmering resentment. Another never-ending chaos

It was clear to you now that, that mission had gone as he expected.

Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, knowing just how much physical touch meant to him. It was Cassian’s main love language, and among the first things you had learned about him. You rested your cheek against his broad back, careful not to brush against his wings.

He stiffened for a moment, but then he relaxed into your embrace. You held him close, feeling his shoulders slowly unclench as you let the quiet of the moment stretch between you, not knowing just how warm and grounding your touch was to him.

“I’ve been worried about you. It’s been awhile since you visited my shop or responded to my letters. I thought you were upset with me or something happened to you…”

He let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s been…a lot. I didn’t want to burden you–”

“You’re not a burden, Cas.” You interrupt gently. “I’m here for you.”

Cassian rested his hand over where yours were crossed. You immediately pulled away from him, turning him to face you, lips pressed into a frown as you took in the bandage wrapped around one of his hands that went all the way up to his arm. The frown in your brow deepened when you also took note of the healing bruise on the left side of his face. Instinctively, you reached out a hand but Cassian turned his head and your hand fell back to your side.

"It's nothing," he says dismissively.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.” Cassian replies but when you reach out for his injured arm, fingers gently grasping his hand, he winces.

You move his hand closer to you, gaze narrowing as you assess the bandaging. It appears to be clean and fresh–no hint of that metallic scent of blood. You decide it’s best not to unravel it as whoever treated his wound already did the most one could do. Instead, you bring his hand to your mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his bandaged hand.

“y/n, what–”

“A kiss makes everything better,” you explain, smiling when you see your lipstick left an imprint on the white bandaging. Pink stardust rose from the lip stain, traveling up and down his arm, enveloping in a magic bandage of its own before seeping into the one right below it. It draws a shudder from Cassian.

Your eyes meet his. “Would you like me to kiss that bruise of yours?” You ask, tone bordering on playful.

“I’m okay,” Cassian says, voice slightly strained as he tries to maintain his composure. He decides to redirect your attention.  “I didn’t know you had healing powers.”

“It’s not so much healing, it’s really just alleviating some pains.” You tell him with a small shrug. “I should look into some healing potions and spells some more for your sake. It won’t be as great as the healers but something is better than nothing, right?”

Cassian just stared at you.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion at his intense gaze.

Cassian blinks, tearing his gaze from you momentarily as he becomes suddenly interested in your bright, pink shoes. “Eyes, a nose, a mouth…”

He looks back up, catching the way you roll your eyes. It draws a smile from Cassian. A genuine one. 

“Rhysand says you haven’t spoken to them much recently,” you say, the name of the Night Court’s High Lord still tasting foreign to your tongue. You turn one of the chairs in front of the desk to face him before settling in. You nudge his boot with yours, silently prompting him to do the same with the chair behind him.

With a sigh, Cassian slumps into the chair across from you, his usual confidence replaced by a weary demeanor. “Is that why he sent you?”

“No one sent me. I brought myself here and that chocolate cake over there.”

Cassian’s eyes light up, a spark of his usual charm returning, making you laugh. He turns his head, following your gesture. Using your magic, you float the cake carrier gently onto his lap. “Baked it myself,” you grin proudly.

“So it’s not edible then?”

“Rude!” you exclaim, flicking your wrist and sending a sprinkle of pink stardust his way. He coughs, the glimmer of your magic enveloping him briefly in a sparkling haze. “I had Moxie taste test it, so it’s very edible.”

Cassian chuckles when he opens the cake carrier to see that a slice was indeed missing.  Comforted by your words, as that young apprentice of yours was the pickiest eater, he inhales deeply, taking pleasure in the rich aroma of chocolate that invades his senses.

But the pleasure is short-lived as your pink magic closes the cake carrier with a loud snap. His face falls slightly, and he looks at you with a mix of curiosity and caution.

“Why have you been avoiding your family?” You ask and with a bit of hesitance, you add, “and me?”

Cassian shifts in his seat. He looks down at his hands, his fingers tracing the edge of the cake carrier. “They have their own tasks to attend to, own burdens to worry about. And you? I fear I have troubled you enough with my problems. I can work through this on my own…”

You ponder on his words with a small frown. Cassian was strong-minded and sharp. You knew he could handle his own problems, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to. He was also kind, caring, and selfless—qualities you admired about him. But sometimes, he was so selfless that he left himself out of the love he had to give.

“Cas, no one loves you like I do. You’re no trouble to me at all. You’re always there for everyone so let me be here for you.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, taken aback by his sudden change in tone. “What do you mean? I’m serious. I’m your friend.” Your voice is tinged with concern and a hint of hurt.

“Friend.” Cassian repeats the word, his tone filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

“Yes,” you say, sensing his contemplation. He looks away, his jaw tightening and you can't help but shrink back into your seat. “Do you not want me to be?”

Cassian looks at you, those hazel eyes meeting yours. You catch the way his throat bobs. “It’s not that,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. Your heart skips a beat, his words hanging in the air between you. But then he shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts.

“I love being your friend.” 

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing…” he trails off, the weight of his words making them feel inadequate. “It’s just, you can’t always be there for–”

“Nonsense,” you interrupt firmly. “I’ll always be there for you.”

For a fleeting moment, the vulnerability in his eyes is raw and unguarded, as if he’s been caught in the storm of his emotions. Then, he nods, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. 

But the lingering sadness in his gaze tugs at your heart, even more when he asks, “always?”

You smile warmly, reaching out to trace a finger over the center of your chest, just slightly to the left. “Cross my heart.”

a/n: This takes place sometime after you meet the IC. Sorry, I keep skipping around. I just got stuck on writing that part. So if y'all have any ideas lmk. You can find a sneak park here though.

also, if you've asked to be on the tag list and your name is below but you didn't get a notif, lmk! for some reason, some of the tags haven't been working. If you've asked to be on the tag list and don't see your name below, please let me know!

series masterlist

series taglist: @mrsjna , @shadowsingercassia, @acourtofbatboydreams, @rcarbo1, @mvidaaaa ,

@stuff-i-found-while-crying , @lipstickmarks, @yamisukehoe , @mp-littlebit , @thecraziestcrayon,

@talesofadragon, @ceoofyearning, @anuttellaa, @breadsticks2004, @chicken-fifi

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna

[wandaslittlebird]

Imagine Wanda/The Scarlet Witch having you as her little girlfriend in between the events of WandaVision and MoM.

Late one night, while the two of you are in bed together, she asks “If you could do anything in the world what would it be?”

“Hmm,” you think for a moment. “I think I’d own an apple orchard. Apples are my favorite fruit and the trees are so pretty.”

And the next morning she tells you she has a surprise for you. She tells you to close your eyes as she guides you to your new home. When she tells you to open your eyes, you squeal in excitement, taking off down the rows of apple trees, laughing with giddy joy. The pedals of the flowering tree fill the spring air.

“How’d you do all this?” You ask her, jumping back into her arms.

“I made it all for you, my love.”

——————

She never keeps it a secret, that all of this is a hex. But you also find that you don’t really care. She can create anything you ever want here. The apples are tasty, the weather is beautiful, and you wake up every morning next to the woman you love more than anything in the world. Why does it matter if it’s all magic?

One morning, when she notices your a little down, she turns all the flowering apple trees to pink rather than white.

You’re a little confused when you walk outside and see what looks like cherry blossoms in your apple orchard. They are beyond beautiful, but out of the ordinary. “That’s not what apple trees look like in real life.”

“We don’t have to live in real life, my love. Not if you don’t want to.”

——————

After that you become far more comfortable making requests as to how you want your world to be.

You want to go snow sledding in July? You’ve got a couple inches of the most perfect snow you could ask for. Grown tired of apples? Now you’ve got cherry trees. You want a new furry friend? You find the most adorable little kitten right on your front porch.

It like a lucid dream. Anything you could ever imagine is all yours with a snap of her fingers.

——————

Wanda is, of course, studying the darkhold this entire time. She can’t let anyone or anything threaten this perfect little life of yours.

She retreats to her study for hours a day, studying the book and all it has to offer.

She keeps her studies secret at first, fearing you’d be scared of her or, god forbid, try to run away. But when she confesses her interest in the dark arts, you remain unfazed. You live in a paradise of her magical creation. Why would you reprimand her for studying magic?

Sometimes, if you ask super nicely, and promise to be quiet and still, she’ll let you stay with her in her study. You mostly just like to sit in her lap while she reads. You giggle a little the first time the arcane magic causes you both to levitate off the ground.

Even in all her beautiful darkness, she’s still your Wanda. How could you ever be afraid of her?

[fandoms-writings]

In My Dreams • 3

Pairing: Post-Engame!Bucky Barnes x DreamWitch!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Summary: Looking for something to aide his sleepless nights, Bucky searches for you, the dream witch of New York. You're known for helping vets with PTSD have terrorless nights and being a home to the gifted mutants of the city. What Bucky didn't expect, was for you to be so captivating, or for him to open up to easily around you. But to have the powers you do, you've got to be more than just a mutant, right?

Warnings: Not much for this chapter, some anxiety, mentions of traumatic pasts (not very detailed though), bucky is soft in this

Series Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost

Bucky hadn't been back to see you in a few weeks. It wasn't like he didn't want to, he did - he missed you. But he didn't know what to say. 

He felt like a coward for the way he'd left. He knew that you meant no harm, that you weren't offering this dream walking solution to use what you'd find in his head against him. He understood that you were just trying to help, that his options were limited. But the thought of someone else rummaging around in his head again let loose the anxiety he'd just recently gotten a hold of and it gripped him by the throat, making it hard to breathe and hard to think. 

All he could focus on was getting himself back home where he could wallow in his anxiety as it settled back in his chest and overthink every possible scenario. None of the scenarios where you intended any harm sat right with him. They felt wrong. Not just because it would be a horrible thing for you to do, but because he knew you wouldn't do that. 

He knew you better than that.

And he knew he needed to apologize.

Which was why he was standing outside your warehouse, a box of fresh beignets from your favorite bakery in hand. 

He hadn't gone inside yet, something felt off and he'd started to think that maybe he should've called ahead of time. But he'd never done that before, and if you were busy he could leave the baked goods with Tori and she'd take them to you. 

He brushed off the weird feeling that was crawling up his neck as he opened the door and walked down the hall to that familiar door that thrummed with magic. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open, ready to face the other patrons and the music. 

But there was no music.

And the space was empty. 

Empty save for the people who worked directly under you. They were tidying up in silence, looking as if they spoke they'd be reprimanded. 

Bucky swallowed once, his anxiety suddenly pricking at every nerve in his body,  before shuffling his way to the bar, where he usually sat and waited for you. He caught the attention of Alec, the young lanky man behind the bar, whose eyes widened when they landed on Bucky. 

Alec rushed around the bar, holding his finger over his lips in a shushing manner when Bucky opened his own to ask what was going on. As he quickly walked over, he gestured towards a closed off sitting room, and Bucky followed the silent suggestion, stepping into the familiar room and turning towards the young man who carefully shut the glass door. 

Bucky didn't dare speak first. He didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was, he didn't like how cold it made your safe haven seem. How the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck wouldn't go down.

"You shouldn't be here." Alec whispered, barely audible over the heavy silence. 

"What's going on?" 

Alec looked through the door, fidgeting with his fingers, "The coven is here."

"The coven?" Bucky had never heard of a coven. He knew now you weren't just a regular mutant, but for some reason he thought you were the only one. He hadn't considered the fact that you might have some sort of magical family - you never spoke about them. "Is that a bad thing?" 

Alec looked to the floor before he raised his gaze back up to Bucky's, his eyes sorrowful, nervous. "It is when she's an outcast." Bucky went to ask what happened, but Alec shook his head, as if to tell him he'd have to ask you directly. "The last time the coven showed up. . . it didn't go very well." 

Bucky's blood ran cold with that familiar calculating stillness. "What did they do?" 

Alec shook his head, "All I can say is they took something from her. They took something and left. And she didn't come down from her rooms for three days." 

He would've asked what they took, but he knew Alec wouldn't tell him. He released a long breath through his nose. "When will they leave?" 

Alec took his eyes off the door, "They're usually only here for a few hours when they visit. They should be gone by dusk at the latest." 

Bucky looked at his watch - dusk was two hours away. He glanced to his usual seat, where he'd sit and tell you about the dreams he'd had, the good memories that your help brought back to him, and he sat. He had nowhere more important to be. "I'll wait." 

~~~

You held your head high as you escorted your "sisters" to the main lobby. They're random check-ins always wore you down, making it an effort just to keep your back straight, to not let them see the way they stole all of your energy. Their snide remarks and not so subtle glares of disgust at your home. The way they spoke to you as if you were still a child. The way they talked of you redeeming yourself in their eyes when you knew they'd never let you back in. 

It was exhausting. 

But as you led them down the stairs, a certain leather jacket behind a closed glass door caught your attention and your breath caught in your throat. It took every ounce of concentration to stay leading the women out of your home, to not run to see his face. You hadn't seen or heard from him in weeks and you were dying to know how he was holding up. You would've checked in, but you didn't want to impose where you might not have been wanted. He needed time and you gave it to him. 

Your pace slightly quickened at the sight of the front door and you pulled it open, revealing the dark warehouse tunnel on the other side. 

"Travel safely," You stiffly said as the five women barely nodded before leaving. Barely acknowledging you as they peered down their noses at you. The five matrons never liked you, so it was something you were used to, but it still stung. 

The last one, Lady Gianna, paused at the threshold, turning to you with eyes of steel. She was a beautiful woman in her mid fifties, but she was cutthroat, ruthless. She demanded respect that you willingly offered her with a bow of your head and a slight bend in your knees. 

You stiffened as her voice reached your ears, a low whisper meant only for you. "Something is coming, protect yourself." You looked up to see her not even looking at you anymore, her gaze down the hall. "Do not do anything brash. I do not wish to punish you a second time. It will be the last." 

With that, she stepped into the hall, swiftly joining the other matrons in the shadows of the warehouse, but you didn't wait to watch them leave before quickly shutting the door, turning the lock with shaky fingers. 

What in the hell did that mean? You pondered the words of Lady Gianna for a moment, your forehead pressed to the humming wood of the door. She'd never warned you before, and to admit she didn't want to punish you was odd. Last time, it felt as if she found the most joy out of watching you suffer. 

A door opening behind you had you tucking her words away for later, not to be forgotten, as you turned to meet those baby blues you'd missed so much. 

Your lips hesitantly drew up in the corners, as you slowly stepped towards him. "James." 

He gave you a grin full of sorrow as his name fell from your lips. He looked well enough, though his cheeks were just a bit more hollow and the area around his eyes seemed dark. You supposed he wasn't getting enough sleep in the past few weeks. You knew he ran out of your spells a day or two after you'd last seen him. 

You stopped just a couple feet away from him, fighting your itching fingers to reach out and touch him, to embrace him, to squeeze his hand, anything. "I was wondering when I'd see you again." 

He took a step forward, gently reaching for your hands and holding them in his own. "I'm so sorry," He breathed, "I'm sorry for running off the way I did and for not reaching out. I just didn't know what to do." 

A breathy chuckle broke past your lips as you smiled, squeezing his hands, "You don't need to apologize, James. I'm just glad to see you're alright." 

He offered a soft smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes as his worried gaze remained on you, "Are you okay?"

You cocked your eyebrow, "What are you talking about?" 

"Alec said your coven was visiting," he muttered, as if the words themselves would hurt you, "He also told me that things don't really go well when they visit." 

Your small smile faltered as you struggled to keep it up, glancing down to your entangled fingers. "What else did he tell you?"  

His fingers squeezed yours, "That they took something from you. He didn't say what, or why, and you don't have to tell me either. But I just want to make sure you're okay." 

Your vision was blurry when you looked up at him again, the moisture in your eyes distorting your view of him. "I'll be okay," You hated how your voice trembled over the words, "I promise." 

He nodded, his lips now a thin line as he hesitated, but ended up letting go of your hands, your fingers instantly cold in his absence. But it didn't last long as he reached around your shoulders and pulled you in, holding you close. 

You tried to fight it, to reign in the way your body reacted to him, but it instinctively melted against his as your arms wrapped around his middle and your nose buried into his chest inhaling the smell of him. Pressing your eyes closed, trying not to let the tears slip, you tried to focus on just him. Hints of mahogany, cedar, and leather flooded your senses and you sighed as his hand wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you to him while he traced gentle lines across your skin. 

You could've stood there in his arms forever if he let you. There was something about him that lured you in, that comforted you and made you feel light. Something about him that made you happy. 

He held you for a long few minutes before his lips brushed your ear in a whisper, "I brought you something." 

Pulling out of his hold, you wiped at the few tears that had slipped through your lashes, "You brought me something?" 

"I did," He turned back to the room he'd been waiting for you in, leading you inside where a box sat on the little coffee table. 

"What is this?" You smiled as he gestured to the box, silently telling you to open it. 

"It was my peace offering," He stated as you lifted the lid, beignets filling the box."I thought maybe you'd be mad at how I left." 

"So you were going to bribe me with beignets?" You asked, a brow raised in mock suspicion and he chuckled. 

"I was going to try," He looked at you, "I don't know what I'd do if you stayed mad at me, I had to do what I could." 

"I wasn't mad, or upset," You closed the box before laying one of your hands on his chest. "I was just worried." 

"I didn't mean to worry you," He muttered, grabbing your hand with his own. 

"I know," You sighed, wanting to start feeling better and looked back to the box of desserts before a grin took over your lips. "I have something I want to show you." 

~~~

You lead him up the stairs to the second level where your office was. But you kept walking down the hall, passing the large oak doors and the various hallways before coming to a set of small hidden metal spiral stairs. He followed you up, though when you looked back at him, he was climbing the stairs at an angle between the center pole and the railing, causing a giggle to tumble from your lips. His shoulders were a bit too broad to fit. 

When  you reached the top, you unlocked and pushed open the hatch, climbed out and took the box of beignets from him to let him join you. 

"What is this?" He asked, his eyes roaming the space. 

"This," You stepped around him, closing the hatch with a soft thud, "is where I come to hide from my life, sometimes." You watched as he walked around the small area, the plants hanging from the trellis brushing his shoulders as he passed under them. You watched him run his fingers along the back of the outdoor couch, the cushions a dark brown to match the small table that was lined with books in front of it. 

"It was freezing out today," He turned to you and you walked around the couch, taking a seat and placing the box on the table. "How do you keep it warm up here? It's perfect." 

You flashed a smile, "Take a wild guess." 

He scoffed with a smile before sitting next to you, "I know it's magic, but," He paused, as if he shouldn't even be asking. 

"You want to know how it's done." 

He looked over to you with a nod but was sure to quickly add, "You don't have to tell me." 

Tucking your feet under you and grabbing a beignet, you leaned back, savoring that first bite before you sighed. "It's an almost constantly running sort of shield," You explained. You reached for a pebble from the ground, tossing it at the edge of the roof. It bounced off of what seemed to be just air, but upon contact left a gold ripple that traveled over the expanse of the dome surrounding your little roof. 

"Wow," He turned to you, "Could I. . . ?" He gestured to the same pebble that landed at his feet, and you nodded, watching him toss it in the same spot. He tracked the ripples, tipping his head back as far as he could to watch it go down the other side. When the wall stopped shimmering and was back to being invisible, he turned to you again, "Doesn't keeping this up all the time wear you out?" 

"Truthfully, no." You shrugged, taking another bite of your treat before explaining further, "Sure, it does drain from my magic, but in the grand scheme of everything else I'm doing at all times, this is just a splinter in the whole tree." 

"That's incredible," Bucky muttered, turning to look at you, "You're incredible." 

There was a sudden lightness in your chest as you fought to not smile too broadly, to not allow yourself to become too flustered. "Why do you say that?" 

"You're protecting so many people, and helping so many more. You've got this place under lock and key hidden in plain sight with a constantly running magical security system. You've got half the city protecting you because they want to," He sighed, "And you don't have to do any of this stuff. You could take your magic and run away. You could be selfish, and only help yourself. You could leave the rest of us to struggle while you climbed your way up. But you don't leave anyone you can help behind." He reached over, gently swiping his thumb across the tip of your nose, the surface coming away with powdered sugar as he chuckled. "I've only really known one other person who was like that." 

You instantly knew who he was talking about. It wasn't a secret that his best friend was the Steve Rogers. The whole damn world knew. But what the world didn't know was how Steve left. 

It didn't know how Steve left to return to the past and his friend had left behind. How he left his friend heartbroken and alone. Lost in a world he didn't know. 

The world didn't know that, but you did. Bucky had told you. He'd told you of the memory he dreamed about with Steve. The one where they were just teen boys going to Coney Island. Where he saw his friend in a different light for the first time. 

He'd told you about the emotions he remembered struggling with in a time where those sorts of feelings between the two of them wouldn't have been accepted. You knew about him trying to move on, dating girls around town. And how he had written to Steve when he was shipped off to the war. How Steve never responded and it hurt but it helped bury those feelings he harbored. But then his friend showed up to rescue him from a scientist, and all of those emotions flooded back. 

Then he told you about how after Thanos, Steve told him he was going to stay in the past after returning the infinity stones. He was going to leave the shield to Sam and go find Peggy Carter for that dance. Bucky told you how, even though he was heartbroken once again, he hugged his friend and told him he'd earned that dance. 

He let him go. 

You wanted to curse Steve Rogers. For leaving behind this gentle man before you. For not keeping true to his end of the line promise. 

You wanted to curse him for breaking James's heart. 

But you hardly imagined that Bucky would so easily forgive you for digging up his friend's bones and cursing his soul, so you left it alone. 

You sighed and finished the beignet in your hand before making Bucky take one. As he took a bite, you reached for another one, smiling at him as you snuggled into his side, watching the city as you made a silent promise that you weren't going anywhere. 

That you would never leave him behind.

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[nympheaecaea]

୨ৎ where him and i meet ୨ৎ

SUMMARY ୨ৎ park wonbin stumbles upon a magical hotel and meets the girl of his dreams (literally). OR witches, elves, shapeshifters and gods run a hotel.

PAIRING ୨ৎ god!park wonbin x witch!yn

GENRE ୨ৎ fantasy, fluff, slow burn, eventual smut

FANDOM ୨ৎ riize, nct, red velvet

when yn woke up, she tasted it in the air. something was amiss with that day. 

on the weekends, she ought to wake up early. from mondays to fridays she’d sleep until the sun was in the north and the birds were no longer singing, and when she’d get up, the table would’ve been laid and lunch prepared. but on the weekends, yn was asked to eat breakfast before. thus, she woke up early on the first day of the rest of her life. 

the sun was already up, chalky and chilly, yet bright in the wintry morning. yn's home was still, where there should’ve been the pandemonium of timed errands, there was only the void of those who had left. she enjoyed that stillness. rising from bed, she pulled the silky covers and tidied the embroidered pillows–her covers weren’t stretching enough and her pillows weren’t fluffing up enough. if it weren’t for that stillness, sohee, her younger brother, would’ve barged in, plopping himself on the mattress and rolling around on top of her plushies, sungchan would’ve followed, picking the fluffiest ones to punch, withal, she found haechan to be the worst of them, he’d talk and talk and talk. for that, she enjoyed that stillness. yn smoothed her dress and braided her hair–her dress wasn’t fitting as well and her hair wasn’t curling as much.

downstairs, the morning was awakening with the ushered lull of chirping and whispering, the footsteps that scattered and the glassware that clattered. yn joined her housemates at the table–it was a glossy mahogany, so vast it could’ve fitted a village, with a surface strategically covered in breakfast foods: bowls of rice and soup, platters of meat and pancakes, and the herbal tea irene would brew for their spirit. 

“good morning, dearest.” irene, who had been engrossed in her newspaper, greeted the girl. “did you sleep well?” she asked softly, her voice always a solemn whisper. she took a drag of her pipe, the flowery smoke surrounding them. irene was a witch of primeval blood: she dried flowers to put in her pipe and brew in her tea, believing that it would connect her to the land and make her spirit stronger, she had a willowy black cat, who ran errands for her in the human world and read the morning paper, and she liked to hunt. but never animals. 

“like a baby,” yn assured her. before she could return the question, however, seulgi pushed through the swinging doors with her hip, her steps careful and eyebrows furrowed with all the concentration she had to not spill the plate and cup she carried. “there,” she sighed, as she settled both in front of yn. “a full english breakfast with freshly processed apple juice.” she smiled charmingly, her cheeks rising with a tangerine glow. “and!” she started adding, “i made it from scratch, no sorcery, at all!” seulgi finished, bouncing slightly on her feet with excitement. 

haechan, who had been silent–a blessing that yn had come to find only happened when he ate–, scoffed at that. seulgi could glide so lightly on her feet, she wouldn’t leave footsteps on snow, and she was a powerful fighter, but, oh, so graceful, it was as if she was dancing with her opponents. yet, she channeled her spirit as a newborn deer walking on its wobbly legs; sparks, blasts, and domestic fires. irene was the one to care for her, calmly dabbing a hand enchanted by runes over the flames and giving her a drag of her pipe. she was also the one to glare at the boys when they snarked, shutting haechan before he could even interject. 

yn gathered the different ingredients of her breakfast plate in a bite, and even as she chewed the rushes of flavour, she could not stop tasting the wrongfulness of the day. she decided to ask, even if she feared the answer: “say, auntie, where is uncle taeil?” she had noticed the moment she went down the stairs, taeil had not been there with his gigantic crochet sweaters and his freckled cheeks rising with his blinding smiles to greet her. 

irene took a sharp breath and put down her pipe. “left this morning,” she only said, knowing that yn would understand. “didn’t even say goodbye, that sappy bastard…” she rolled the dampness off her eyes and raised her pipe back to her cherry red lips. 

taeil’s departure would be the beginning. 

yn knew his day would eventually come, as it would irene’s, as it would hers and as it had her mother’s. just the same, she wasn’t prepared for it. 

all magical beings were called into the draft. eventually, a pigeon would deliver a letter, an apparition would come in dreams, a knight would ride to the door knocker, and eventually, they’d be sent away. yn hadn’t always feared the draft, dreaded it, perhaps, but not feared. the day a cat had squished through her window, a small package in its mouth that demanded her mother, as if she were nothing more than a weapon, had fulminated the fear. her mother never came back then, even when she sat at the table eating dinner, she was still gone. 

on monday a tiny little imp had waddled through the temple, irene swinging an elven axe in her hand at the sight of it, and taeil understood his turn had come. it had lingered in the air then, the loathing that taeil had tried to hide, but they could see. the way his smile was tightlipped, that of longing, the way his eyes were watery, those of regret. it was in the air, how he’d dance with sungchan and sing with haechan till late, so late, irene would tell the youngsters to go to bed, only to join taeil after, the way he’d ruffle sohee’s chocolate hairs and bake him cookies, or the way he’d stay in the silence with yn, just them in their own warm summery bubble, napping like cats stretched in the sun. they’d miss him, they’d miss him a lot. because, even if he came back, he’d never be the same. 

“they’re back,” irene said, the darkness of her locks swinging as she turned to the door that led to their backyard. those opened in no second, and through them johnny and sungchan walked in, both covered in a thin coat of sweat and a blush from the gelid air. “good morning boys, how was the run?” she asked them. 

“wondrous!” sungchan replied excitedly, “the weather is lovely, and the streets were so empty, i could shift into anything!” he declared, taking a seat next to yn and nudging a piece of her fried egg to himself. 

johnny nodded through the younger’s words, busying himself with filling a tall cup of dark coffee. “hey,” he started, and oh no… “why did the morning coffee never talk to the herbal drinks?” he asked into the silence that had reached the room, “because they weren’t his cup of tea!” he finished with a cackle. 

like irene, her aunt, yn was a witch of primeval blood. she had lived the beginning of her life by a river. there, she spent her noons learning and reading, entertained by the wandering spirits; the naiads, who would braid her hair and sing about the wonders of corporeal warmth, the kirin who would come to her window to watch her play the violin until her jaw was bruised, the pixies who would bring her flower crowns that would tangle against her mahogany curls, and when the moon would rise in the sky painted by veils of green and purple lights, her mother would come with baskets of the “outside”. she had always known there was another world out there, one with a roaring of engines and clocks, but she had preferred the world of her own creation, her, her mother, her aunts and, sometimes, a nice man that would bring her dolls. 

and then, the cat came. 

not a month later, she had left her small, sweet world behind. yn had followed baechu, irene’s familiar, carrying a violin case in her back and a luggage from the outside with her essentials: books so chunky she had to sit on the case to close it, gowns and bows sewed from the softest of the silks, and gifts from her unearthly friends. they had rushed through the train station, the small girl garnering looks from the passersby, old ladies who asked her questions and young boys who wanted to hold her braid. she had, of course, cried through it all. the engines and the clocks and the people and the tick tock tick tock and the click clack click clack. 

so, like irene, she came from a long line of primeval witches, and she still didn’t understand things like morning runs or johnny’s jokes. 

“it’s almost time to open up,” seulgi said looking at the watch on her wrist. “what is the schedule for today?” her eyes settled on sohee, who instantly opened a heavy book and pointed. 

the younger boy, opposed to the boyishness his features still carried, was in charge. “we’re starting to get busier with the spring equinox coming, but there is not much to do today. i think we can have the day off.” he announced, finishing with a docile smile.

“and, hopefully, we’ll have somebody new come in before the spring equinox begins.” irene said, standing from her seat and smoothing her inky skirt that covered her to her feet. irene liked long, dark clothes, the sort of clothes that made kids point at her and say ‘mommy, look, witch!’. seulgi joined her, a contrast of darkness and colourfulness, whereas irene was elegant and dainty, seulgi was fresh and boyish, with youthful freckles and mandarin hair that sat at the top of her head showing her pointed ears with gold assets. 

“it’s time.” sohee told them, eyes on the watch. 

when the clock striked 10a.m, the temple opened. 

coming soon...

[thebigsl33p]

Anyways Don't Be A Stranger

It's mid but we move on, please let me know of any mistakes!! Requests are open!

Morpheus had been a fool. He could admit that to himself with ease.

The King of Dreams had been free from Roderick Burgess' imprisonment for a few weeks now. And in that time he had chased down rogue nightmares, dealt with a vortex, his sibling(s), made amends with a centuries old friend and rebuilt his realm. And throughout all of that he had forgotten the only person he had thought about for just over two hundred years.

Y/N, his witch of a lover, a woman nearly as old as he was.

The pair had first met when Y/N called upon Dream of The Endless for a spell she was doing. At the time (the mediaeval era) Y/n worked for a small village as a pharmacist. of course she was gossiped about and shunned from the world but the many wards and circles around her house stopped people with bad intentions from passing her threshold. And that is why most of the village sent their children instead, small tiny humans with the purest of intentions and the loveliest of requests. They crossed her wards with ease and some even looked forward to their parents sending them to the Witch's cottage, whether it be for ointments or spells or charms.

This particular day a little boy and his older sister, seven and ten, had been sent to her. Y/N had been anticipating the knock all day and it finally came at 12:33 on a Sunday. She opened the door with a friendly smile and invited the children in whereupon they explained to her their predicament. The little boy had been experiencing intense night terrors and they had come to her for some form of remedy.

The Witch had told them what she would require: a feather from the boys pillow and a strand of his hair. As she was speaking she stood and reached for a vile of sand off her shelf and a jar which was filled with a bright white light.

"What is that?" the little girl reached up and pointed.

"This, my dear," Y/N placed it on her table, "Is a star, plucked from the sky on hallows eve."

The children made "Oo" noises and reached towards the jar and she let them and smiled before leaning down to the little girl, "Do you mind running back home and getting a feather from your brother's pillow?"

The girl nodded eagerly and then she was gone, hopping and skipping away back home, leaving Y/N with the boy who had plucked out a strand of his hair with ease and handed it to the witch, "Thank you!" she smiled.

She folded it into a piece of cloth and placed it into the pocket of her apron, before grabbing her cauldron and putting onto boil. She sat and talked to the boy about what he did, his friends, his interests before his sister returned with a handful of pillow feathers.

"Can I put them in?" She was bouncing with excitement as Y/N gently took the feathers from here and split them into two, handing the other half to her brother.

"Both of you can do it, go on. Be careful of the fire." She watched as the two children giggled and gently placed the feathers into the boiling water.

She smiled and then let them step back so she could continue. She took the sand and sprinkled it in an anti-clockwise direction, her wooden spoon stirring itself. She took the hair out of her pocket and placed it gently in the water. Her hand took a hold of the spoon and she stirred, murmuring as she went of Dreams and Nights and Stars and Gods and Endless.

The children stared in awe as she reached into her pocket and produced a pair of gloves that seemed to consume her hands in darkness before turning around and picking up the star in the jar. She unscrewed the lid and gently tipped it into her palm. She stared at the star for a minute, evaluating her sacrifice towards The Dreaming before lowering it into the water, hands fully submerged and when they came out the gloves seemed to have disappeared and there was a soft glow in the ever-spinning water.

It was all going well, the glow getting stronger and stronger as Y/N had seen many times.

But then she saw the light flicker and her face dropped and there was the sound of wind before the room was plunged into complete darkness. Instinctually she reached out and grabbed the children by their shoulders, pulling them into her arms and whispering instructions to them, "I need you to stay very very calm." She could feel them nodding in the darkness and she turned her back to where the cauldron used to be, feeling the children cling onto her skirt.

Then she saw them, the two white dots which seemed to hold the entire cosmos, much taller than her and unmistakably eyes.

Y/N spoke with power, strong and authoritative, "You stand within my home, with my rules and my wards, and I demand you show yourself or leave."

it was almost like the figure was laughing at her, her house shook with the echoes of chuckles, "Very well, Witch."

The candles flickered on, the sun returning to the outside world and her cauldron fire being re-lit. With no regard for the entity in her house she turned to the children and made sure they were okay, stroking their hair like a mother would and holding them close. Once she was reassured that they were going to be fine to turned back to the thing infiltrating her home.

It was a man. Tall with striking eyes, dark hair, wearing normal clothes, and she struggled for a moment before it hit her: the all consuming energy, the struggle to feel her own power.

"Dream of The Endless?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but he heard nonetheless.

"You asked for me, did you not?" He cocked his head in a form of confusion, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Yes but- not like this. It was merely a spell…the little boy behind me has had struggles with night terrors." Gently she turned behind her and held the boys hand, pulling him towards her.

Gently Morpheus crouched down and held out his hands towards the boy but he looked Y/N in the eyes as he spoke, "It is not a Witch's place to mess with dreams." She bowed her head in acknowledgement to his words but gently pushed the boy towards him and watched as The King of Dreams placed his hands upon the boy's head and stared at him before finally speaking, "There will be no more night terrors...your sister and you will sleep well tonight." he reassured him, letting an amused smile slip through the cracks.

The moment Morpheus released him he rushed back into the arms of The Witch who gently patted the two on the back, told them that they were going to be okay, everything was fixed and resolved, this man could be trusted, before sending them home. This will be something to tell their parents…

"This is not the first time you have meddled with my realm, witch." The King of The Dreaming stood up from his crouched position, "I may advise you not to attempt it again."

Y/N wasn't sure how to react. Show him respect? Treat him like an equal? Get angry at him? She simply took a deep breath and started to tidy up placing jars and utensils back in their rightful places before addressing the Dream Lord's words, "What's wrong with what I'm doing? I am simply trying to help."

"Your helping is causing disruptions in my realm. A great feat, I will admit, but not one I look kindly upon." There was a feeling that he was impressed with her ability and power, but not happy with it.

"I'm not sure whether I should take that as a compliment." She sighed and turned to face him, "I enjoy what I do, helping these people. And as much as I would love to continue my dreamwork should you forbid and warn me from doing it then I shall cease." She nodded with a sense of finality.

"Take my warning as you wish, witch." He said, his words hanging in the air and then Morpheus, King of Dreams, was gone.

"Don't be a stranger…"

--

The next time Y/N had a customer, requesting something to do with sleep and dreams, she turned them down in a heartbeat, not quite willing to find out what the Dream Lord's warning meant. However, that evening, sitting in her cottage on her bed, fire burning away and studying her grimoire she felt a presence in her room, one that wasn't entirely unwelcome but still put her on edge and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She looked up from the book she was reading and copying out of and saw that same man who had visited her weeks ago, sitting at her table, hands neatly folded. His eyes pierced hers, the stars and the moons reflecting in them, "I saw you deny your customer."

"Is that not what you asked of me, not to mess with dreams and sleep?" The Witch gently shut her book and sat up properly to address the Endless.

"I have changed my mind." His lips pursed, "I wish to help you Witch."

She was slightly taken aback but accepted his change in attitude happily, "How? Why?"

"So many questions all at once." he stood, "I am going to teach you how to manipulate dreams and sleep, how to enter The Dreaming, how to simply flick a finger and have someone doze off, all because I have taken a liking to you and admire your dedication to your…craft. After much thought I have decided that if you are going to make a difference to people's dreams and nightmares then you might as well learn to do it properly, no?"

Gently he reached a hand out, "Come, I have much to teach you."

--

Morpheus stood outside his lover's house, hands in his pockets and Matthew on his shoulder, a thousand thoughts running through his head. "Who is this woman?" Matthew asked, ruffling his feathers.

"This woman, is the only person who I have ever taught the magick of dreams to. She was - is - my lover and I have been so stupid." The last part was a whisper, mostly to himself. Her cottage had changed since he had last seen it, more modernised. There were fields behind it now, and a garden at the front which grew a wide range of plants and flowers.

Morpheus swallowed his nerves and walked up the new path that ran through her garden to her front door. She had installed a knocker on her door, one that was shaped like a hand that he gently slipped his own hand into and lifted. Three knocks and he stepped back a bit, waiting for her to answer the door.

"Could you calm down? I can practically hear your heart." Matthew huffed, still shuffling about on Morpheus' shoulder. "Hush, Matthew." Dream murmured and he was about to say more when there was noise from behind the door and then it opened.

She looked exactly the same as he remembered her, that same hair and those bright eyes, slightly mismatched way of dressing and that smile, "How can I help-" her eyes widened as they landed on Morpheus and she stumbled back a bit, "Dream- Morpheus-"

"Y/N…" He was struggling to find words but he didn't have to say much before she had run into his arms, burying herself in his coat and holding him close. "Morpheus, oh goddess, oh my stars." She was weeping into his coat, before she pulled away to look at him, hands coming up to touch and hold his face, "Where were you? How long have you been back?"

The familiarity of her nature made him smile softly, "Always asked so many questions…I was captured by a magus and I've been back for a few weeks and I am so sorry I didn't come sooner, I just- The Corinthian and Desire and-"

"I think you said enough with Corinthian." She smiled lightly, "It's so good to see you - to have you back, Morpheus."

"I want you to come live in The Dreaming with me." The words came from nowhere, but she could feel the weight and meaning on them. He was taking a chance on her like he had taken a chance in the beginning.

"Okay…okay." she nodded, took a deep breath and then threw herself back into his arms, "I missed you so much."

"You're all I have thought about for two centuries. I can't tell you how sorry I am for being late." He pressed his forehead to hers and then he kissed her, almost like he hadn't felt human touch in just over two hundred years.

[roguelov]

Entangled

Summary: A recently turned immortal, and a witch, your life becomes entangled and thrusted into the life of an immortal, Hob Gadling. However, Hob soon introduces you to his oldest friend, Dream of the Endless. And over the coming centuries you find yourself falling in love with each of them, but how will it end?

Word Count: ~8k

Reader: Afab/fem

Warning: Mostly fluff, mutual pining, mentions of drowning and death, angst(ish) cliffhanger

Part 2 - (smut included)

Strangely, this story began with a drowning.

The ravenous crowd cheered. A man tied to a sturdy, recently chopped, tree thrashed in the chilling river water. Bubbles escaped from his mouth letting the freshwater in.

Blood. They wanted blood. They beckoned out to Death, hoping for her to grace their presence.

The crowd brought the man up to the surface ignoring his gasps and pleas to spout insults and allude to his devil worship; then instantly forced him back under.

Hob Gadling had one thought in his mind: how much water can fill my lungs? When one cannot die, then what do you do when someone is actively trying to kill you?

His lungs were on fire as precious air was forced out. He would clamp his mouth shut, yet his body and survival instincts rejected it. His need for air opened his mouth allowing more water to rush in. It burned as it poured down his throat. It pained him in every way.

He was choking.

But, he was not dying.

And it was odd.

The thought of dying - actually dying - ran through his mind, yet he knew it would never come. Hob loved life, he loved it all dearly, but for a single moment - in complete weakness - he wished for death. A fleeting thought which was drowned out by the intense ringing in his ears.

Soon darkness overtook him.

Commotion erupted on land.

The murderous crowd scattered, like dogs with thier tails tucked between their legs.

A figure darted out of the surrounding woods and plunged into the river.

You.

You dove in.

With a knife in your mouth, you swam to the man and started sawing away at the rope. He was slack, unmoving and at the mercy of the current. Dead or unconscious. You couldn't tell, but you hoped for the latter.

After a few more slashes, he was free from his restraints. You tucked the knife into your boot and grabbed onto the man’s slippery, wet clothes. You pushed off the bottom of the river and dragged his sopping body to the surface. You broke gasping for air, then swam with all your might to the creek bed.

Huffing and puffing, you hoisted him up and out of the water. You touched his neck, feeling for a pulse. However, miraculously, the man started coughing up water.

You breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive.

He cracked open his eyes. Water dripped off his eyelashes, following the curves of his face. Looking up, the sun - still high in the sky despite believing hours had passed - glared viciously, blinding him. He hissed. But, he enjoyed it, enjoyed the pain and heat. It was far better than the cool unforgiving darkness of the river.

You smiled sadly down at him. “I’m sorry,” you brushed his wet locks out of his face, “they were after me.”

He coughed up more water. “You? They were after me.”

You blinked. Him? I thought …

Each of you assessed each other in utter confusion. Slowly, the man pushed himself up, swaying side to side to properly look at you. “Why … why would they be after you?” He asked.

“Same as you, I suppose.” Standing up, you stretched a helping hand towards him. “For being a witch.”

He graciously accepted your offer. Clasping your hand, a pleasant chill ran down his spine. Your skin, although damp, was far warmer and welcoming than his own. Standing on his feet, he stumbled back and eyed you up and down. You raised your head, and did the same.

“A witch? A genuine witch?” He asked, almost in disbelief.

“And are you not a witch?”

You assumed given your recent activities - healing the sick, collecting plants, muttering to yourself what people thought to be gibberish, walking around at night, and more - stirred the nearby town’s fears. You assumed this poor soul was caught in the middle of your battles. But, maybe not.

“In a way, I guess I am, or at least to those lovely folks.” He huffed, which turned into a cough.

You stepped back, getting a real good look at him. A hum resonated within him - a hum of the supernatural. You met his eyes. “You are immortal, are you not?”

He blinked, eyebrows shot up.

Which all but confirmed your hunch.

You chuckled to yourself. “Please, we can continue this discussion some more, but allow me to care for you first. I have some dry clothes back at my home.”

He didn’t argue.

You guided the drenched man as he leaned heavily on you back to your little shack in the woods. It rose through the parted pine trees, tucked away from the world. It had cracks and holes in the foundation, and the roof barely kept out the rain or nightly chill, but it was enough. You weren��t necessarily planning on staying around in these parts much longer anyway.

Pushing open the rickety door, you hobbled across the room to the creaky bed and carefully sat the man down.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t have it in him.

His clothes stuck to his freezing skin, his hair clung to his forehead, while his eyes stared vacantly ahead. The weight of his situation, what he just experienced, now perfectly clear in his mind.

You frowned. You left him be for a moment and started to make a fire.

Hob’s eyes slowly trailed over you and your home.

Jars filled with dried herbs neatly placed in rows on a thin, poorly made counter. Plants, both herbs and flowers alike, were scattered about in various pots on the floor, on the single round table in the far corner, or either in the windowsill behind him.

You darted around the tight space, collecting herbs and throwing it onto the fire. You constantly mumbled under your breath, like a haunting song. Hob inhaled deeply. The aroma was dizzying. However, it distracted him from the freshwater and algae that threatened to suffocate him. In fact, he started to feel more and more at ease with every passing second. The ring in his ears vanished, replaced with the crackling of fire. His body had stopped shivering minutes ago, and his muscle had finally relaxed. The danger had passed.

Walking over, you bent down at the edge of the bed pulling out a small trunk. You rummaged around before pulling out a bundle of clothes. You eyed him then the clothes and smiled. It would fit.

You set them beside him and stood directly in front of him. He slowly peered up at you. Your kind, gentle eyes soothed every worry he ever felt. He was safe at last.

“I know you may not be capable of catching a cold, but please allow me to look over you,” you asked softly.

Hob nodded.

You smiled, your eyes crinkling. “If I make you uncomfortable, please tell me.” You pressed your hand to his chest. His face scrunched up and glanced down in confusion. “Breathe in and out slowly.”

Hob cocked his eyebrow, but obliged.

You immediately frowned. Water was still trapped in his lungs. You could feel it: the faint swishing and hum of gurgling.

You sighed, stepping back. “You have water in your lungs.”

Hob’s eyes widened.

“But, not to worry, I can get it out. However, you must stay completely relaxed and calm, and listen to everything I say.”

He nodded adamantly.

You smiled again. With the tip of your finger, you gently tipped his head back so he stared directly at the chipped roof. Your thumb carefully pushed on his chin, opening his mouth a bit. You looked through the window. “You are lucky, it is a clear and dry day.”

Hob tried to respond, but you silenced him.

“Inhale deeply. Take in the smell of herbs.”

He did as he was told. It made his mind hazy, his thoughts hard to grasp.

“Good, now don’t resist.”

Fear should have spiked, but he was at ease.

You leaned over him, and began to mumble. Hob couldn't understand a word you were saying. Yet, it was the same as earlier, an eerie haunting lullaby. Your words swirled around his hazy mind, drifting him further and further into a relaxed state.

Something slithered.

He flinched.

Your hands cupped his face, as your thumb calmly stroked his cheek. You never wavered.

The cool, wet sensation slithered out of the pit of his stomach and up his throat.

Again, he should have panicked. His eyes darted around and locked onto your. Your eyes were closed in concentration. The sunlight, the soft yellow, danced over your damp skin. Your hair stuck to your face. Water dripped down off the tip of your nose.

It dawned on him in that moment the lengths you went through to save him, to save a complete stranger.

Something swirled in his mouth. The distinct taste of algae and mud glided over his tongue. It was water. Fear finally reached him. He wanted to choke or throw up, but he instead froze. The water floated out of his mouth and hovered in a suspended bubble inches above his face. His eyes widened.

A dented tin cup appeared over his face, catching the water.

He blinked.

You took the cup and chucked the water outside. You turned around smiling widely at him. “There.”

He dropped his head, staring in awe. “You really are a witch.”

“Did you have doubts?” You teased, setting the cup on the table.

“I - I suppose I did. I … I just haven’t met others similar to me.” He struggled to string his thoughts together.

“You mean ones part of the strange and unspoken parts of this bizarre world?”

“… yes?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “You have lived a closeted life, or you have turned away from it all.”

He threw you a lopsided smile. “Really?”

You smirked, and moved on, refusing to reveal the many secrets of this world. “So, immortal man, how long have you been wandering the earth?”

“Since the late 1300s.”

You blinked, surprised. “That’s nearly 300 years?”

“Yes, but most say I don’t look my age,” he cheekily replied.

You snorted.

“And you? I now know you are a witch, but are you also gifted with immortality too?”

“I am.”

He cocked his head. “Because you are a witch?”

You shook your head. “No, all witches, magic users if you wish, live and die for that is life.”

“Then why you?”

You smirked. “And why would I tell you such secrets?”

“Because you saved my life? I would like to know my savior.”

“Saved an immortal’s life? Irony at its finest.”

He smiled, chuckling to himself. “Cheeky.”

“I will say a deal was struck, however, when my deal was struck? It was not as long as you probably think or hope, it was all fairly recent compared to your lifespan. It was only about half a century ago.”

“Ah,” he hummed.

But, unlike what you suggested, he wasn’t disappointed slightest. How could he? He has met another immortal, one more aligned with humanity compared to his other dear friend.

He smiled, practically beaming. “Where are my manners? My birth name was Robert Gadling, but please call me Hob.”

“Hob Gadling,” you repeated. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N).”

“And the same to you, although I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Ah,” he waved you off, “I wouldn’t wish it any other way.”

You blinked, then laughed. “You are a strange one, Hob.”

“Says the witch.”

You smiled, “Cheeky.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

At that moment, an idea popped to mind. “Hold on,” you ran over and opened your trunk again, digging through clothes and other assortments. Hob leaned over peering down at you, but you instantly jumped up with a smile. You held out a plain golden locket. “Here.”

Hob stared down quizzically. “What is it?”

He knew the obvious answer, but given your occult tendencies he wanted to know more.

“A locket.”

Hob glanced up at you unsure.

You huffed. “It was a gift to my sibling.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It’s charmed. It is connected to me. If you hold it and speak my name I will know. It was a way for my sibling to call me when they were sick or in need.” A frown tugged on your lips. “They unfortunately passed away last winter.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hob muttered. Loss was an old friend, one he never wished to see again.

“Thank you, I’m okay, but I wish for you to have it.” You offered it out to him.

“Why me?”

“I found you drowning in a river, I feel as though I should not have to explain any further.”

Hob smiled sheepishly.

“And I wish to stay in contact with you.” You took his hand and placed the locket and the chain in his. “A start of a new friendship.”

His fingers curled over the jewelry. He smiled up at you. “Okay, for a new friendship.”

Yet despite the hopeful promise, he never called.

It was only until decades later that you finally saw him again.

Under the pale grey sky, the air thick with the impending storm to come, you strolled down the busy sidewalks as carriages and horses trotted by. You glanced down at the scrawled list. All of it basic necessities, some of which your garden could not provide hence your trip into town.

“Move it!”

You glanced over to the commotion across the street. A man, in tattered rags and covered in dirt and grime, stumbled through the flow of people. Most covered their noses, as a few gagged. They all glared at the man and some even shouted at him.

You frowned.

The man was pushed and forced up against a building as people bumped his shoulder. He glanced around, trying to look for something. His beady sunken eyes peered through his scraggly hair that fell in front of his face. He slowly sunk down, as people crowded around him. The man threw his hands over head to protect himself.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Without any regard for passers in the street, you darted across. You worked your way through the crowd, shooing them away. They scoffed and gave up. A few eyed you oddly but you paid no attention to them.

Your heart raced as you approached. You dropped to your knees. “Hob?”

The man snapped his head up, looking through his greasy hair. Shock overtook him. He dropped his hands and looked at you properly. “(Y/N)?” He breathed out.

“Oh, Hob.” You reached out and helped him up onto his feet. He graciously accepted. He, however, tumbled into you, but you easily supported. Just like all those years ago. Your hand rested on his stomach while your arm wrapped around his waist. “What happened to you?”

“Life.” He muttered with a crooked smile, trying to hide his pain.

You puckered lips, not believing him.

“Nothing you should worry yourself over.” He quickly added, and laughed once. “Just one thing after another. You shouldn’t be too surprised given how we first met.”

It was meant to be a joke. But, you didn’t laugh. Your eyes softened. “Why didn’t you call?”

Hob hunched over slightly, and glanced away. “I did not think to.”

You frowned. “Hob, we may have only met once, but I do consider you to be a friend.”

Hob straightened up with you to lean upon. His hand touched the front of his ragged shirt, and just below a cool metal pressed into his chest. Your locket, one of his few possessions still on him. “It was not meant to offend you,” he whispered. “I simply have grown to rely on myself. It is odd to think I can call upon someone and they will still be there.”

Your frown shifted into a smile. “I’m not offended, Hob, in fact I understand perfectly well. All I ask is for you to be more mindful in the future.”

He nodded.

“Here, come back to my place. I can cook you a meal and -“

“No,” he quickly shook his head.

You raised your eyebrows. “No?”

He started to walk ahead, stumbling a bit to free himself from your grasp. You chased after him, clinging to him and fearful he may collapse.

“I am to meet someone,” he stated, marching forward.

“Meeting someone?”

“An old friend.”

“Are you -“

“It is a scheduled meeting, I cannot and will not miss it.”

Helping a fumbling Hob, you soon found yourself in front of a tavern. You couldn't hide your confusion and some disdain. A tavern? You looked to Hob in your arms, but his gaze was locked onto the door. Inside, the crowd cheered and bustled about. A faint hum of music filled the air as clacks of cups and tankards echoed.

Hob stepped forth out of your embrace. He opened the door, walking in as if it was his destiny.

The patrons immediately glared at Hob given his unpleasant appearance. But, with you on his trail, you easily reciprocated their hateful glare. Most then turned away. A man - a worker - tried to approach to remove Hob, but you caught his gaze. He flinched, and slowly backed away.

Hob stumbled around tables to the far back of the tavern. You followed like his shadow and protector.

Once in the back, Hob instantly beelined it to a man in all black.

You hovered, unable or unsure if you should leave Hob with this man. A man who exuded such raw power and commanding presence. His posture was perfectly straight with his head held high and leveled with the floor. He did not belong here. His long raven black hair swept back over his shoulders. His clothes were expensive and the height of fashion dipped in a velvet black. He was the night. The only flecks of color on him were a deep blood red from a ruby which sparkled at his neck and his pale blue grey eyes, the color of an early morning sky.

Hob, however, ignored everything peculiar about the man and stuffed his face with the served bread and began to prattle on about his life.

The man’s charcoal rimmed eyes soon slid over to you intrigued. “I see you have brought a friend to our arrangement, Hob Gadling.”

Hob visibly swallowed a chunk of bread and looked over his shoulder back to you. He blushed a little, embarrassed he forgot about you. But, he gestured for you to join them.

Hesitant at first, but you obeyed. You were mystified by his dark stranger. Why did he feel so familiar?

You took the chair next to Hob, and kept your eyes on the stranger. You began to have an inkling as to who he may be. If you were correct, you had met one of his siblings before.

“This is -“

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” the stranger cut off Hob. The stranger bowed his head in acknowledgement and offered a small greeting smile.

You returned the smile. Oh, yes, you knew exactly who he was.

Hob, mouth agape with food, looked between the two of you in bewilderment. “Have you met before?” He turned to you and pointed his ripped piece of bread at the man. “You know him?”

You smiled at Hob. “It seems you have a knack for attracting the unusual Hob, which I suppose is not surprising given your own unique circumstances.”

Hob blinked. “I don’t understand, do -“

“Hob Gadling,” the stranger called out. “You were regaling your life story, one I am most excited to hear if you so wish to continue.”

Hob squinted at the pair of you, but delved into his life. A story which spanned over the entirety of the last century, a story in which you also made an appearance in. And, unfortunately, a story which wasn’t very pleasant, one filled with mountainous heartache. But, when the stranger asked if Hob wished to continue living; Hob laughed and answered with a resounding yes.

You smiled, shaking your head. Even with the few interactions you had with Hob, you somehow expected his answer.

Hob twisted in his seat, facing you. “You should join us.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Come here to this tavern in the next hundred years, and we can discuss what we have done.”

You shook your head. “Oh, no, I -“

“You are welcome to join us,” the stranger interjected. “I am interested in your tale if you wish to tell it.”

Your eyes flickered back and forth between them. Should you? There was no disdain in their eyes, only joy and want. You smiled at the pair. “Okay then, I will be here.”

They smiled.

“On one condition,” you added. “That I may see you well before then.”

Hob smirked. “Oh, yes, I assure you will hear from me. You cannot get rid of me so easily now.”

You laughed, throwing your head back.

At the sound of your bubbly laughter, their hearts shared an infectious flutter. They glanced at each other, with questions in their eyes, but they ignored it; ignored the stirring of emotions just as they have done so for centuries.

You tilted your head, beaming at the pair, “Then to the next hundred years may they be filled with excitement and bring you joy.”

“To the next,” they spoke in unison.

After the meeting, you dragged Hob to your home for fresh clothing and a warm place to sleep for the night.

“I promise, I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow,” he repeated over and over throughout the day and well into the night.

You smiled, leaning on the doorframe to the spare bedroom. You watched as Hob, now squeaky clean, slowly settled into bed. “You can stay forever how long you need Hob.”

“No,” he shook his head, “tomorrow morning I’ll leave.”

“If that is what you want.”

He locked eyes with you. It wasn’t. There was a swell of emotions in his chest. But, he didn’t wish to be a burden, besides a fire was lit under him after today. He knew he could create a new life, and stand proudly on his own two feet. “It is,” he said.

You nodded, “Just remember I’m always here for you.” You pushed off the frame, and began closing the bedroom door. “Goodnight, Hob.”

“Goodnight.”

In your own bed, with the sounds of Hob’s faint snoring, you smiled to yourself and entered the Dreaming.

Just as you always have, and will continue to do so.

Your bare feet buried into the soft, cotton-like, pale sand. Inhaling, the salty air filled your lungs. Seagulls, gliding on the gentle breeze, squawked overhead. Waves crashed in a constant rhythm. Exhaling, you tilted your head up. It was an overcast sky, gloomy and void of most colors. Yet, the air was warm and inviting like a hug from an old friend.

A wave boomed against the shoreline. Louder, more notable.

Eyes now burned into the back of your head.

Lowering your head, you turned around. He was nearly the same image as he was hours ago, however he forged his expensive clothing for a simple black robe. “Dream of the Endless,” you bowed your head slightly.

He greeted you and bowed his head in return. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

You smiled warmly. “I am honored to be in your presence, but I must ask why are you here?”

“I was curious as to how you and Hob Gadling had met.”

“Ah,” you hummed. “Hob had already told of it earlier, not a particularly cheerful story.”

“True.” He stepped forth. His robe fluttered in the wind, skating across the sand. “But, I find it fascinating.”

You cocked your head. “How so?”

“To think the universe in all its cosmic power somehow aligned you to his path. A magic user and an immortal now intertwined.”

You smiled, “And now we are all intertwined.”

The corner of his lips twitched upward. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“But, we were always connected in a way. Just a small thread.”

Confusion flickered in his stormy pale eyes, then he hummed. “My sister.”

“Yes.”

“And have you spoken with her recently?”

There were far and few immortals. But, Death had a habit of speaking to those blessed with her gift. She had a particular interest in you and your story given your affinity for magic, and a certain arrangement.

“No, I haven’t, but given her duties I do not blame her.” You leaned towards him, a knowing smirk danced across your lips. “And you?”

“Pardon?” He blinked, momentarily confused.

“Have you spoken with your dear sister?”

“I cannot say that I have. We both have very busy lives.” He crossed his arms behind his back, regaining all his regal stature. “And your deal with my sweet sister?”

“Still ongoing.”

He nodded.

“Does he know?” You cocked your head.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Hob. Does he know who and what you are?”

Dream shook his head. “No, not entirely.”

“And why is that?”

Dream opened his mouth, but soon swiftly closed it. Why did he not tell Hob? Did it simply evade him? Was he too enraptured with Hob’s tales that he neglected his own? “I cannot say for I, myself, am unsure as to why.”

You chuckled.

Dream raised an eyebrow. “Does this amuse you?”

“How can it not?” You smiled at him. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but an entity who holds the universe’s collective unconsciousness, and has lived for eons upon eons, has failed at basic manners.”

Dream’s lips twitched upward. He looked out to the choppy sea, hiding his growing amusement.

You stepped in front of his view. “Talk to him. Visit him in dreams if you must. He speaks very highly of you.”

Before going to bed, Hob couldn’t and wouldn’t stop speaking of the Dream Lord. He recalled every encounter he had starting with the first fateful encounter back in the 1300s. You saw clearly how much Hob cared for Dream, and their brief fleeting moments.

“Maybe I will.”

“And never be afraid to visit me either.” Dream cocked an eyebrow at you. You simply smiled back. “Are you surprised, Dream Lord? That one may enjoy your company?”

“Surprised?” He hummed in thought. “A little, if I must be honest, but I am more impressed by your forwardness.”

You shrugged. “Fear should not govern your life. I used to be ruled by it, but with immortality I decided to forgo it. To take charge and do as I please.”

He smiled, a true and genuine smile. “How human of you.”

“Not a bad thing I hope?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good.” You looked down the shoreline at the white tips out in the middle of the sea and to sea foam lining the shore. You glanced back at the cosmic entity. “Will you stay until I wake?”

Dream’s enchanting eyes, ones that held galaxies, connected with yours. And for a moment, you felt cradled by the endless expansive universe. “I will.”

You smiled softly then strolled forward side by side as you carried most, if not all, of the conversation.

And when you woke from the morning light, a warm feeling bloomed over your chest.

One which came time and time again. One which sparked, leaving you breathless, every time you saw either Dream or Hob.

Soon, another century quickly melted away. And two men were back in a tavern as if it was always meant to be.

Hob and Dream chatted, catching up on recent years, however as the sun started to dip worry grew in their hearts. Where was their third member? Where have you run off to? Were you okay? Did something happen? Questions ran rampant in their minds, but neither would voice their concerns. Only when someone announced themselves did a flicker of hope and relief flooded their chests. Yet, it was quickly chilled. It was someone that neither expected nor met before.

Lady Johanna Constantine.

She was escorted by two unseemly men, whom she had each paid handsomely. Lady Johanna approached the pair and demanded answers to untold secrets and to address the interesting rumors which swirled around the mysterious pair.

But, neither Hob or Dream was entertained in the slightest, or intimidated for that matter.

In a flash, a fight broke out only to end just as swiftly. The men - ruffians more accurately - slumped to the ground with a resounding boom. Hob huffed, straightening his jacket. A proud smirk danced on his lips. Centuries of battles, he had more than enough experience to deal with men like them. He turned to check on Dream when Lady Johanna whipped out a knife, brandishing it at Hob. Hob’s eyes dropped to the knife with complete disinterest, it was nothing but a lousy, flimsy object in his way.

Dream, however, was already on his feet. His dear friend had helped him, when it was unnecessary, so he wished to return the favor. He opened his palm, conjuring his sand. He brought his palm up to his lips then -

“Lady Johanna Constantine.”

Lady Johanna flinched. She recognized that voice.

And so had her newfound companions.

Hob and Dream snapped their attention up to the second floor. Leaning on the railing, you smiled down at the trio. “Apologies, gentlemen,” you said. “I had nearly forgotten the day. And given my invitation, I wouldn’t dare try to miss it.”

Hob beamed up at you. “I would say you are right on time.”

Lady Johanna’s eyes flickered to the men then back to you as you strolled down the stairs. “(Y/N), I was not aware you knew of these men,” Lady Johanna stated with her knife still directed at Hob.

“There are many things you do not know, Johanna.” You walked over to her. “But, it is no one’s fault but my own. A teacher should have properly prepared their students.”

“Teacher?” Hob exclaimed.

You gently grabbed Johanna’s wrist and lowered her knife. She allowed you to do so. “Yes, teacher. Or at least I was until she outgrew me.”

Johanna huffed. “You showed me many things, but knowledge sometimes is best learned through experience.”

“And yet here you are about to be put six feet under.”

“A calculated risk,” she quipped.

You snorted. “Calculated? That’s not what I would say.”

She grumbled.

“Johanna, I beg of you, please just go home.”

“Beg? Oh, that is rich coming from you.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Have I not groveled enough for your secrets? For your secrets for immortality?”

You frowned. “Johanna, please, let’s not -“

“I am not a child. Do not use that tone on me.”

You sighed, “This is simply not the place for such discussions.”

“Oh? Then where -“

Sand glittered in the air. It tickled past your nose. It smelled of your parents’ cooking when you were sick in bed; it smelled of your first sweet and how it assaulted your young senses; it smelled of home, of warmth, and of old dreams of your youth. The sand blew directly into Johanna’s face. She inhaled it. Her eyes glossed over to a ghostly white as she began to mumble and sink to her knees.

You whipped around.

Dream dropped his hand back to his side. He straightened his back, his eyes locked with yours. “Apologies,” he murmured. “It seemed the conversation was going in circles.”

You looked back at Johanna and sighed deeply. “It’s okay. You’re right, it probably would have ended in another argument.”

“She wants immortality?” Hob asked, looking between you and Johanna.

“Yes,” you swiftly answered, eyes still on Johanna. “But it is the one question I would not answer.”

“Why?” Dream asked intrigued.

You looked at both men. “For it is not my place to answer. If she so seeks it then she may summon Death herself, but I will not give her the tools.”

Dream’s eyebrow twitched, a faint raise to his wonder and interest.

“I think we all know immortality is not a single answer.”

Dream hummed, his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Yes, that you are right.”

Hob bent down in front of Johanna, confusion and bewilderment sparkled in his eyes. He was surrounded by other worldly people. He turned back to the two of you. “So, now what? Find a new tavern?”

Dream shook his head. “It’d be best to end our meeting and for the two of you to lie low.”

Hob stood up, and cockily replied. “Why? It’s not like they can kill us.”

“No, but they can capture you.”

Hob immediately frowned, and rubbed the side of his face.

“Then would you gentlemen care to join me in my new shop?”

They both looked at you. “Shop?” Hob asked.

“Or at least it will be one day, I haven't quite figured out the name yet. And to be honest, at the moment, it is just an empty space with dusty shelves.”

“What kind of shop will it be?”

“A witch shop.” You smirked.

Hob grimaced. “Is that truly the best idea?”

“I will sell herbs for medicinal purposes along with teas and other plants. To others it is a plain shop for alternative medicine, but to those wandering and keen eyes, I will have other items I will happily sell them.”

His eyes connected with yours for a moment. Your determination was palpable. He shook his head, and laughed once. “Will you have a cauldron brewing too?”

It’s not my place, he thought.

“Oh, yes, that’s the dream,” you teased. Your eyes flickered between the pair. “So, are either of you interested?”

Hob smiled kindly. “A rain check, another time.”

Dream nodded. “Yes, apologies, I must admit the same.”

You waved them off. “Do not worry yourself, I completely understand.”

Hob shuffled in place. “So? Next hundred years?”

“You may continue on without me.” You said.

The two men blinked shocked a little by your statement.

“Are you sure?” Hob pressed.

“This was always your meetings and I adore seeing both of you, but I do not want to interrupt anymore.”

“I can assure you, you’re not -“

“I see you both plenty and these are your arrangements, so please continue without me.”

Dream stared blankly for a moment then accepted. “As you wish, until our next meeting.”

“Until then,” you glanced at Hob, “to both of you. I do hope it will be sooner rather than later.”

And sooner it was. Much, much sooner.

The dented bell chimed as the shop door swung open. A dark figure hovered in the doorway illuminated by the dim lighting of candles and oil lamps. He was hauntingly beautiful, especially in this lighting, a dark king.

You knew who it was without having to look over. His presence, his power, rippled throughout the shop.

“So, this is your dream?”

You smiled to yourself as you shelved jars of dried herbs behind the counter. You peered over your shoulder. Dream stood in the doorway of your shop - or one day it will be in the Waking.

“What? Do you not like it?” You asked, finishing the last row of jars.

“I do.”

You whirled around, leaning on the glass counter.

Inside, the glass counter revealed an assortment of vials of oils with petals and leaves neatly organized in stands. In wooden trays, in rows of two, tea bags were laid out ready for any cup. Card holders scrawled in beautiful calligraphy said the name of the tea along with a list of the types of plants used. Handmade tea cups and pots, each painted in various colors and designs, lined the bottom of the display case.

Behind you were bookshelves were filled with jarred herbs, ointments, seeds, potpourri bags, inscenses, other trinkets; like wooden hand carved items like spoons, jewelry boxes, to minuscule animals. Books aligned the empty space, books on mythology, human anatomy, plants, to even just plain fiction.

The walls were covered. There were diagrams of scientific names and properties of plants, as well as paintings of people and animals frolicking. Even extravagant trapesteries, collected over the years, hung from hooks. No one could tell of the wallpaper, or the paint color, behind all the chaotic mess.

The shop as a whole was relatively small, but a cushiony small like a hug from an old friend. Soft, warm yellow, a setting sunlight, steamed in through the surrounding windows. Chairs, rickety yet plush and inviting, were tucked in the nearby corner closest to the door. A table wedged between them was filled with games, and paper and pencils, to pass the time. Potted plants hung from the ceiling, their vines and flowers cascading down. While, tall ferns sprouted in their pots in most nooks. Inhaling, it smelled like morning dew, to a field of flowers on a lush spring day, your favorite hot tea on a cold winter night, to a home cooked meal, to almost anything and everything.

It was almost a secret oasis.

Your oasis, your safe haven.

However, in the back, behind a locked door which only opens to your touch, was where the real magical items were stored. Things you’ve collected over the years, things you’ve enchanted, and things only those seeking would find.

Leaning on the counter, you eyed the dark figure clouding all the greenery. His eyes scanned the room, taking it all in. “Bit simple, isn’t it?”

Simple? The place, your shop, was far from simple. But, the dream?

“Simple is never a bad thing.”

You smiled at him. “I suppose you are right, Dream Lord.”

Dream circled around the shop, his eyes still soaking in all the details, even down to the cracks in the floorboards and the dents in the walls. “You know,” he began, “you can call me, Morpheus.”

“I could.”

Dream turned, facing you. “Then why don’t you?”

“Do you not like it when I call you by your title? Dream Lord, your majesty, sire,” you listed with a certain mischief in your eyes.

Dream would never admit it, but he did. He loved the way your mouth curled into a smirk as you teasingly said such boorish titles. It brought a shiver to his spine.

He strolled towards you, “I don’t mind it, but I am merely curious as to why you still address me as such.”

You shrugged. “Respect, if I have to guess.”

“And if you didn’t?” He stood in front of the counter, his pale blue eyes locked with yours.

You smiled. “Because it’s fun. You don’t really meet a lot of kings or royalty these days.”

He dropped his head, smiling.

“But, for you, I can change that.”

He snorted. “How noble.”

You leaned closer to him. Your eyes sparkled with stars, pulling him in. “I have you know, I am very noble, Morpheus.”

He smirked. “Is that so?”

“It is.” A moment passed, a skip of the heart. You pulled away. “So, what truly brings you here?”

“You spoke of your dream earlier and I simply wished to see it for myself.”

You hummed. “Is that all?”

“No,” he admitted. He walked over to the plush chairs and sat down. “We did not get a chance to speak, and I too wish to hear what you have been up to since I last saw you. For starters, I was not aware you were teaching witchcraft and Hob certainly wasn’t aware of it.”

You strolled over to him. “Hob fears for me, and I do not blame him given how we met. I’ve had my fair share of townspeople hunting after me, but I love what I do. I may omit the truth only to lessen his worries for me.”

“You care for him.”

You plopped down in the opposite chair. Your eyebrows knitted together. “Of course, I care for you both.”

Morpheus’s eyebrows shot up.

You snorted. “Surprised? Do you think you are unloved?”

“I … I am simply taken back by your forthrightness.”

“Morpheus, you and Hob are part of my life so of course I care for each of you.”

So deeply than neither of you could begin to fathom.

Morphues, almost bashful, looked away. You laughed, “You know, part of my dream is for you and Hob to see it. For all of us to be here together.”

“Is it?” He peered back up at you.

“It is.”

He hummed. “Then I hope one day I can help fulfill this dream.”

You smiled. “We are already halfway there.”

He smiled, and his eyes crinkled.

You were not sure how long you talked with Morpheus, but time was always different in the Dreaming. You each spoke of your life since your last visit, and soon wished each other farewell.

Throughout the next century, you continuously talked with Hob and Morpheus. And occasionally offered any assistance, both magical and non magical, if needed. Your shop, now in the Waking, bustled with new customers becoming more and more popular. Of course, the shop was passed from mother to daughter, to a distant cousin, and a name change here and there.

But, life was good. Perfect.

Sitting in front of your fireplace, in your upstairs apartment over your now closed shop, you closed your eyes. The rain, heavy and constant, was a steady drum beat. A comforting lull. Your body ached from packaging jars, filling orders, and maintaining your expansive house garden. Yet, you enjoyed it. Enjoyed how your body curled into the chair, enveloping you and how you felt accomplished after a hard day of work.

Life, however, still loved to ruin the cultivated peace.

“(Y/N).”

Your name whispered within your head, yet it wasn’t your voice. A warmth spread over your chest, as if someone’s hand laid on top of your heart. You placed your hand there, feeling your own skin.

“Hob,” you called out. “I hear you.”

“I’m coming over.”

You laughed once. “And I will be here.”

You had forgotten the date, forgotten the importance.

Hob, drenched from the pouring rain and your locket in his grasp, soon appeared at your door. You immediately let him in and guided him over to the fire. A towel appeared out of thin air and wrapped around the sopping man’s shoulders. Hob tugged on the towel, then spilled into the evening’s events. He tried to bite back the pain, tried to ignore the sting in his chest, but he couldn’t any longer.

“What did I do wrong?” Hob mumbled his throat thick with oncoming tears. “Why did I say that?”

What ifs and countless scenarios replayed over and over.

You listened to every word, trying to comfort him. Yet, your own sorrows grew.

And so did your anger.

Hob eventually fell asleep, completely exhausted and drained, on your couch. His hair now dry curled in odd directions. And luckily, you were able to switch out his clothes for comfortable warm pajamas.

“He’s my friend.” A thousand other promises hung in the air from his three words. I don’t want to lose him … I love him.

You pulled the quilt up over his shoulders. Brushing back his hair, you bent down and kissed his head. “I will try to fix this,” you whispered.

Because I don’t want to lose him either.

You sat down on the floor, leaning back into the couch. Hob’s face was a simple turn from yours.

You stole a moment and stared at him.

He was finally at ease. Yet, a crease still laid between his brows. A frown tugged on the corner of his lips. His cheeks were still stained with tears, no matter how many times you brushed them away.

Anger flared. An anger directed at Morpheus. Hours. Hours spent consoling Hob, and failing to soothe his pain - pain, if you may add, Morpheus inflicted.

You gritted your teeth. You will have answers, demanding them if you must. Closing your eyes, leaning your head near Hob and memorizing his sullen features one last time, you inhaled deeply and silenced any thoughts.

The tug, the weightlessness, then the solid ground beneath your feet.

You had entered the Dreaming.

Morpheus, in his throne room, tried to distract his thoughts by reading. Thoughts of his recent meeting, thoughts of Hob’s biting words, thoughts of you which always crept in when he saw Hob.

“Must you be the most insufferable being in existence!” Your voice boomed throughout the grand room.

Your anger had gotten the better of you.

Morpheus jaw clenched. He didn’t wish to speak with you. He was still bitter from his encounter with Hob, and he knew your presence alone would make it worse. Sitting on top of his throne, he snapped his book shut and slowly rose to his feet. There you stood at the bottom of the stairs, glaring up at him.

“And what do I owe for the pleasure of your company in my throne room?” Morpheus descended the stairs, step by step, looking down his nose at you.

“Why did you say such things to Hob?”

Morpheus gritted his teeth. He did not want to dwell on Hob Gadling anymore. “Why are you intervening where you are not welcomed?”

“I am intervening, your majesty, because a mutual friend has come to me with questions I cannot answer, and an absolutely heartbroken look on his face.”

Regret and sorrow flickered behind his eyes. That was why. That was why he didn’t wish to dwell on Hob. It was the suffocating guilt which weighed in his chest that he could not run from. But, he could smother it, smother it in a fiery anger.

It was something he understood better.

He steeled his emotions with his signature passive stare. “He spouts nonsense and insults me to my face.”

“Insults?” You began to climb up the steps. “You think he was insulting you?”

“He dared to think to call me lonely.” He hissed through his teeth. Anger, he needed this anger.

“Because you are.”

We all are.

You hovered directly in front of him. Morpheus, on a single step above, glared down at you. He towered over, a grand entity of the world’s unconsciousness. Your faces only inches apart as you glared menacingly at each other.

“You think I am in need of such company?” He asked lowly.

“You do not wish to hear what I think, Dream Lord.”

He chuckled darkly. “You burst into my throne room, pointing fingers, and throwing insults and now you wish to hold your tongue?”

Your eyes searched his eyes for the truth beneath this grandiose act. Yet, you couldn’t. Either he truly believed it, or he buried it well.

You scoffed, and spun on your heel, walking away.

“And where are you going?” Morpheus asked with a snarl.

“I will leave and wait until you get off your pompous throne, your majesty, and admit the truth.”

Morpheus took a single step down. “The truth?”

You whipped around, looking up with tears in your eyes. Morpheus was taken back. The guilt rose tenfold. The memory of Hob’s broken face and now yours tore his heart apart. But, he did not show it. It all read as a twitch of his eyebrows, and a new tension in his jaw.

“That we are your friends,” you said, plainly.

He stared, unable to speak or to find the words to do so. His throat clenched. Where was his anger from before?

“What a fool we are.” You muttered.

He blinked. A fool?

“We are just humans to you, are we not? Below you in every way, right?”

He bit his tongue. No, you weren’t. Never. However, his pride was more important, or so he thought. He was an Endless, a cosmic entity balancing the universe. So, were you technically not below? Yes, in a way. But, he served you, served humanity.

Anger.

He clung to his anger, finding the hot rage far more comforting than the icy chill of guilt. So, he stayed silent.

And it stung. Immensely.

You loved him. You loved Morpheus deeply, in a carnal way. You loved him like the way you needed air to breathe. Yet, you also loved Hob. You loved him easily like a gentle breeze constantly guiding you forward.

But, you would side with Hob.

“I will not return till you admit your wrongs,” you said. You quickly turned away, your body vanishing as you awoke and took the first step to temporarily severing yourself from the Dreaming.

All the while, Morpheus was now left alone stewing with his thoughts.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

infodumps abt a new au idea (the demon-familiars au, or the un-familiars au)

TL,DR: Reader is a witch/wizard hired by a town to handle a poltergeist/demon problem (Vanny has a cult and is trying to summon demons lol), but they aren't very good at being a witch/wizard and after a bunch of 'throwing things at the wall to see if anything sticks' and absolutely nothing working, they, in a panic, kind of accidentally summon Sun and Moon, who are equally shocked to see them and after a bunch of staring at each other like ?????????? reader ropes Sun and Moon into helping them and hides them in plain sight as their 'familiars' until they've taken care of the demonic cult problem, promising to send them home as soon as things are ok again. PLOT TWIST THEY GET ATTACHED TO EACH OTHER AND KISS PROBABLY HAHAHAAAAAA

(the long initial ramblings/brainstorming i did w the space aces in discord is copy-pasted below, if anyone wants only vaguely coherent ideas n concepts abt this au and ur willing to torture urself, go nuts w it ig lol)

taken directly from the space aces discord, i present: the reason all of my aus are barely coherent and somehow overly thought through and barebones all at once, as shown by the following example (unfamiliars au edition)

weird silly demons/familiars Sun Moon au where Reader is a (less than talented) amateur witch/wizard trying to lie themselves into a position of relative security (bc theyve had to move three different times bc towns shun n drive away witches/wizards that proves to be unhelpful) and they werent actually trying to summon sun n moon so they end up getting them involved in their scheme but oops there is some kind of other demonic threat that is actually a big problem and oops oops now we have to seriously work together to not get killed by the other eviller demon or the cult summoning it while also fooling the townsfolk into thinking that u r competent and have everything under control

Sun and Moon, a couple of demons just chilling when suddenly summoned to the material world: what in the heck Reader, having just performed a spell/ritual they've never read the instructions for backwards and facing the wrong cardinal direction: SHUT UP AND PRETEND TO BE MY FAMILIAR FOR A MINUTE OR WE ARE BOTH GONNA GET KILLED, BURNING-ON-A-CROSS STYLE

hhhgj i just had. a rlly sappy idea for the 'familiars' part

basically like. witches n wizards naturally end up casting their own 'summoning' spell for their familiar at some point, most of th time when they are really starting to understand and control their magic? so to see a witch or wizard without one it's like 'wow they're a beginner' or 'something is wrong with them, why dont they have a familiar??'

so Reader asks Sun n Moon to pretend to be their familiars partly bc 'uh oh i summoned two whole entire demons without even meaning to i have to make this look intentional' and 'if i have a familiar the people will assume im a Real Witch/Wizard and respect me more'

and at one point when they r getting to be like, actual friends instead of 'weird roommates', Sun gets curious bc ofc he does

Sun: Soooo,, we're your pretend-familiars? Reader: Yea Sun: Sooooooooo,, do u not have a familiar? I've never heard of a wizard with no familiar Reader, visibly upset/disappointed (in themselves): Yeah, well, it turns out it's only the witches and wizards with actual skills that can summon familiars. So. Couldn't tell you if I've got one or not, I've never managed a proper summoning spell. Sun, foot in his mouth: oh,, Reader: Yep.

and then later. It turns out. There are ways to make a demon into a familiar! Turns out in the distant past some wizards used to make demons they frequently summoned for spell/magic services into familiars bc it was way easier than just doing the entire summoning ritual every single time

but at this point, Reader and Sun n Moon are close enough to be good friends, and Reader doesnt want to force that kind of permanent connection on them, they probably just want to go home, theyre probably sick of being here and being around u, and,,, u get the idea

and Sun n Moon dont wanna force that kind of permanent connection on YOU bc what if ur sick of them, or ur tired of feeding and housing them or putting up with their jokes n bickering, or maybe after everything u really dont want anything to do with demons!!!

so there's a lot of sad pining that none of them know abt

bc ofc they r all idiots in this au sorry thems the rules

and then at some point there is some big threat/place they have to go to, or maybe Reader gets injured in a fight, idk take ur pick, anyway in a heat of the moment panic Moon is like 'HEY U WANT US TO BE UR FAMILIARS RIGHT??' and reader like barely conscious is like 'w??? yea??????' thinkin he means the pretend thing theyve had going on

anyway spur of the moment/'im doing this to save ur life bc i love u' familiar binding spell/ritual performed BAM now ur stuck together

and when everything is calm again n the fighting is over reader looks at Moon and is like 'so ur like,, my actual familiar now,,' and Moon, sweating bullets, unsure if this is rlly what u wanted or if u went with it out of fear of dying, is like 'yyyyyyyyyes?'

and reader starts bawling their eyes out and kisses him bc this is like. th dream scenario to u

anyway reader n sun n moon are th worlds least likely wizard/familiars combo but somehow they r absolutely unstoppable together thank u for coming to my tedtalk

[thepaintedlady00]

Can I request Morpheus and witch!reader? (One of my faves in sandman fanfic) fluff angst whatever you desire! 💗

Morpheus x Witch!reader is one of my favorite pairings! I went the fluffy route because I love a good fluff piece!

"I trust your rituals have gone well," Dream said from the doorway as he watched you blow out the last of the candles.

You smiled back at him, smug but no less sweet. "Don't sound so jealous Dream of the Endless."

He took a few steps into the room, eyes running over the dried plants that hung on your walls and the tiny trinkets that cluttered almost every space in your home. He enjoyed looking through your many charms and leafing through your books while you cleaned up after rituals or just did things around your quaint home. It had been hard for him at first, after being trapped by amateur witches before, but you were no amateur. You'd taken great care learning new spells and done extensive research before even attempting things you did not quite understand.

Having an immortal boyfriend made studying easy. Not only was he alive during every time period where witchcraft was practiced and honed, but he also had an entire library filled with the collective knowledge of the world. You spent many nights with Lucienne, searching for books and tomes and discussing the techniques of certain magics.

Dream finally stopped in front of you, lovingly looking down at you. "I am hardly jealous."

"No?" You asked. "Because to me, it seems like you only ever show up when I've been doing a ritual involving another deity. Seems rather, jealous does it not?"

It was partially true and both of you knew it. Dream was proud of all you accomplished but of course, he still enjoyed having you all to himself. "Perhaps I simply wished to be in your company."

You smiled and pushed yourself up on the tips of your toes to press a kiss on his cheek. "Don't worry, dear, you'll always be my favorite immortal being."

"That is relieving," he answered, reaching out to hold you. "Now, perhaps we could try another ritual of sorts."

[rosemaze-reveries]

― spider's web

dream witch (envoy) x you a blindfold & a yearning for the secrets behind it

⚠️ hypnosis

Something compels you to stumble to her across the grand hall.

Something pushes your legs to move on their own, weightless and desperate. The walls squeeze around you until she becomes the only light in your path, your only way forward. She is calling you, that’s all you know, and you fight your way to answer her.

୨୧

“Careful, my friend. You might see something you won’t be able to walk away from.”

The Envoy catches your hand before it can lift the strip of lace which sits over her eyes. You don’t notice the position you’re in until that resonant voice of hers snaps you back to focus, dispelling the haze that had been coiling around your mind.

Her face is just a breath away, rouge lips pulled into a pleasant smile. She’s resting against a propped elbow with her calves crossed and angled with poise. The ribbons sprouting from the back of her dress are draped over the edge of her chaise lounge, glittering like a serpent’s tail, though by now you’ve crumpled it with your knees. If the Envoy is bothered by the suffocating breach of her space — and of her dress — she masks it well.

She sees the light return to your eyes and drops her gloved fingers from your wrist. “There you are. That didn’t take too long now, did it?”

It’s then that your clarity settles in and curiosity takes its place. At some point, you’d crawled up onto this sofa with her, hiked over her hips with arms outstretched as if mesmerized by an idol. Between knitted brows and a couple of puzzled blinks, you finally pry yourself away, letting a more tactful distance bridge the gap between you.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, mostly out of politeness. The Envoy is not a stranger to you, but neither is she someone you’d consider a friend, as she’s so fond of calling you. You’ve always held a degree of wariness around her. Yet sometimes you find yourself drawn to her. Like a force that both anchors and unravels you — in some encounters with her you see a beacon home, in others a herald of your coming end.

She laughs at your apology, in a way that’s pleasant and controlled, free of judgment but amused all the same. “Did you find what you were looking for, or did I stop you too soon?”

“I don’t know what I was doing,” you admit. “I didn’t think I’d still be here in the first place.”

“Looking for a way out, then?” she offers, lips curling upwards. Again, your eyes flick up to her blindfold. Behind that sheer fabric you swear you could see those emerald eyes glow. She brings her shoulders forward, her curiosity clearly piqued. “Or a deeper way in?”

A part of you begins to suspect she may have played a hand in your earlier lapse. Whenever you verge on losing yourself in her eyes, your inner voice warns you against fully letting go. Quickly, you tear your gaze away. “You wouldn’t have let me find the way out anyway.”

“This is your dream, my friend. The choice to wake up has always been yours.” Ever present smile stained on her face, the Envoy leans further into you, lithe fingers trailing your chest. “But there is something you still want from me.” You feel a sharp nail press into the skin above your heart. “It’s that hunger that traps you here — such is the story for everyone who sets foot in here. What is it?”

Your answer sits on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them back. The truth, you think. You’ve watched others like you wander into this dream, lose themselves in her maze, doomed never to attain what they came to find. This is a place where none escape and none remain, as you’ve heard her say many times before. There is no doubt in your mind that she would only lead you down a path to ruin, but learning your truths might make the risk worth it.

At your hesitation, she takes hold of your wrist once more, guiding your hand back to her temple. Your fingers hover above the blindfold, one pluck away from everything you wish to know.

“I can let you in,” she urges. “But you must be certain you won’t regret locking the door behind you.”

“What will happen to me?” you say, breathless. You already know what your answer will be. The resistance you clung to so hard before cracks like ice beneath your feet, and with it you feel a heavy weight lift from your mind.

“You will pledge yourself to me. Follow me across the lightless border. Is that what you wish for?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, high on the feeling of truths at your fingertips. At once all of your inhibitions fall apart, shattered by the overwhelming desire to peek into her eyes. You slip your hands behind the back of her neck, lowering her onto you as your hair sprawls on the cushion beneath you. And finally, you pry away that strip of lace.

[deanwinchesterswitch]

Dreams of Happiness

Summary: You’re doing well in your new life—many would say you’re ‘living the dream’. The only problem is, it’s not the life you dreamed of living.

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst; Some fluff; Language; Mentions of smut; Canon divergence.

Betas: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Word Count: 2,747

Part One

It’s been a long time since you’ve attended one of the monthly gatherings. The possibility of seeing Dean makes your chest clench with pain, punching the air from your lungs. Yet, you miss your found family, and avoiding them to avoid him, serves no purpose. Besides, you're in a better place emotionally now. At least that’s what you keep telling everyone, anyway.

Eyes scanning the room as you pull out of Jody’s hug, your heart stalls at her next words, unsure if it’s from gratified relief or abject longing.

“They’re not coming,” Jody informs you, handing over the glass of whiskey in her hand. “Caught a case at the last minute.”

“Oh, sure,” you shrug, “I could have handled it if he was here.” The cock of her eyebrow lets you know that she can see right through the facade. Jody is the big sister you always wished you had. There’s no hiding from that all-knowing scrutiny. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.”

“You doing alright?” she prods.

“I’m great. Things are going good.” You are not great. Things are not good. The reality is so far from either of those that you’re unsure where you’d begin to explain. “How’s everyone?”

“We’re good. The girls are excited about seeing you.”

“Of course they are. I’m the cool aunt.”

“You’re the only aunt,” she deadpans.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m still cool.”

As if on cue, Alex and Claire burst into the room, shoving each other and shouting your name, vying for your attention. Taking a large gulp of whiskey, you hand the glass back to Jody just as two sets of arms squeeze you tight in their hold.

A couple of hours later, the bathroom mirror reflects a genuine smile, contentment from being around the ones you love. Exiting the bathroom, you’re stopped in your tracks outside Alex’s room, overhearing your name.

“She looks happy,” Claire states.

“I don’t know. There’s a sadness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.” Alex always seemed to understand you. Relate to you a little better. When you showed up on Jody’s doorstep, physically and mentally exhausted, emotionally devastated, she had been the one to help paste the pieces back together enough for you to function again in the world outside their home.

“Well, I think they’re both a couple of dumbasses. Everyone can see that they belong together. Did you see his reaction last time when Jody told him she wasn’t coming? And she is obviously disappointed that he isn’t here today.” 

Claire’s no slouch at observing people either, and you reluctantly smile at her forthright assessment. You’re curious about his reaction, and though you know you’re wrong for eavesdropping, you silently lean a little closer to the open doorway, hoping to hear more about him.

“Yeah, but they both seem to be moving on. The art business is working out great for her, and he’s still out there putting himself in harm’s way to save the world.”

Does he know about your new business venture? Maybe he believes that you are happier without him. Agitation begins to coil in your chest at Alex’s response, but Claire’s next words cut a broad stroke through your heart.

“She still loves him, though, don’t you think?”

Of course, I do! I can’t just throw a switch and stop.

“I think so. Her poker face is almost as good as his, so it’s hard to tell for sure. I wish she’d talk to us about it.” 

There’s no way I can talk about him. It’s too difficult to explain. It still hurts too much. 

“I bet he still loves her even though he’s being an idiot.”

“I know, but,” Alex’s disgruntled huff reaches your ears, “Sam said he’s back to picking up waitr-”

You need air—an escape. 

Stumbling down the stairs and sprinting toward the front door, you hastily call to the group in the living room that you’re going out for a while. Not waiting for a response, you rush to your car, tires squealing as you pull away from the curb, bound for the lake a few miles from Jody’s. Windows down, wind whipping at your hair, the sequenced pitch of rubber racing over asphalt begins to soothe your troubled mind. Backing up to the edge of the rocky beach, you breathe a shaky sigh of relief, solace seeping through you with the familiarity of your surroundings, your sanctuary.

A swath of emotions threatens to bleed through your pores, but you hold them back until you're lying in the bed of the truck. Staring up at the inky darkness, tears coat and gloss your eyes, turning the view into an image reminiscent of Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

As the months dragged on, you got better at keeping the guilt and desolation hidden, putting on a show for others. A bright smile painted on your face, posing an apathetic demeanor whenever he’s mentioned. Yet, there are still times when you least expect it, caught off guard like tonight, that the hard outline is feathered by grief.

You’d heard tidbits of information about him when running into old acquaintances—laughing, joking, playing pool, the occasional story about him leaving with a beautiful woman draped around him. What you knew, though, that most of them didn’t, was that beneath the cheeky swagger he showed to the world was a compassionate, kind heart steeped in a complex, volatile cocktail of emotions. The person the world saw was only a guise shielding the man you knew and loved.

So you had taken their words with a grain of salt. You’d smile and nod, steer them back to talking about whatever case they were working. They’d eventually ask you to help. If you could, you’d assist with the lore but decline further involvement, telling them, ‘I’m not a hunter.’ As time passed, it became easier to say, but the sting continued to echo.

Hearing about his extracurricular activities with Sam as the source cut deep. It had to be true, then. Didn’t it? Sam was ground zero. Dean had moved on… let you go. Did he even love you anymore?

Colors blend and evanesce, fingers brushing cold metal as you absentmindedly reach for the warmth and security of a hand no longer there. A lost comfort, an intangible ache that lingers on your skin. Fuck, you miss him. You’ve made some pretty questionable decisions over the years, but leaving him ranks the highest. If there were a way to take it all back, you would. Tell him that you were wrong to leave, that you meant all the promises contained in the last words you said to him. You figure he knows on some level. It doesn’t make your choice any easier to accept.

You left him to deal with the never-ending cycle of douchebag demons, dickhead angels, and whatever new monster of the week emerged. Left him alone with the burden of saving the world on top of all the emotional trauma he constantly tries to shove down and hide away.

Hands curling into fists, heated tears whitewash a salty trail to your hairline unabated. There’s no reason to repair the peeling varnish of the facade you painted with no one around to assess the damage. So you let the heartache fade and blur into memories.

“A fireplace.” Rough-skinned fingers traced a path down your spine, palm coming to rest on your hip.

“It takes up half the wall,” a quick nip at his ear, “with a big fluffy rug and lots of pillows. Glass panels on either side to watch the snowfall.”

He laughed, “You’ve been watching too many of those sappy movies again. Not everything is a Hallmark moment.”

“When I’m with you, it feels like it.”

A random conversation that had become a ritual after bad hunts. Sometimes after good ones too, when you were both feeling overly optimistic about the future. The two of you, naked and cuddled close, on a blanket staring up at the stars, in Baby’s backseat, or safe in your bed at the bunker, whispering sweet, healing words and envisioning the home he would build for the two of you post-hunting life. It was a way to escape the horrors of the current day-to-day. Light in the darkness; hope where sometimes it seemingly never existed.

“A chef’s kitchen. Open concept, restaurant grade appliances, butcher’s block, and a marble countertop for rolling out pie dough.”

The sweet scrape of scruff against your flesh and heated breath, “An island I can bend you over and rail you from behind.”

“Wow, what a sweet talker.” You’d kissed him until there were no breaths left to share. Then he’d taken you on the backseat, tender and loving, like you had all the time in the world, replacing whispered words with cries of passion.

Rufus’ old safe house in Montana would be the perfect fixer-upper. By the time you remembered it, it was too late, and you never got the chance to mention it to him. Sam had kept the three of you on a string of hunts until one of them became the final straw for Dean. It had been a bit of a rough one. The witch had nearly succeeded in making you her next sacrifice, but you’d managed to outmaneuver and kill her just as the boys burst into the room. Dean had not been happy. 

Between fuming bouts of silence, you’d argued, for hours, the entire ten-hour drive back to the bunker. Sam was so fed up that Baby was barely parked before he was out, grabbing a set of keys to one of the old cars and driving off without a word to either of you. By the time the two of you reached the bedroom, the fight had come to a head, and the spiteful words cut deep.

“Let’s sleep on it, and we can talk tomorrow.”

“I want you to leave.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep in my old room tonight.”

“No. I want you to pack your things and get out of the bunker. I’m tired of having to rescue you. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to try and keep you from getting yourself killed all the time.”

Anger had instantly flared, “You’re being an asshole! How-,” but as you’d fired back, you caught the flash of torment in his gaze and realized what he was trying to do. Quickly switching tactics, you’d attempted to reason with him. The harsh words thrown back at you had felt like a salt round to the chest at close range.

“...You’re not a hunter. You’re a liability.” 

Dean’s anger was a sight to behold but had never before been directed at you with such force. He’d drawn himself up—arms crossed, stance widened, face an unyielding mask, eyes dark, glare chilling, breath nearly undetectable. For a moment, you wondered if you reached out and touched him, would his skin feel like marble, and an imagined draft of air had prickled your skin.

You’d known he wouldn’t back down once he’d voiced his ultimatum. Struggling under the burden of keeping those he loved alive and out of harm's way, Dean was doing what he did best by trying his damnedest to push you away, believing you would be safer. So you’d let go of the charged words you’d been ready to hurl back and stared him down, uttering the only words that truly mattered.

“I love you.”

The clench of his jaw—rolling muscle beneath stubbled flesh—the singular movement betrayed his vulnerability. You’d thought your words might be enough, but it only made him double down on his determination. He fired one last shot, then walked away. 

You’d heard him pause in the hallway, hoped his resolve would break, and whispered, “Please don’t leave.” As his strides had grown more distant, you’d stared at the space he left behind. 

Standing in the dimly lit room, you'd waited until your legs ached, finally collapsing into a sobbing heap on the bed to wait a bit longer. Exhausted from the hunt, the argument, and with utter despair draining every conscious thought, you’d eventually fallen into a fitful sleep. Waking with a gasp, you frantically searched the room, but there was no sign that he had returned. 

No missed calls or texts lit up your phone when you checked it. It felt like your heart was pumping sludge through your veins, then anger flared, flushing everything loose. How could he leave like that? Say those things to you and then walk out without a backward glance? It didn’t matter that you knew why he did it. The outrage over his callous words ignited a fire in your heart that seared its way through your emotional cortex. 

Debating whether it was best to wait and confront him when he finally returned or give each other some time, you finally shoved a few items of clothing in a bag, figuring you’d be back in a day or two once the dust settled. 

The first step across the bedroom’s threshold felt like stepping off a cliff, a point of no return. As you’d dragged yourself through the bunker, hope had kept you moving forward. Hope that he would be in the garage, sitting in the Impala. You wouldn’t have cared if the fight continued. You’d just wanted to see him there.

When you’d found Baby’s spot empty, muscle memory had been the only thing that kept you upright. Residual shock kept the emotions at bay until you hit the Nebraska state line. You’d found a liquor store and then a motel. Cried, drank, rehashed, dissected every detail that you should have done differently, drank some more, cried again, then drank until your tears were laced with alcohol. 

You knew Dean was afraid of losing someone else he loved, and he did love you. It had been there behind the cold stare and harsh words. He wouldn’t have believed you had forgiven him before he even walked out of the room, but you had. 

Your bout of anger did not negate that forgiveness, knowing that the extreme harshness of his words was proportionate to the feelings he held for you. You hadn’t chased after him for the same reason you had stopped arguing. As much as it hurt, anger and betrayal bleeding through every pore, you’d known there was no point. In that moment, Dean had decided on a course of action and would remain firm. He believed what he was doing would somehow protect you from a hunter’s end, deflect the chaos and darkness of this life, save you… from him.

On the fifth day of radio silence, having eaten nothing but a couple of packages of stale vending machine fare, you’d finally taken a shower, dragged ass to the nearest food source, drank an entire pot of coffee, and downed a huge helping of the greasiest food you could order. After puking up everything you had consumed, you’d ordered a coffee and two bottles of water to go.

You’d believed that regret, guilt… love would somehow, for once, win out over his innate stubbornness, and he would eventually call to apologize. You had been wrong. 

You’d lost count of how many times you’d stopped yourself from calling or texting. You’d rationalized that he needed more time, that if you tried to contact him too soon, you would only make things worse. Deciding it was best to give him space to work through the wealth of emotions you knew he’d be wrestling with, no matter how painful it was for you. So you hauled yourself north, away from the only true home you’d known in years… away from the tormented despair… away from him.

Now you have to face the consequences of your decision. He’s moving on, adjusting to a life without you, and, according to rumors confirmed by a reputable source, finding solace in the arms of another. In an attempt to save your sanity or a matter of self-preservation, you hadn’t let yourself think about him with someone else. 

It hurts like hell, but the blame lies with you as much, if not more so, than him. You told him you loved him but then abandoned him like so many others. You were just as much at fault for letting the months drag on with no contact, no attempt at reconciliation. Caught up in a new life that you only ever wanted to share with him, you realize you had waited too long. 

Too afraid, too ashamed to contact him.

Part Three

[prythianpages]

Very Demure | ACOTAR x Witch Reader

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[season of the witch masterlist]

warnings: none

a/n: The aftermath of the "very mindful, very cutesy, very demure" trend from tiktok. These are drabbles and include Az, Cas & Eris. But Az's is probably the longest at 1K words and no longer a drabble lol, Cas's is 700 and Eris's is 850.

moon divider by @tsunami-of-tears <3

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Azriel x Green Witch

The scent of earth and herbs filled the air as you approached your patch of snapdragons, their vibrant green stems standing tall but flowerless. Kneeling beside them, you set down the small, ceramic watering can filled to the brim with moon water and reach out to touch the leaves, your fingers trailing over them as delicately as the breeze. 

“Good morning, my little ones,” you murmured. "How are you feeling today?"

Your garden came to life, the plants surrounding you swaying slightly in response. All, except for the shy yet stubborn snapdragons.

You frowned. 

“The soil is rich and I’ve kept the pests at bay. I’ve planted you where the sun is bright and the air is cool. Very thoughtful of me, isn’t it?”

The snapdragons still did not respond.

With a sigh, you began to water them. Snapdragons were native to Autumn and thrived during the cooler months. From what you read, these flowers had a personality of their own and despite being named after the brazen beasts that soared in the skies, they were demure.

You knew it would be difficult to get them to bloom here in the Night Court but as the Autumn season approached, you were determined to grow them yourself. Their seeds could be used to make healing oils and if the stubborn flowers favored you, they would grace you with their small but mighty fire breath that you could use to make a warming potion.

“See how I’m not overwatering you? Very mindful.” You continued, setting the watering can back down, using the oldest trick in the book. Like calls to like and if you could show the flowers that you could be like them, perhaps they’d bless you by blossoming. 

“I’m not doing too much. Very demure."

You smiled fondly at them, knowing they were listening. "I understand that a beauty like yours cannot be rushed. But know that I am waiting to see your colors, to feel the warmth you bring.”

As if finally acknowledging your presence, one snapdragon in particular—a tiny bud, the smallest of them all—quivered ever so slightly. You leaned closer, your heart swelling with hope when a shadow came over you.

You rose to your feet, brushing at the dirt on your skirts as you turned around. The corners of your mouth curved upward, your heart fluttering with that familiar, gentle tug deep within your chest—the unmistakable pull of his presence.

“Azriel.” You greeted as his familiar form emerged from the shadows.

His wings shuddered, his shadows dispersing like ink in water, revealing him before they settled at his feet. As always, a few of the inky tendrils reached out to you, caressing your skin with their smooth, cool touch. One, more daring than the others, wrapped itself around your arm and nestled there, refusing to let go.

“Looks like someone missed me.” You laughed.

“I missed you more.” Azriel grinned, taking a step forward.

He reached out, his hand brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering against your cheek. You gasped at the chill of his skin, your brows knitting together in concern as you clasped his hand between your own. “Cauldron above, you’re freezing!”

You reached for his other hand, gathering both of his scarred hands into your warm grasp. The rough texture of his skin contrasted sharply with the softness of your touch, and your heart ached at the thought of him enduring such cold, worried it’d bring him more pain.

“I’m used to it,” Azriel murmured, his tone dismissive as he shrugged off your concern. “Illyria’s temperatures have always been brutal.”

But you couldn’t shake the worry. Azriel tried to pull his hands away, but you held on tighter, green magic swirling around his fingers, gently massaging the ridged scars. His right wing twitched under your fussing, and you brought his hands to your lips, pressing soft kisses to the backs of each one. 

Your lips against his skin felt like a soothing balm, and he could feel warmth spreading from his hands up to his neck, making his breath hitch.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be able to brew a potion that will keep you warm at all times soon.”

“It’s okay, don’t trouble yourself. I can handle a little cold every now and then,” he replied, trying to downplay the discomfort, but you frowned up at him.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

You released his hands, the warmth of your magic still wrapped around him. The idea of a warming potion was tempting, but Azriel knew how overwhelmed you were with requests from other fae in need. He could wait—there were others who needed you more. Yet, when he looked into your eyes, filled with such fierce affection and determination, he knew he wouldn’t win this argument.

Azriel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “That’s very thoughtful of you,” he murmured.

You grinned up at him, your eyes sparkling. “Very demure.”

“What?” He asked, puzzled by your teasing tone.

Before you could respond, a gentle breeze brushed past, drawing your attention back to the patch of snapdragons. Azriel followed your gaze, his hazel eyes curious. The small bud that had been trembling moments before began to unfurl, its petals peeling back like layers of silk. Your breath caught in your throat as the snapdragon revealed itself in all its glory—a vibrant bloom of deep crimson, its edges kissed with gold.

"There you are," you breathed, your voice filled with wonder. "Oh, you are magnificent."

The bloom seemed to bask in your praise, its petals resembling a dragon’s mouth opening wide. A small cloud of smoke puffed from the center, followed by a gentle hiss, and then, with a tiny roar, the snapdragon emitted a small burst of fire. Instinctively, Azriel’s arms tightened around you, but you placed a calming hand on his chest.

“I knew you could do it,” you said to the flower, your heart swelling with pride and joy.

Cassian x Love Witch

Cassian dropped his toast, eyes widening as you walked into the kitchen, humming softly to yourself. The tune was light, almost suspiciously nonchalant, but it was your outfit that truly caught him off guard. He swallowed the food in his mouth, clearing his throat as he tried to process what he was seeing. 

“What are you wearing?”

“Good morning to you too,” you replied with a sweet smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek before gliding past him to the steaming cup of coffee waiting for you.

Cassian blinked, still in disbelief. “What are you wearing?” he repeated.  Your usual vibrant pinks were replaced by muted tones—dark navy pants, a soft beige top, and matching flats. The only hint of pink was in the pearl earrings dangling from your ears, and even those were a subtle shade, almost blending in.

Cassian could count on one hand the number of times you’d worn anything other than your signature bright pinks. One of them being your wedding day, where you wore a beautiful white dress but even then, your platform heels were a bold hot pink.

“Clothes.” You answered simply, leaning against the kitchen counter to face him.

“I see that…,” Cassian exhaled, blinking as if trying to wake from a strange dream. But this was real, and it was slightly unsettling. “But why?”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes as you sipped your coffee. “Are you asking me why I’m wearing clothes?”

“Sweetheart, you know exactly what I’m asking.”

You sighed, the lightheartedness fading from your eyes as you wrapped your arms around yourself, a gesture that sent a ripple of unease through him. “I’m going to try and be a little more… demure.”

“What?”

“Try and be a little more demure.” You repeated.

“Demure,” Cassian chuckled. At the sight of your lips curving down into a frown, all amusement drained from Cassian’s face and his heart tightened. “Oh, you were serious?”

When you remained silent, Cassian stood, concern replacing his earlier confusion. He closed the distance between you, his large hand gently lifting your chin, coaxing your gaze to meet his. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied honestly, though there was a hint of uncertainty in your voice. “It’s just… I overheard some fae at Rita’s talking about this trend. To not do too much, to be more subtle, to be demure.”

Cassian’s brow furrowed as he studied you, a small, tender smile forming on his lips. “Sweetheart, you are anything but demure.”

Your glare was immediate, but it was more a pout than anything, and Cassian couldn’t help the fondness that swelled in his chest. “I can be anything I want to be,” you retorted.

“Yes,” he agreed, his thumb caressing your cheek in a way that sent a shiver of warmth down your spine. “But I just want you to be you.”

His words hung in the air, a gentle reminder of the love he had for the vibrant, unapologetically you. When you didn’t respond, Cassian leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering as if willing you to let go of whatever doubt had crept into your heart. 

Slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and with it, the glamour over your clothes faded away. Gone were the muted colors, replaced by the vivid shades of pink that Cassian adored—the colors that were as much a part of you as your laughter and your light.

Because when have you ever given in to trends? You, who shone like a beacon of color in a world that could be so gray, had always embraced who you were without hesitation. The opinions of others rarely fazed you, but sometimes, even you needed a reminder and Cassian was more than glad to do it for you.

“There she is,” he murmured, giving your cheek another kiss before pulling you into his arms. “My bright, shining star.”

You melted into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping your lips as your hands trailed up his back, reveling in the solid strength beneath his shirt. “Your hugs are the best,” you whispered, nuzzling into his warmth.

"They are?"

His arms tightened around you, the familiar scent of him wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

“Mm, you feel so strong. Makes me feel so…demure.”

Eris x Chaos Witch

The kitchen was nearly empty, the scent of cooked herbs and roasted meats still lingering in the air. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the stone walls, making the space feel both vast and suffocating. The cooks had long since retired, and only a few servants remained, their weary faces reflecting the strain of another long day in the Forest House.

The High Lord was away, leaving the Lady of Autumn and her sons that lived here to tend to. The noble lords and advisors who usually filled these halls were absent tonight, choosing to attend dinner only when Beron himself was present or if they were invited by Eris. It should have made the evening easier to endure, but one sharp comment from Reed had nearly shattered the delicate guise you'd worked so hard to maintain.

You felt Eris’s presence before he even crossed the threshold. A strange sensation creeping up your ribcage–like a warning. 

Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the marble edge of the counter, the cold stone grounding you. A deep breath—one that burned your lungs—did little to quell the storm raging within. The servants, sensing the tension crackling in the air, quickly scattered, their hurried footsteps echoing off the walls.

His eyes, usually gleaming with mischief, were now sharp and assessing. The fiery red of his hair seemed to glow in the dim light, a stark contrast to the shadows that danced across his angular features. He was close now, the heat of his body a reminder of the power he wielded—not just over flame, but over this entire court and perhaps, even over you…

Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to stir the darkness that lived inside you awake. That sinister and wicked side of you. The one that nearly slipped when Reed–

“That wasn’t very demure of you.”

Eris's tone was light and teasing, but beneath it lay a dark edge. 

Demure. 

The very epitome of the Autumn Court, reserved specifically for the fae females. A female was meant to be modest and reserved. Gentle and feminine. Quiet and docile. Dressed in muted Autumn colored dresses that left little to no skin exposed, allowing one to blend within backgrounds. 

Never drawing attention to herself.

It was what you forced yourself to be. A demure, young fae that worked in the kitchens of the great Autumn estate, serving the dignified and vehement Vanserras. More like vain Vanserras…

But tonight, the quiet, demure, and soft-spoken facade nearly cracked, allowing the fierce, raging beast that lurked within to claw its way to the surface.

Eris was angry and he had every right to be. The weight of your secret hung heavily between you, a volatile force that threatened to consume everything if unleashed. However, you’d be damned if you’d let him know you were ever in agreement.

“The depth of my concern could not be further shallowed.” You replied sharply with a glare.

Eris took another step forward, gaze dropping briefly before lifting back up to meet yours. His lips curled up into a sneer.  “Drop the knife.”

You clenched your hands and it was only then that you realized in the midst of your turmoil, you had picked up one of the knives on the counter, its sharp edge pointed at Eris. 

“Drop the attitude first.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw and the fire in his eyes burned brighter. Strong and powerful magic surged through you but the blood that coursed through your veins was no different than any commoner’s. And you knew it irked him to be spoken in such a way by a common fae.

“I can kill you, you know,” he said casually, one hand reaching out for yours–the one that held the knife. He forced your hand down. “Save myself from all the trouble you bring…”

“Death does not frighten me.” You reminded him just as casually.

Eris’s eyes softened for a moment, a flicker of something you could not discern sparking in his amber gaze. But it was fleeting, replaced quickly by the calculating gaze of a future High Lord, one who was currently navigating a treacherous game. Much to his dismay, he needed you if he wanted a chance at winning. Just as much as you needed him…

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. He wanted you to tremble before him, to fear him.  “Then, I will deny you death until you beg me on your knees for it.”

Your hand tensed against the knife you still held and Eris, whose hand still remained over yours, grew hot. Flames danced from his fingertips, heating against your skin. It was a fleeting kiss of heat that sent a sharp, tingling sensation coursing through your skin but not hot enough to burn. Not yet. 

“Do you think about that image a lot? Of me on my knees?”

Eris’s hand left yours. A wave of relief washed over you and you resisted the urge to cradle your hand to your chest. 

He took a step back, amber eyes sweeping over you with a slow, deliberate gaze. “It would suit you.”

“Keep dreaming, Vanserra.”

Eris's chuckle broke the silence, but it was a hollow sound, stripped of any true amusement. His eyes continued to bore into you with a searing intensity. "For both our sakes," he warned, his voice low and edged with a dangerous calm, "see that it doesn’t happen again."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing ominously. You stood alone, the lingering tension from his presence intertwining with your own growing anxiety.

With every beat of your heart, the darkness seemed to creep closer, and the storm of chaos you fought to contain felt ever more on the verge of breaking free.

a/n: When thinking about the demure trend, my mind had drifted to how each witch would be. Green witch gives off the most "demure" vibes. Then, I saw a tiktok resurfacing a clip from The Nanny of Fran saying she wants to be demure and it made me think of Love witch.

Chaos witch knows she's not demure, even though she has to pretend to be. I might actually use that scene between them in a one shot. It's hard writing short stuff for Eris & Chaos when I haven't written the prologue/introduction. I hope it's not confusing to follow along. For now, all you have to know is that they have their separate goals but must reluctantly work together if they want to see them come to light.

[witch au masterlist]

general witch tag list: @rcarbo1, @scorpioriesling, @ninthcircleofprythian

love witch tag list: @mrsjna , @shadowsingercassia, @acourtofbatboydreams, @rcarbo1, @mvidaaaa ,

@stuff-i-found-while-crying , @lipstickmarks, @yamisukehoe , @mp-littlebit , @thecraziestcrayon,

@talesofadragon, @ceoofyearning, @anuttellaa, @breadsticks2004, @chicken-fifi

@bxtchopolis

green witch tag list: @fxckmiup, @aria-chikage

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13

If you asked to be in a tag list and don't see your name, please let me know!

[melancholypancakes]

Head canon Witch! Y/n protects Morpheus all the time as much as he protects her :)

Witch! Y/n: You stay far away from him!

*Lucifer laughs at her pathetic attempt to protect dream*

*Witch! Y/n standing over dream*

Morpheus: Y/n! Stop, this is my battle to fight alone.

*Witch! Y/n blasts Lucifer unexpectedly*

*Lucifer gasp as he felt blood gushing from his cheek*

Lucifer: Why. You little Witch. You have some balls attacking me don’t you.

Witch! Y/n: As I said. Stay. Away. From my husband!

Matthew: 👀👀

……………….

*Desire attacking Morpheus verbally until Witch! Y/n nearly cut his head off with a knife stick across the wall*

*Morpheus is smirking*

Death: 😮….

Despair: 😞😞…

Delirium: 🤩….

Desire: Gods, woman you nearly cut my head off!

Witch! Y/n: that’s the idea. Next time you talk back to my husband it’ll be your tongue.

*Witch! Y/n sits back down holding Morpheus hand*

Morpheus: 😏😏

[mariewriting]

GN reader

Warnings:Mild possessiveness, observation.

Notes;None

Yandere platonic! Galatea, Grace, Yidhra, Mary and Michiko with a child! reader who is afraid of them.

Galatea Claude

Sisterly affection.

Galatea simply doesn't care if you are afraid of her, she tries to get closer to you. Only because she saw in you a tenderness, a sister's tenderness.

Even if she doesn't care much for the fact that you are afraid of her, she still finds herself a little bit, will try to make you lose your fear. Whether it is by giving little handmade gifts or just showing a little affection.

She does all this. Because remembering the affection she didn't have in her childhood, and looking at you, a child, makes her want to hold you and care for you like a sister does.

She will make you lose your fear.

She just wants to hold you and never let go. Like a sister.

Grace

Sisterly affection.

Grace is very disappointed to find out that you are afraid of her.

Grace can't think of any reason why you should be afraid of her. But she will accept it.

She won't be on top of you all the time, but she will make sure that you are okay. Even if you don't like her presence very much.

Grace views you with a fondness, a platonic fondness. It was the first time Grace felt comfortable in the presence of a human, a human child.

Even if you are always afraid of her presence.

Grace also feels the desire to protect you, because of her troubled past, and is very afraid of you seeing humans, afraid that they will do the same thing they did to her.

Grace will protect you, like a sister.

Yidhra

Motherly affection.

I think Yidhra would be amused to see you afraid of her. She thinks it's funny about how desperate you are to see one of her followers following you. But Yidhra would feel a little, I say, a little guilty. But she has no regrets.

Even though Yidhra is sadistic with everyone, she takes it easy on you. She doesn't scare you so much, and if you get too scared, she just stops what she's doing.

Yidhra is incredibly affectionate to you, even though you have never actually seen her before.

She sends her followers to deliver things for you, be it strangely strange things that you have never seen or heard of. You didn't even know what it was, and you didn't care.

Yidhra would feel a great platonic affection for you, and I dare say it is a maternal affection. But she is very strange, so I can't decide if she has a maternal or platonic affection for you.

She really thinks you are a very interesting child.

You always feel someone watching you when you are sleeping.

Michiko

Motherly affection.

If Michiko realizes that you are afraid of her because of her Prajna form, Michiko will try to spend less time in Prajna form, and more time in beauty form. In the hope that you will lose your fear.

Michiko will try to show more affection, and spend more time with you.

Michiko feels an enormous maternal love blooming in her heart at the sight of you, because in her mind, you are her child. Even if you are not of blood.

If you start to lose your fear, Michiko would feel very victorious. And she will be smiling all day long. Even after losing a match.

She will treat you as her child, sometimes even asking you to call her Mom, and if you do, she would be smiling and proud for the rest of the day.

Michiko will protect you, no matter what.

Mary

Motherly affection.

Mary would feel a little offended when she realized that you are afraid of her.

However, Mary doesn't know why you were afraid of her, and wouldn't even try to pressure you to tell. Because she knew that it's not nice to be forced to talk or do anything.

Mary thinks you are an adorable child, who feels like taking you out of that game

Mary would try to show more affection. Either with words or with gestures. She also wouldn't be the type to be too clingy like Michiko, but she's not that distant either.

She keeps wondering what such a young child is doing in such a horrible game.

Mary would feel a great deal of maternal affection toward you, which is no surprise to anyone. When Mary gets a chance, she gives you a long hug, which lasts about three minutes. And you come out of it much calmer.

[8bitscarlet]

Sweet Dreams

Summary: Dreams that felt like real life came and went from your nights. But now it seems like that those dreams come every night and now they're making you question the world around you. One thing is always a constant anchor though and you hope to never lose her.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Fluff (slight mention of blood, mention of death)

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: Part Four of Dream a Little Dream! I had a small break for once on a weekend and made myself sit down to wipe the cobwebs from this series! I hope you guys enjoy this one! Happy Reading!

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours. reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated! *

__________________________

Your body tenses, nails digging into your palms as you press out the breath that is stuck in your lungs. Gasping out, you can feel the constant ache in your shoulder starting to flare up and a distant pressure against your ribs.Your whole body aches and you wonder how tightly you were holding your body in that dream. 

“Jesus,” you whisper to yourself, the image of a speeding car hurtling towards you still in your mind. It felt so real. The steel bumper striking against you and the stinging burns along your arms against the sun-warmed asphalt. You’re expecting to feel the warm blood drip down your arms, something else grabs your attention in the darkness. 

Huffing breaths as the blankets grow tighter and tighter around your legs. Glancing to your left, you realize you’re not the only one in this house having a nightmare. You reach out and delicately wipe the beading sweat that appears on Wanda’s forehead, seeing how tightly her brows clench. 

“Wanda, darling,” you say gently, not wanting to terrify her even more. As your hands slowly pull her to you, arms wrapping her in a safety she can recognize, she lets out a groan but still twitches against you, “Wands, I’m right here. I’m here.”

You listen to the tight breath she pulls in, her fingers gripping onto you even tighter. Your shirt is pulled as she tries to climb even further into you. Trying to help her get closer, you feel her hot breath rush along your neck and the goosebumps follow after.

Slowly as you rock, letting her climb out from that fake world and back to you, your mind softly wanders to the boys. Wondering if everyone in this house was scheduled for a nightmare episode. 

But you hear no footsteps padding quickly down that hallway. No two small and warm bodies crawling up beneath the covers and pushing you towards the edge of the bed, a stuffed animal resting on your face. It’s silent and you take the time to wipe away the hair that has stuck to Wanda’s face. 

All there is, is Wanda’s hands running along every inch of your body. Eyes following where her hands go before they entangle in your hair and she pulls you in for a hug that presses into the weird pressure that still lingers against your ribs. 

“I couldn’t feel you…” her words reach your ears as she leans back to look at you, a terror hidden inside of those green eyes. 

You grin softly, “I’m right here, darling. That wasn’t real, right now is.” Leaning forward, you press your lips against hers for a moment and listen to her sigh into you, “That kiss is real. And it always will be.” 

“Do you promise?” she asks, a hard change from worry to distant solemness, her eyes reading every expression on your face. 

“As long as you’ll have me. You’ll never lose me. Wherever I go and wherever I am, I belong to you.”

She smiles shyly, her fingers playing with the shining ring on her left hand, “As much as I belong to you.”

Pecking her lips, you slither back down into the sheets, “Let’s get some more rest, darling. I’ll give you your souvenirs in the morning.”

Ensuring Wanda finds the most comfortable spot on the bed, you flip over onto your side. Warmth fills your back as you feel her nuzzle her head between your shoulder blades  and you reach back, your hand finding hers. 

“Y/N?” Wanda whispers against you, listening to you hum out to her. There’s the shortest pause, as if she’s second guessing her next words but you feel her warm breath again, “Sweet dreams.”

_________________________________

A soft guitar and piano mesh perfectly with deep hums, a haunting voice lulling you out from your sleep. When it reaches your ears, you can feel the chill down your spine, eyes slowly blinking as you find the world around you again. The mufflings of a familiar song work through your door and you glance behind you. The bed is already empty, Wanda has woken up before you. 

You start to wake yourself up slowly, leaning side to side with a stiffness you don’t remember and roll your shoulder to crack the pressure from your shoulder. After splashing your face with cold water, you’re shuffling out of the room and towards the stairs. Letting out a contented hum, you see the boys finally grabbed their laundry from the steps on the stairs. It had been there for almost a week. Glancing back to their room, you hope they put the clothes away correctly. 

Turning around the banister to walk towards the kitchen for your coffee, your feet stop moving. There’s an emptiness in the house that you’re not familiar with. Your eyes gravitate towards the living room, nothing in your ears but this oddly chilling song that comes from the record player. 

As your brows clench, you step slowly around this now seemingly unfamiliar house. It’s familiar with the lightly painted walls, the red banister that your hands slid down moments ago. It’s clean and quiet. The house isn’t a mess with NERF bullets strewn everywhere from a late night showdown and there’s not a single lego set on the coffee table. No cartoons on the television either, it’s almost serene. Too peaceful. 

Stepping inside the kitchen, you glance at the calendar. Did the boys have a summer camp? Did you get back from the mission last night and not even know they were gone? You shake your head, you vaguely remember having dinner with them. Billy’s choice because he had lost that tooth. You keep staring at the calendar, rubbing your eyes and believing that you have to still be half asleep.

The only names on that calendar are yours and Wanda’s. There aren’t any soccer practices or summer club meetings. But there are a lot of doctor’s appointments. You yank it off the fridge, frantically flipping through the months. Trying to see if you recognize anything you’ve done this past year and nothing sparks a single memory. 

The curtains at the back door get pulled outside through the open threshold, the light clanging of the rings catching your attention. You quickly walk over to it and glance around you, now noticing a different kind of mess from what you’re used to. Instead of piles of action figures and video games, there are mountains of boxes of diapers and baby bottles.

You eye two unassembled baby swings and piles of unwashed onesies and bibs. Your heart is starting to pound in your chest now, eyes widening every second as your mind is trying to catch up with what it’s seeing. 

“Wands…” you call out but your voice cracks in your throat. Stumbling forward, you nearly yank the curtains from the rod as you step outside on the deck, “Wanda!” You’re nearly screaming her name now as you scan the backyard. 

The bikes that you just took the training wheels off of are nowhere to be seen. The football and baseball you tossed around for hours in the hot summer sun, only to be rewarded with Wanda’s famous smoothies, were gone. There’s nothing here of your boys. Nearly sprinting to the edge of the deck, you trip off the stairs and run your hand down along one of the base legs.

Billy and Tommy aren’t scratched into the wood. You can still feel their small hands beneath yours as you guided that knife tip against the wood. Watching their concentrated stares as they spelt out their names that they had just learnt to do that morning from their mom. It was gone. 

“Wanda!” you yell, and rip around quickly, your eyes locked on the garden in front of you. 

“Oh, hold on, Nat! Yes, dear?” Wanda’s voice acts as a homing beacon as you traverse quickly through the wired door and the plots of different flowers and fruits and vegetables. 

“Wanda,” you’re panting when you finally reach her, “Where are the boys? Where… their stuff. Where are they?!” 

Wanda stares at you and you stare at her. She looks confused by your question, glancing around you to make sure you’re not pulling some sort of prank on her. But your eyes are locked on her, seeing her kneeling next to some flowering plant. Her phone screen is awake and you see someone there but your eyes pay not attention to them. All you can do is stare at her belly, ready to burst at any moment. 

“Where are…” Wanda scoffs as she puts down her hand rake in the soil, “Dear, they’re still right here.” She clicks her tongue as you slowly fall to your knees, “Did you think I went and had them without you?”

There’s laughter that comes from the phone and you glance over, seeing another redhead there who gives a small wave. You unclench your fists, swallowing the knot in your throat as you slowly reach out. Wanda giggles quietly, watching you move forward like you’re going to touch a coiling snake.

You press your hand to her belly softly and sigh, what was going through your head five seconds ago? Were you that eager to watch these boys grow up that you already built memories in your head? 

You let out a confused sound as your hand rests a little heavier and you feel a kick against your fingers. You quickly look up as Wanda gasps, her eyes widening slightly at the sensation. She gives you a scolding look,

“They’re as rambunctious as you.”

“Yeah…” you whisper, glancing back to the house that doesn’t hold these fake memories in your head, you bring your eyes back to your wife. 

Wanda sees the disorientation on your face, “Are you okay, honey?” She rests a hand on your face, stroking your cheek with her thumb. 

You nod quickly, “I uh… must’ve been one of those naps, y’know? Wake up in another century. Another dimension even,” You chuckle but all she gives is a tight lipped smile. You clear your throat and quickly try to get past your lost grip on reality, “Uh, what’s going on here?”

Green eyes snap up with a glow behind them, Wanda seemingly snapping from a thought that had her trapped, “Oh! I’m trying to teach Nat here how to hang up the tomato vines.”

“Mhm, very interesting.”

“Honey,” Wanda leans forward and pecks your cheek, “Go back inside. I know you find this boring.”

You roll your eyes and grab the shears. Wanda’s eyes widen, a panic in her face as you’re sure she’s thinking of a million ways you could hurt yourself. You certainly had a reputation for being clumsy but you weren’t about to trip and fall onto a pair of garden shears. Stepping around her, you start to snip away at the dead areas of the plants, trying to mimic Wanda from all the times you had watched her. Hoping those memories were real.  

“I would like to help my wife and mother of my boys, who are apparently already incredibly rambunctious.”

A voice comes from inside of the phone, “You’re certainly got them whipped,” Natasha laughs, “Okay, walk me through this tomato origami folding again.”

Wanda begins talking and soon that talking becomes nothing but background noise. Your hand starts to work on autodrive, picking up the brown and dried pieces and snipping them away. But your mind is what continues to stay conscious as thought after thought crashes over each other. 

Weren’t the boys nearly in middle school when last you woke up? They were talking to you about how nervous they were about having to switch classes throughout the day and memorizing a schedule. You sigh, and now they’re not even born. That can’t be possible. In fact, it has to be impossible. 

“Y/N, not that vine.”

You shake your head and snip. Just last week you were fighting against the idea of getting the boys their own phones. You wanted to wait another year but their never ending pleas were breaking Wanda down. 

“Y/N,”

And the sports practices and the games. You know you’ve spent too much time panic driving from the Compound and trying not to be too late to any of them. Sometimes you didn’t even have time to shower, just wiping off mud and muck from your face with wipes. Wanda would always scrunch her nose, whispering that you smelt, but she’d always scoot her chair closer to you and rest her head against your shoulder. 

“You’re cutting too close to the wire.”

As you dried dishes, you remembered staring into the living room as Wanda finished wiping down the counters. You looked at her and at the boys coming up with plans for that evening’s pillow fort. She could see it in your mind without reading it, wondering how interesting things could get with just one more. 

“You’re cutting too close!”

There’s a loud snap and then the sound of thumping as the ground starts to be impacted by falling debris. You jump backwards, the shears falling from your hands as you reach out to quickly grab them before Wanda trips over them. You grimace, as your fingers wrap around the blades and you feel the stinging of the open skin but that’s the least of your worries. 

Right now, you stare at the aftermath of the disaster you just created. Dust begins to settle back down to the earth slowly as you try and rub it from your eyes. Soil’s been thrown everywhere around the garden as you kick it off your shoe and see that a whole snaking vine had fallen from its posts and that the post itself had flipped out of the dirt from the weight. 

Wanda coughs next to you as you stab the shears down into the dirt, trying to make them as safe as possible and concealing the blood as you wipe them on your pants.

“Oh shit. Oh shit. I’m so sorry,” you throw even more dirt around in the air as you quickly dig her phone out of the catastrophic hot zone. Holding it up, you blow the soil away and cough as you suck it back into your throat, “Are you okay?”

Wanda laughs at the hoarseness in your voice but isn’t able to get any words out. 

“I’m fine, a little rattled but I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”

You glare down into the phone, “I wasn’t talking to you. Darling, are you okay?”

Wanda smiles, wiping the soil from her face and leaving behind a streak on her nose. You grin as she flips away her braid and sighs, looking at her new garden set up.”Those tomatoes were ready to harvest anyway.”

“Yeah, what the hell was that?” Nat talks in the palm of your hand and you sigh, holding up the phone so she can look at Wanda. 

Wanda shrugs, “That’s a new way of harvesting we’re trying out,” her green eyes glance up at you as the worries that distracted you before melt away. 

Still, those memories felt so real. They still were poking and prodding at your brain. You know you’ve had these dreams before. Dreams that felt so real you could’ve sworn you actually lived them. You’d gotten into arguments with Wanda about some of them, swearing you’ve done one thing or gone some place but learned that you never had.

You could feel it in your soul though. Every sense in your body was alive in those moments and it felt so real. It took a while to figure out that they were just dreams but there was always something inside of you that couldn’t let go of how true it felt. 

Still, as you glance down to her dirt covered shirt, you’re almost glad those memories aren’t real. Because now, you get to live them for real. And if they are real and this is all some weird glitch in the matrix, you’re one of the lucky ones. You get to live through them twice. Grinning, you couldn’t think of anything better than living out two lifetimes with the woman in front of you and the two rambunctious boys on the way.

“What?” Wanda smiles at you, curious as to why you’re still just staring at her. 

“You’re beautiful,” you breathe out, “And I can’t wait to raise a family with you.”

Her cheeks start to grow a rosy color as you step forward and press your lips to hers. Wanda sighs, fingers entangling in your hair as yours finally wipe away the last of the dust on her face. She chuckles, 

“You’re a sweet talker, but I am not having these kids early for you.”

You grin, “Take all the time you need, my darling. I’m at your beck and call.”

“Oh really?” she cocks a brow towards you and you feel your stomach flip over itself, “Good. Because those damn birds are back at my berries. Can you-,”

“Yup!” you don’t let her finish her request, you just hand over her phone and jog to the other side of the garden, “That’s one thing I can do! I can scare the birds.”

Snatching up the old pots you keep for this purpose only, you start to bang them together as you keep your arms as wide as possible, “Get outta here! Get your mangy feathers and go!”

You make sure to chase each one out of the bushes. Last time you didn’t check, one had hidden itself away and a whole bush was lacking berries for weeks, you were confused until Wanda finally came and shook it. You vowed that day to never let another bird get the better of you. 

Giving the bushes one last, careful, shake to ensure no birds were hiding inside, you let out a sigh. A job well done and now hopefully you can relax and get this dust off of you. 

You hear Wanda call out a goodbye and you quickly cross back over to help her stand up. She groans as she floats up the small basket of red tomatoes from the ground with her. You glance over her shoulder and watch her flip them over in a silent inspection. 

“Well, they’re a little bruised but I think we can still use them. Now for this,” She floats up a part of the vine that broke the posts. 

You sheepishly look at it and then back at her, “I’ll fix it?”

She smiles, “Not today. We can’t miss our show.”

And you don’t miss your show. The two of you shower quickly and by the time you’re dressed, the pizza you ordered was already showing up at the door. Now, the pizza has been eaten. Your one beer was drunk and Wanda’s mocktails were drunk, it was time for the unscheduled nap that always happened on the lazy day after you came home from a mission. 

You both lounge out and cover every inch of the couch, her legs resting in your lap as she’s propped up with all sorts of pillows around her body. Your fingers massage her calves and roll her ankles as the crowd on the tv laughs. 

“Wanda?”

She hums, a noise that tells you she’s half asleep, “Have you ever felt like… like the boys are already here?”

Resting your hands on her shins, you glance over to those green eyes that try to see what you’re thinking, “What do you mean?”

You shrug, but you know what you mean, “Like running around and already going to school. Report cards up on the fridge with their art. Already having a space here, in this home.”

Wanda laughs, “You want to have an empty nest that quickly?”

“No, no!” you grin at her teasing smile, her hand floating yours over to hers. She grips it softly, her thumb running along each knuckle with care as she lets you think and gather your words. “It felt like they were already here with us when I woke up. That we’d already shared so many memories and then… you know. I’m not making any sense.”

You turn your head back to the show but through the corner of your vision, you catch Wanda cocking her head just slightly, “What is it, dear?”

Taking in a tight breath, you flip flop between admitting this gut sinking feeling. The feeling that’s been eating at you all day. A thought that you can’t get out of your head because it wants to be seen, it forces you to look at it. 

“I haven’t been able to make sense of anything. I… nothing feels real. I don’t know if I feel anything real.”

Wanda just watches you, her fingers stroking down your forearm, “Am I not real?”

You give her a look, “That’s not what I meant.”

Slowly, you feel a familiar chill down your spine as your body is beckoned closer to Wanda. You follow her silent wishes and crawl across the couch towards her. Your lips finding hers and the swelling in your chest reminding you of why you chose to spend each and every day with her. There’s a warmth along your neck and you sigh, resting your head against the fingertips that reach into your mind.

“Was that not real?” your eyes flutter open to her words and soon that hand takes yours and rests it on her beating heart, “What about that? Because in you, all I feel is you.”

You sigh, kissing her hand with the gentlest of touches, “My dreams…”

“Tell me,”

Stroking back a piece of fallen hair, your thumb runs along her cheek, “They feel real. I feel like I can touch everything in there. I can taste the food I eat and the coffee I drink. I can smell the rain and hear those records. And then I wake up in a haze and everything feels… different.”

Wanda brushes back your hair gently, “Are you having nightmares?”

You clench your brows, “I don’t know what they are. But...” you sit yourself up when you realize that this will never have an answer, “It’s fine.”

“Hey, talk to me. As long as you’re wearing this,” Wanda ensures you look at her as she kisses the band on your left hand, “You gotta talk to me. You promised.”

Watching her carefully, you wonder if holding that promise is worth what you’re about to tell her. The truth you wanted to keep to yourself because you didn’t want to admit how much it scared you. The pounding of your heart, the sweat that covered your body when you woke. 

“I always die.”

Green eyes flash up to yours, a panic as if you’re going to disappear right in front of her, “In… in the dream?”

You nod quietly and can’t seem to get anything beyond a whisper out, “Everytime. Something happens and just before I die,” your finger snaps and scares Wanda, “I wake up.”

“Is it the same dream,” she whispers, and you wonder how long until she reaches deep into your mind to truly figure out what’s happening. 

You think quietly for a moment, “Only one thing is the same. You’re always there.”

Silence holds the two of you tightly as Wanda stares at you. Then you see the switch in her eyes. The switch that happens when she needs to fix something. When she needs to help you because she knows you won’t do anything.

She knows you’ll sit in those quiet moments thinking about this and she can’t lose you in the “What If’s” again. You played that game once before and it was dangerous. You became a shell and now you only have the distant pain in your shoulder to remind you of it. 

“Maybe we should turn down the temperature. I hear hot temperatures cause nightmares.” Wanda keeps talking as she climbs around you, taking your hand and shoulder to help her stand. She babbles on about looking into homeopathic sleep aids and even taking you to a sleep doctor, maybe you have sleep apnea. 

“Wanda,” you sit on the couch with your feet pressing into the ground as she leaves your line of sight, “Wanda, I’m fine. Wands, I don’t need that.” You follow after her. Shaking your head and thwarting everything she brings up, any possibility for you to get a fraction of a good sleep. Because you know this will pass. It has to. 

Wanda turns quickly, much too quickly for your liking, but she slams the pan in her hands on the stove, “Just let me help you!”

You’re taken back and you hold up your hands, stopping yourself from making sure she didn’t fall. 

Her eyes widen and she holds up a hand as her other hand rubs softly against her stomach, “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what that-,” And just like that, her voice cracks and you see her worry quickly work its way out of her. 

Sobs break through as she grips onto the counter but you’re already there. The echoing of the pan leaving your ears as her sobs break your heart. You hold onto her, letting her cry and stretch out your shirt to fill every space near you. Her fuse was short and her walls were even thinner. It didn’t take much to get an emotion to break out of her and it was even easier when it involved you. 

She was nesting around the house and she knows that she needs you to help her. Without you, you know she worries if she can handle not having you and everything else. You never want her to think about what she may have to do if you weren’t around. So you were just making sure you’d always be around. 

“Hey, you’re okay. You were just trying to help,” you whisper against her hair, “You’re always trying to help but you’ve got to take care of yourself, too.”

Wanda hiccups as her sobs begin to calm. Her breathing slowly catches onto a slower pace instead of falling over each breath. She stares at your chest, refusing to look up at you so you just wait. 

“Do you love me?”

You clench your brows, “Wanda,” you don’t wait for her to look at you, you slowly tilt her chin up and stare into those bloodshot eyes, “Of course I do. I love you more than anything. You’re my entire world.” Softly, you brush back her hair and raise your brows, “I would do anything for you.”

“Anything?” she whispers, 

You nod and hold up your hand, “That’s what this ring means doesn’t it? We’d do anything for each other.”

Wanda takes your fingers and slowly twists your wrist back and forth, watching the light reflect off of that band. She hums and you just barely catch her mumble, “Anything.” It sends a shiver down your spine. It’s cold, a word filled with such pain and you don’t know why but you know you won’t ask tonight. Not after such an emotionally charged moment. 

You step forward and she presses her hands against your chest, “Let me help you try to sleep, then. Please?”

You glance at the microwave and it’s nowhere near your bedtime. Wanda knows but she just stares at you, her thumb tracing down your neck as she waits for you. You nod and take her hand in yours, you both would crawl into bed for an early evening nap. As you settle beneath the covers, you watch in silence as Wanda lights candles around the room to try and relax you. 

Her fingers squeeze out the tension in your neck and press it away from between your shoulder blades. You sigh, feeling that warmth against your temple. Her lips touch where her fingers just float above and you feel that electric shiver run through your chest and into your fingertips. 

“What do you want to dream about, dear?”

You hum, placing your hand on her thigh and don’t think too hard because it’s what you desperately desire, “Us. Our little family together.”

____________________Part 5