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e1dritchjackal0pe · 4 months

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𝔗𝔬 𝔅𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 ℑ𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔅𝔢 ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔢𝔡

Summary: Because of a past refusal, the god who once fostered and protected your village has cursed the land and left it in constant darkness and bloodshed. But years after the island's condemnation he visits the priestess in her dreams, claiming that he is once again willing to take a sacrifice in exchange for the people's salvation.

You are left to grapple with your reality when that sacrifice is announced to be you.

Notes: 26k words, so . . . grab a snack? Also, this has not been proofread yet so sorry for any errors and misspellings. Banner is credited @saradika

Warnings: MDI - 18+ content! AFAB, Sacrifice AU, violence, horror elements, the reader is drugged physically for ritual purposes but it doesn't affect her in the Dreaming? illusions to death, an animal is harmed but does not die, a small teaspoon of stalker Dream (sorta), hints of possessive Dream but he's also soft. Oral (F!receiving), he's a switch, a bit of soft dom Morpheus I suppose, sex outside but there is no voyeurism involved, unprotected sex.

The memories of your mother are vague at best. Like gazing up at someone while being submerged under water. But what you could remember, quite vividly at that is the wild fables and stories of gods and heroes that she would tell you, sending you off to sleep with images of great serpents slicing through the waves of the seas or the behemoth hound snapping at the tormented souls of the underworld with its many heads. And she taught you of the nymphs of the ocean and the wood, and the great gods that cloak the skies with heavy storm clouds and bind the souls of lovers together.

But perhaps one of the most important to your isolated village, the one who was vital to the people's survival was the deity Morpheus. Dream of the Endless, the King of Dreams and Ruler of Nightmares. The heavenly benefactor that assured you all prosperity and wealth. He was benevolent and caring, and to commemorate the god, murals were created in his image. Some portrayed him as both beast and man. With the lithe physique of a human, the textured, taloned feet of a bird and great wings pridefully expanding from his back, stretching high in a reaching arch and a head that you could not discern if it was intended to mimic a bird or insect. The protrusion from his face reminded you of the proboscis of a mosquito but it was jointed and colored like ivory like a bleached spine.

But on occasion the paintings depict the god as a striking statuesque man, clutching a group of blood red blossoms in one hand and fragments of pale sand poured through the fingers of an opposing upturned palm. And he seems to have his wings in this form also. And they are always with feathers the color of the night sky.

Your mother had told you that he was a kind ruler. But even kindness is not without its conditions.

The people had spoken of an offering that must be made to the Endless to appease him, an exchange for his watchful eye and shelter. A sacrifice must be given. A human one. The thought had terrified you as a child. But the villagers - even your own parents seemed to accept the requirement without any qualms. No complaints were made from the people. It was taken as a fact of life. The same as how the sun rises in the east or how fire burns when touched. No one fought when the shrine guards came in the morning. When the dawn was but a smudge of lavender in the horizon, knocking on doors and collecting any woman who was of age regardless of it they were already wives with families and duties.

Not even your father or mother had protested when they came to take her away to the temple. And you had latched yourself onto her hips, refusing to let go even when she assured you that this was a good thing. That it was a great compliment to be even considered for the choosing. And that if she was selected as the offering - to join the Dark God that it would bring honor not just to the village but to your house as well. But you had refused to listen, shaking your head while your tears dampened the fabric that covered her body. The hierodules had to tear you from her hips, and your father had to secure you in his arms as she left with the guards to the join the other women who had been collected from their homes.

The next passing days for you had been melancholic and distressing to say the least but the village was a kaleidoscope of colors and festivities. And despite the joy that thrummed across the air, the world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting the day for the Choosing when the head Priestess would reveal the offered woman that Endless had deemed worthy enough to be his sacrifice.

The ceremony had been held near dusk and a heavy quiet had fallen over the collective as you all look up to the priestess, desperate to hear which womans name she would utter. The anticipation was stifling as you all awaited who would become his bride, and your fingernails had dug into your father's hand so harshly that it must have stung, but he did not flinch or jerk away once, far too enamored with the event. And when the sister had revealed the Chosen the crowd had cheered and some gasped, but you had cried. Cried with relief and joy.

But on that day the Priestess decided to deny the dark god of his sacrifice and that decision would mark the fall and despair of your village for years to come.

And now you stand where your mother once did. But instead of the cover of a gentle twilight, the unforgiving heat of the sun wafts over you, engulfing you in a sweltering heat and pounds down on the crown of your skull. Voices clamor from down below, the frenzied cries of desperate people, and it has the women standing at your sides shivering like startled doe's. You could not blame them in the slightest. You too wanted to quiver and sob to expel your fear, but you could not bear to show any vulnerabilities. Not to the hungry crowd, too terrified in their own right to empathize with your distress.

The ritual is only in a few days' time and the atmosphere that looms across the village with a heavy sort of anticipation is a conflicted sort of energy. There was an obvious air of excitement, prickling at your skin and nearly leaving you breathless but there was also the underlying thrum of . . . fear. It pained you to look out to the masses and see their jostling bodies, waiting with bated breath to hear the name of the Endless' intended. To hear if he would finally accept a sacrifice again after so many years of anguish and terror.

They had decorated the thresholds of houses, and the columns of buildings with rich tapestries and fine wreaths just as had been done in the past. The people- your people frolic about in special fabrics- deep reds and blues to herald the Endless. Gorging themselves on the five-day long feast: the meat of boar and quail and an abundance of fruits. The flow of wine and spirits did not stop. It had only progressed if the slurred shouting and rumbunctious laughter that had reached you from behind the thick walls of the commune was any indication. Celebrating their lives. Celebrating your death.

Despite your circumstances you had been nothing but pampered since your forced participation. Fed only the finest meals and bathed in expensive oils and perfumes. You have been chosen by an ancient; a harsh voice hissed cruelly from the depths of your mind. The voice of the old sister. The woman who had sealed your awful fate. The one who claimed that the mind walker -the dark god himself had come to her in a dream and had spoken to her she had reiterated animatedly, sharp piercing eyes nearly rolling back in her skull from her mania. Her body had quivered from her passion and the other women that had been selected and forced into a reluctant row had nearly flinched back at the intensity of it. You all clung to each other, hands gripping the other for support. Something to tether yourselves to the ground. All of the eligible women had been wrangled up, torn from the arms of their families. Even women with husbands and children were taken away, no one was spared in the wishes of finally appeasing the god.

You had scanned the clamoring crowd in the hopes of finding someone who would be willing to help. Someone who would disagree. Perhaps a stranger would show pity or sympathy, but you found no one. They were all hanging on to the demented rambling of the old priestess. Their silence was palatable. The crazed joyous eyes of people with hope. Hope of reprieve from the decade long curse that had tainted the village. And unfortunately, one of the maidens- one of you that stood in that horrid line was the answer to their prayers. And when you found no sympathy, you looked past the commotion and the roofs of houses to the sea in the distance and imagined yourself taking to the dark waves and escaping under the tide and froth. Emerging somewhere new and wonderful.

Of course, there would be no freedom for you. Not when her horrid eyes strayed from the desperate crowd and pinned you in your place the air had been expelled from your lungs with a harsh gravity. The realization of your fate.

And then as if to perpetuate her point further, to drive the knife in deeper and twist, she lifted her crooked finger up in the air and pointed. Right at you. And the other girls that were clinging to your body for support and comfort had jerked from you as if you were dirty and blemished, sobbing with cries of relief while they fled in search of their mothers and fathers in the crowd. But some of them had sank to the dust and clasped their hands together as if in prayer, kneeling at your feet like you were sanctified.

"The Endless has found his Chosen." She crooned and the people had roared in a victorious cry.

They took you kicking and screaming, ignoring your cries of protest while they carried you off to the Sisters commune to prepare you and the townspeople looked on, watching you feverously with a horrid sort of enthusiasm. Relief you recognized.

You had been forced into decadent silks and decorated with jewelry that at one time you would have dreamed of wearing, but they might as well as have been hot iron with the way that they felt against your skin. Restricting, disgusting.

They paraded you around for days, making you the pinnacle of the festival while you watched them all sink into their basest desires, influenced from alcohol and the intoxication of relief. You tried not to blame them. To see past your pain and hurt and summon some forgiveness. After all, they were only afraid. The same as you had been, the same as you are now. Fearful of the Night King and his spirits. The horrible kakodaimon hoard that serve at his command and wreak havoc should their emperor be denied of his sacrifice. Some are little more than mischievous deities, entertaining themselves with otherwise harmless pranks: Stealing shoes and tying the hair of women into knots while they sleep unaware. The stuff of tales and bedtime stories. But he has other creatures. Monstrous, evil things that steal infants from their cribs and drain bodies of their lifeblood and chew bone.

The same horrid beings that have been tormenting the village for a decade now, arriving in the night to snatch up any poor soul who had been foolish enough to be caught outside during the dark. Many have died during the years since he's unleashed his army of terrors upon the village. The dark creatures snatching them up in their gnarled claws, as lethal as a sharpened daggers and carrying them off with the swift whisper of wings. All because he was refused.

And now finally you sit underneath the stars again, after being forced behind barricaded doors and huddling underneath the table and hoping that the creatures wouldn't break through the door and tear themselves inside with gnashing teeth to feast upon your flesh. Clinging to the hope that you would survive until daybreak when the blessed sun would rise from the horizon and banish them away. If only for a little while.

For the first time since you were a child you may embrace the dark and breath in the warm night air, feeling it sooth your lungs like a balm. You're as full of wonder as you are paranoia. Waiting for one of the nightmares to leap out of the shadows and steal you away. But even the weight of the silver and diamonds adorning your body and the deafening laughter of the feast couldn't tear your eyes away from the black expanse that loomed above. Stretching out like a horrible, beautiful black void that threatened to eat you alive. And you nearly felt crushed with how small - insignificant it made you feel. The unforgiving stretch of the cosmos looming above seemed to force your own mortality upon you with a harsh sort of grace. And it angered you that the dark god had stripped this sight from you for so many years. He had taken so much from you all and now they all once again chant his name as though he was a savior and not the reason for their strife and agony. Celebrating his image like he was a humble god that had not punished them and their children with beasts and terrible dreams. All because he was not given a woman who had been promised to him.

You had never felt so bare in your life, having been forced on the plush velvet cushions of a palanquin to be carried around on the shoulders of the temple guards and displayed around the village. There was no shelter from the prying eyes of the townspeople who had watched you with the same sort of desperate hunger as a pack of starved dogs, shameless and pitiful. They had been pelting you with the vibrant blossoms of violets and dark seeds, and the abundance had begun to collect atop the cushions, and you had been tempted to sweep the offerings off the side of the vehicle but as if sensing your intentions one of the priestesses had swiftly swiveled her head to glare at you from her place beneath you. You had been tempted to defy her regardless, to hold eye contact with her as you did so, but despite your petty desire you held yourself back.

They did eventually lower you from their shoulders and back down onto the earth, and a few women had emerged from the boisterous crowd -servants perhaps - to hand you food and drink. You had not wanted to accept it, too prideful to take what they had given you and make them believe that they had managed to placate you with a meal and wine, but eventually your stomach had won and you hesitantly abandoned your dignity. It had been too long since you had last had a decent meal, having survived off of measly scraps for too long. You had gorged yourself on the figs and fish and honey cakes, chasing it with the rich wine when you had become parched and soon your head had become light with the influence of the fermented liquid, and it allowed you to ignore the cajoling throng of people and the sisters' that observed you.

The priestesses surrounded you like a group of statues, pillars of death. Silent and watching. Guarding. They observe when the villagers approach you, eyes glinting hauntingly like they're waiting for one of the people to lash out and attack you. You hoped someone would and finally put you out of your misery. But instead, they all crouched down low at your feet, whispering their gratitude like you had asked for this purpose and placed bundles of red flowers on the earth to surround the palanquin. Even a child had approached you, thanking you for the salvation you offered. It had nearly broken you and tears had threatened to spill down your face. It almost disgusted you to look at them. Soft, delicate blossoms that were a harsh scarlet. Red like blood. Poppies you had realized. The flower associated with the Endless. It made you nauseous to be surrounded by his symbol. And suddenly they were not so pretty anymore and there were too many. Overflowing at your feet and pilling up so high that it felt like the people were trying to build a wall around you.

"Why must I do this?" You gasp, feeling as though you were being crushed. The sister to your right is the one who speaks but she does not turn to look at you, instead focusing on the roaring pyre that the villagers dance around under the guide of the drums and flute. "Because it is your purpose." The answer is cold and matter of fact, sparing you no sympathy. It is a sentence that you have heard uttered one too many times in the passing days, almost as though they believed you would come to accept your circumstances if you heard it enough. You just could not understand why they would be so easily swayed to accept the god who had turned his backs on them so long ago. Abandoned them and tormented them because of his own hubris. Scorned because the head priestess before had not given him her own daughter.

He had plagued your village for too long. Ravaging men and women and children with horrid dreams and dying crop. Except for now. Ever since the choosing ceremony, when you had been selected the gardens had blossomed seemingly overnight, overgrown with a prosperous harvest and the hunt had been successful after many moons of coming up with little more than measly rabbits.

They would always return to his dark embrace after the horrors that you have all been forced to endure. It did not matter if he demanded one maiden or a thousand, they would spare as many women that he demanded. Even if it meant finding shelter under the punishing hand that caused all of their pain.

But it still does not explain why he had accepted a sacrifice after so many years of silence and refusal. After turning his nose up at every attempt to reconcile and give an offering he makes his presence known now. But what had changed? Why you? Surely the god that presides over dreams and walks amongst the subconscious must know that you are no longer a chaste woman. A tainted old maid is what they would whisper about you. There was no sense to any of this.

"But why me?" And the fragile strings of jewelry draped around your neck clink against each other, but it is an annoying sound that has your nails digging into the rich tapestried cushions. It is the one to your left that speaks now. Her voice is deceptively soft, bubbling like a gentle stream. "We do not question the Endless. " She responds. And although her voice is much more welcoming than her sister's her words are just as indifferent. " You will be our salvation. Our forgiveness. You will save us. "

Any bit of protest had died in your throat before you could get them out. You focused on the festivities instead, watching the people chant and sing old songs. And dancers leapt around the fire, dressed in furs and leather and colorful fabrics to mimic figures from folklore and the very monsters that had massacred your village for years. Wearing masks fashioned from old hides and animal pelts, brandishing the horns taken from cattle and deer. They playfully leapt at the crowd that encircled the fire as though they were going to swipe. And some had constructed costumes to imitate the dark plumage of the raven, one of his coveted animals.

This was twisted. A mockery of suffering and pain. Pissing on the memory of the people who had fallen victim to the dream god and his nightmares.

How could they all forget so easily?

You could feel the sting of anger simmering within your chest, prickling at your fingertips. It made it difficult to breath around the weight of it all. You continue to watch them all despite the rage and sorrow that it induces. The horrible way they galivant around and clap and cheer. It's disgusting and awful. Even the children. The poor children participate, lunging at the false monsters with wooden swords and some are dressed as the dark creatures themselves.

To get some sort of reprieve you looked to the night sky, staring up at the full moon as though its goddess would hear your silent plea and save you from your fate. Whisking you from this starving mob and your doomed fate to her hidden island to frolic with the nymphs free from your crude duty. But the glowing deity did not appear, and you were left to stare at the lonely dark void of the night while the stars winked and fluttered as though their light might dim and die. It was foolish to believe that the goddess of virtue would appear for a woman like you.

But then you could feel it. A magnetic pull that tilted your head from its upturned position, and your eyes lower onto something gleaming with a pale light. Two shimmering pieces, shinning much like the moon hanging above. It is a pair of eyes you come to quickly discern. Reflecting the bright glow of the pyre in a way that is decidedly not human. Those are the eyes of a beast: An owls may do that, or a wolf's or a cat. Not a human. But the face that they belong to is very much a man's.

It is difficult to make out the features of his face past the way that the heat of the open flames warp the surrounding atmosphere and the smoke twists and coils into the open air like deadly serpents. But you can comprehend the sharp jut of high cheek bones and pale milky skin almost as though he was cut from a fine marble. His expression is not a joyous one or celebratory like the other villagers, instead it is stoic and serious. The intensity of his glare has you pinned in place. It is you; you realize. He's staring at you.

The world suddenly feels weightless, like you're suspended in a vacuum. You had heard a story from an old hunter once. One who had miraculously survived a lightning strike and he had been shunned by many of the others for his scars. After all he must have done something to warrant the strike. He must have scorned the Lord of the Sky himself. But you had spoken to him regardless and he had told you that he had felt it before it had hit him, even though it was only for but a second. His hair had stood on end and his skin had tingled strangely before his body was flooded with a numbing white-hot heat. And you could feel that sensation prickling over you now, like the whisper of a thousand fingertips brushing you all over. It made you shiver, and you adjusted yourself in your seat in an attempt to banish the feeling, but it never faded. If anything, the steady pulses persisted and seemed to thrum with even more intensity nearly making you gasp aloud. You wanted to look away from the strange man, but you could not seem to will yourself to turn your gaze from him, and some strange part of you did not want to. He was gorgeous in a haunting sort of way, but you could not figure out why. There was an unearthly quality to his countenance, like he was he was not a man but wearing the face of one.

It was then you noticed the color of his robes. Black. But that was not right. No one else was allowed to sport the Endless' color, no one else apart from the head priestess was allowed to wear his color, as a way to display her connection and loyalty. It was considered an extreme offence for any other person to bear a cloth in his shade. A punishable offence that would often result in public ridicule and the removal of the criminal's dominant hand. Some have even claimed that the accused may be haunted from night terrors for the crime until the passing of their natural human life. So who would be bold enough to flaunt around in public in such dark robes?

He must be a foolish man. Or at least an arrogant one. And as though he could hear your thoughts the corner of his mouth quirks in just the faintest hint of a smile. So delicate that it could be mistaken for a trick of the light. But you could see it in his otherworldly eyes too. It looked as though that it did not suit him, but he also wore the expression beautifully. It was an odd juxtaposition, and you did not know what to make of it. He looks like no one you had never seen before but is also painfully familiar, like an old memory.

Oddly enough no one else seems to notice his presence at all. A phenomenon that could be blamed on the alcohol and high spirits but what couldn't be wrote away by reason was the way that a drunk seemed to stumble through the strange man, causing him to vanish like a plume of smoke and the pale shimmer of his eyes was the last to fade, piercing some buried part of you before disappearing entirely and with it something clicks into place.

The sensation that had spilled over you leaves with him, releasing you from its hold and allowing you take a deep breath that you had not known you needed. That awful wonderful stare. . . Could that have truly been the nightmare masquerading as a man? They have been known to do such a thing before. Using the guises of people and loved ones to lure vulnerable victims out for slaughter. Then another thought trickles down to the forefront and it has a cold shiver skipping down the notches of your spine. What if it had been the nightmare king himself? Come to see you, his intended bride?

Surely you were hallucinating. It has never been mentioned before that the deity has ever made appearances before the ritual. None of the other past offerings have spoken of it. If it has happened, then none have ever cared to mention it.

It had a troubled sinking feeling plummeting in your gut and it stayed with you throughout the night until the priestesses had collected you from your place and ushered you back to your temporary quarters where the servants prepared you for sleep. Insisting that you bathe, pouring luxuries oils into the steaming water and combing your hair before bed. They fret about like ghost. Silent and always moving so they are often little more than glimpses in your peripheral vision. They hardly speak. Only enough to offer commands that are loosely guised as suggestions or to whisper softly amongst themselves.

They do not like you; you could easily tell. If the unabashed away that they gossip quietly while in your presence is any indication. But one of the women in particular does nothing to hide her distaste. Watching you with scorn in her eyes and a scowl on her lips. Neither of you had made any efforts to verbally communicate your hatred for the other, instead opting to passive aggressively telegraph the fact with petty gestures. Such as when she had decided to harshly pick through your hair while preparing you for the first feast. Clawing at your scalp with the teeth of the comb harshly enough to sting and throb for the entire night. The apology that she had given you was pathetically fake, contempt framed around a smile and feigned concern. She did not do it again when you had accidentally spilt hot tea across her hip when she was selecting your jewelry.

But even now you could feel the heat of her glare against the crown of your skull and the grip that she had on your hair was harsher than necessary, but you simply did not have the energy to reprimand the action. Not after being paraded around the feast all night like a prized brood mare, sluggish under the weight of silks and pearls that decorated you.

You feel her leaning over your shoulder before she speaks, the heat of her body irritates your skin and you find yourself tensing and trying to lean from her presence, but she is gripping your hair in a tight grip that keeps you from shifting. "You do not deserve to be touched by a god." She hisses, venom tainting her words.

"Clearly you do not either," you snap just as harshly, gripping the sides of the basin so that you do not twist out of her hold and lash out. The other maids do not so much as glance over at the altercation, simply going on about their duties as though the both of you do not exist. "Or else you would be the one bathing in oils and dining on fruits and wine. " The hold on the back of your scalp goes slack somewhat, allowing you enough leeway to peer over your shoulder and meet the heated gray of her eyes. "How does it feel to know that your god has no desire for you?"

She does not respond even though you can tell that she is actively biting her tongue to hold down her barbed words. It irritated you. The way they all acted as though they truly loved him. It was not affection they felt, but fear. You loathed the lying and the pretending all in the sake of appeasing the horrid god, and yet you could not find the courage to voice your opinions. It was a fruitless endeavor you knew to try and speak to these people. As tortured and hopeless as they were. And as much as you wanted to ridicule them their actions were not unfounded. You had seen firsthand what the Endless was capable of when he was denied of promises. You had watched you own mother be dragged away by venomous claws and terrible simpering fangs. There was no room for argument. At least not a sensical one.

And so, you had remined silent for the remainder of your bath and until the servants had retired for the night, settling underneath the soft linens, but you were unable to relax. Not when you could still feel that man's eyes searing into your skin. Not from the fear of falling danger to the night terrors and horrible dreams, even though you have been quite fortunate, having not experience a single nightmare in quite some time. But that dark figures presence felt like a bad omen. An awful warning for the things to come. What if he sends his demons to come and haunt you and drag you away in the dark? What if he means to punish you? You wrack your brain to try and remember if you could have ever possibly scorned the dark god but come up empty. Granted you have never particularly harbored pleasant feelings towards the deity but not a single soul in the village has since the day that he chose to curse it, tainting it with beasts and painful dreams. Sometimes tormenting the people with dreams so intense and horrid that some have passed away in their sleep, suffering from weak hearts or fragile lungs. Other have been driven mad from the vividness and the persistence of the nightmares to the point that they have lost all sense of self and reality, some noy just taking their own lives but even the lives of others in the midst their distress and agony.

He was a dreadful god whose love was built with conditions and lies. Boasting the promise of prosperity and protection but the only thing you need protection from is him.

An airy coo breaks you from your troubling thoughts, drawing your attention to the corner of the room where a familiar black shape trots out of the shadows, almost as though he had materialized from them.

"What are you doing here you silly thing?" You could not hold in the short disbelieving laugh that escapes you in a huff, affection growing within your chest. You are not even sure how he could have possibly gotten inside the Sisters' commune and found your quarters, especially considering that the trek from your cottage to the village was a decent walk. He must have found an open window or slipped inside when no one was looking. You would not put the feat past him, he always seemed to be skulking about.

You prop yourself up on your elbow to welcome the cat as he leaps onto your mattress, leaning into your hand with the tilt of his head. And you are thankful for the familiarity and the calm that washes over you at the feel of his long fur against your palm. It is a great comfort to have your companion back with again after being away from home for so long. But when your affection became too much, he slipped out from underneath your hold and retreated to the foot of your bed with a petulant flick of his tail, deciding to watch you with the piercing blue of his eyes instead.

"Oh, my dearest apologies, " you jest, pulling your blanket up higher around your shoulder and try not to take it personally as he moves from you. "I did not mean to offend you."

He blinks slowly, a very simple gesture but it always felt like it was done with an air of judgement. But then again, the animal always seemed to carry himself an imperious sort of way, even though he is but a cat, he manages to be rather expressive when he wants to be.

"Have you been taking care of yourself?" You ask as though you would get an answer. You hate the thought of him being out so late with the possibility of those dreadful creatures roaming the ground and skies, ready to snatch and gouge with deadly claws. You know that he could fend for himself. He is a feral cat at best, coming and going as he pleases. Often vanishing for concerning periods of time before reappearing at your doorstep as though he had never left at all. But not even the beasts - the regular forest dwelling kind or the godly ones are the only threats that roam the dark. People could be just as awful. You honestly do not how he has managed to survive as long as he has with all the dangers lurking about. It was the same thing that you had wondered about on the first day that you saw him wandering around the tall grass that surrounded your home while you were out tending to your stubborn garden. But the second thought and the most startling was the realization that you were even looking at a cat at all. There had not been a single feline spotted on the village since the morning after the failed ritual all those years ago. All of the cats had but vanished from the island without a trace. Gone as though they had not been here at all, like they had all piled onto a boat and paddled to the mainland or a giant hand had descended from the sky and plucked them from their homes and alleyways. But now there was one there, slinking through the tall grass, a whisp of black against the dead golden reeds.

It had you pausing from your task of searching for an unblemished vegetable that had not been tainted by worm bites or disease (which was proving to be a pointless endeavor) to watch the cat on its little journey. But despite your awe you had noticed the lethargy that seemed to slow its movements considerably. The usual feline grace that the animals typically carry themselves with was replaced by sluggish and jerky movements. The cat was all but stumbling between the tall stalks of grass. And in your worried study of the animal, you noticed a series of angry red slivers peeking through the thickness of his fur along its side. Four angry red wounds that would have been difficult for a human to endure, but for a cat you could not imagine the tole it was taking on its body to remain conscious. Especially through the pain no doubt.

It had been entirely upon reflex to jerk up from your place on the ground, concern overshadowing your tact and making you forget that it may be a feral and undomesticated creature. And your worry did not prove to be unfounded when the cats head swung over in your direction, freezing in its walk to assess you. The both of you held a long exchange of stares and you had wondered if you should try to approach it, but then it had bolted. Lurching forward on wobbly feet and your heart had jumped in your throat, entirely frightened that he would flee to the cover of the forest and succumb to his wounds. But the cat had only made it a few paces before it was crumbling to the dirt and collapses on its side.

You had barged through the gate of your garden leaving it to creak on its hinges while you approached the cat's body, hoping that he had not given into the trauma of the lacerations. But a glance over with your eyes confirmed that it was thankfully still breathing. You had whispered your apologies when you had noticed that he was watching you as well with a tired glassy stare, scooping him up as gently as you could and carrying him into your house to provide as much care as you could.

The cat's body was already making efforts to build scabbing, the thick red having coagulated along the edges of its wounds. But the blood was still flowing too much for your liking, staining the linens that you had folded near the hearth for the animal to rest on. You were going to have to sew. Unfortunately, due to the infertility of the soil and the bad luck with yielding a healthy garden you had little herbs or flowers for medicine. And truthfully you did not know much of cats and which plants and medicines that should be avoided or would help him recover from his ailments, but with no one to confide in you did your best. Making sure to cleanse the slashes with fresh water before you began to stitch. Having no choice but to settle for the needle and thread that you used to make repairs on your clothing.

"I'm afraid you aren't going to like me much after this, but I don't think we have much of a choice. " You had said, as you knelt down on the floor of your kitchen, settling in front of the animal with your thread in one hand and the needle in the other. It had peered at you from the corners of its eyes, too weak to move its head, but you had seen something flashed in its weary gaze that seemed a lot like irritation.

You had tried to be as nimble and delicate as possible, doing to your best to focus past your anxiety to steady the mild quiver of your fingers, especially when they had become slick with blood. You tried to softly sooth the cat as gently as you could muster whenever he would jerk from pain. And thankfully you were finished before you realized, and you wrapped a strip of clean cloth around his middle to keep it clean from dirt and possible infection.

He had laid there for several days, only moving when you had to change his dressings. And in the beginning, he had hardly eaten or drank, and you had feared for the worst. That despite your best-efforts illness had gotten ahold of him and stripped him of his appetite. But on the second day of you trying to persuade him to at least drink it seemed he had grown tired of you tapping your fingertips along the edge of the bowl or the way that you would defeatedly try to spoon-feed him water from the divot of a spoon and had lapped at the water from the edge of his linens before looking up you with a pointed glare. It took even longer to get him to eat, sharing with him pieces of rabbit that you had managed to trap.

And since his presence in your home the beasts outside had been more active than usual, as though they could smell the blood of his wounds and had taken to clawing at your door. And on some nights, you could hear the muffled thump of footsteps skulking along your roof. They had never been so eager before. So persistent. Typically, the thing that mimics was the only one that stayed so close to your home, often screaming throughout the night like an animal. It even cried like a distressed woman or an anguished child. Sometimes it's true voice slips through the glamour. The sound of thousands speaking in unison, of men, women and children. Stolen souls forced to speak through the maw that devoured them whole.

As terrible as it sounds a part of you has grown used to its presence. It had become routine almost, hearing the awful imitations pouring from its mouth from behind your front door. And you have spent many a night underneath the latch that you had made in the floor of your house, sleeping in burrow dug underneath the wooden planks with a dagger clutched to your chest. But when you had the cat in your home the activity seemed to increase, and you had spent every night spent underneath your floor with the cat delicately placed in the corner on his own bundle of blankets where he would lay without moving, too weak to shift or turn.

And they had returned the next night too with the number greater than the last, stalking around the perimeter of your house. Hissing and chortling in the night like a pack of demonic rabid wolves. It had been most cruel when a familiar voice had spoken from the other side of the front door, too distorted and inhuman to truly be your loved one, but similar enough to taunt you. A mockery of your father's voice begging you to let him inside. And even within your room underneath the floorboards you could still hear it. It talked for hours and spoke as both your mother and father until tears were prickling at your lash line and threatened to fall, and you had done what you could to distract yourself. Staring at the floor above you, finding shapes and faces in the patterns and shifting shades of the wood.

It was the first time that the cat had even attempted to seek out any sort of contact. Weakly perking up from his corner and settling on the length of your legs from above your blanket and he had stared up at the floorboards above you with a startling air of intent. The voices crooned out and the rasp of talons scratched along the walls of your house. Then mercifully the voices had stopped. Seemingly all at once a peaceful hush had fallen over the atmosphere and you finally felt as though you could breathe again. The monsters had not returned that night. Or on any other night. It was as though they had vanished entirely which you knew could not be true because you could still find evidence of their existence in the forest while you hunted or washed your linens in the nearby stream.

His health had steadily risen over the next few days. The wounds on his side had healed up nicely and he had quickly grown more restless. And he had taken to occupying himself by investigating you home and snooping around the rooms until one day he had slipped out from the front door when you were not paying attention and vanished into the tall grass. You did not heal him with the intent to keep him. A part of you assuming that he may have had a family eagerly awaiting his arrival somewhere on the island, but you could not lie to yourself that it had been nice to have company even if it was just a cat.

You had not seen him for several weeks after that and a part of you had feared that he may have fallen to one of the beasts in the wood. And the more optimistic side of you had hoped and imagined that he had found his family. Life had returned to its monotony without him at your side and you were once again alone while attending your chores. But there had been some promise, such as the abrupt but not unwelcomed revival of your garden, which had now begun to sprout bits of life again. You had been shocked when you had seen a green hue returning to the withered remains of the mint and thyme and beginnings of a humble pods growing along your fig tree, promising the growth of fruit. And then one day he surprised you with his return, trotting from the golden meadow while you were beating a rug of the dust and grime that it had been collecting and you had smiled and greeted him like an old friend. And he would begin accompanying you as you went about your chores, always sticking by you closely and observing, even if you ventured all the way around the other side of the island to hunt for oysters and scallops, though the harvest you returned with was always slim.

And you tried your best to name the creature, but he would not accept any of them. Not Akakikos or Thales or Arye. They were all promptly ignored when you had even tried to address him as such, and you were met with looks that could only be described as unimpressed. Of course, you could not find it in yourself to blame him. You did agree that none of them seemed to suit him all that much. But you could not call him nothing and so you had aptly christened him as 'Cat' which had been even less enthusiastically received as the others. But he would follow you everywhere despite the displeased looks that he would give you every time you addressed him as so, accompanying you when you washed your laundry in the nearby stream, and when you visit your parents' empty graves (you had never found their bodies) to tell them of your day. But he had especially surprised you whenever he would trot alongside you on your strolls down the shoreline of the ocean. It had shocked you to say the least, when Cat had wadded in the gentle waves after you, unaffected by the way that the water lapped at his paws.

A strange cat indeed.

It struck you suddenly, the realization that you would never see your home again. As empty and cold as it could be. Forced to live on the outskirts as a pariah, assuming that you would fall to your death underneath the claws of a nightmare. Many had perished living so close to the wood, and they surely had no intention of you surviving the forest on your lonesome. But you did and you made your vacant house your own, even with the bad blood-stained memories haunting the walls. You accepted your life alone rather early on and have even learned to love it in all of its solitude and freedoms. But they have once again bent you to their wills, selling you off like a lamb for slaughter to appease a selfish god.

You cannot fight of the stinging lump that has risen and lodged itself in your throat. Not this time. And it burns and pushed up tears that spill down your cheeks and stain the bedding. You could not stop yourself from mourning everything. The loss of your life, the waning humanity of the townspeople, the bloody deaths of your loved ones. You tried to clamp your teeth shut to conceal your sobbing, worried that the guards posted outside of the door may hear you. And even more crippling was the sudden painful awareness that tomorrow was the night of the ritual. You had been ignoring the date, too distressed to acknowledge it. But it was coming. It was coming at there is nothing that you can do to stop it.

There is the brush of something soft against your face, and it is not until your opening your eyes that you realize that you had even squeezed them shut. You look past the blur of your tears to see register two vivid blue irises watching you.

Your heart ached at the sight. Torn between a flicker of affection and your unignorable grief. But you smiled regardless of your tears and stroked his chin with your fingertips. It always surprises you when he chooses to crouch down against your chest, snuggling into your body. He was not always one to seek out affection, often preferring to lie somewhere near by while watching you finish up your routine chores and tasks. His favorite spot was the window seal of your kitchen where he would perch and observe you while you would knead dough or slice the vegetables for stews. But whenever your sleep was fitful, and you would wake with a layer of cold sweat dampening your clammy skin and the anguished cries of your parents still echoing in your ears he would scurry into your bedroom if he was not already there and curl up with you as he is now until you were able to fall sleep once again.

It troubled you to think of how he would fair for himself in your absence. You had been taking care of him for many moons now and you could only hope that in your effort to keep him from starvation that he had not grown to become too dependent of you. You could not bear the thought, that in your attempt to help and offer companionship that you had unwittingly ushered him closer to death. Would he go back to being alone after the Priestesses had sent your soul off to the nightmare god and all, but your lifeless body remained?

Would he once again wonder aimlessly with no one to care for him?

You could only hope that he would find someone else.

"I'm sorry." You whispered into his soft fur and clutched him closer to you and you remained that way until your grip of time had slipped and the only thing that told you that it was still the same night was the darkness that encompassed the room, most of the candles having long since burnt out of their wicks apart from one that was little more than a pinprick of light. Even with the pull of sleep turning your limps into heavy, useless extensions and the weariness burning at your drooping eyes you could not allow yourself to fall unconscious. You were desperate to keep as much time between yourself at the ritual as possible, even though it was a fool's errand of course, as the moon was still drifting along its path in the sky and the sun was still on its way to rise over the horizon. Tomorrow would come regardless of your distress and fate. Time was cruel and it stopped for no one. But still you could not let yourself sleep even with Cat embraced in your arms, and his body thrummed with a rare bout of purring. . . It was loud. Oddly so and you opened your eyes that you were not aware that you had even shut. And when you looked down, Cat was absent from his place against your chest even though he had just been there a second ago.

Worry broke through the exhaustion that sapped your bones and you were up in an instant, sitting up in the bed with the linens pooling around your waist while your gaze roves around the room and it does not pause until it finds a familiar shape in the darkness, watching you from a shaded corner. His eyes reflect the light from the dimming candle, and they bore into you with that pale shimmer. An unsettling chill trickles down your neck and raises the hair at your nape. The gleam of them disturbs some part of you, but you cannot place why. It is a look you recognize but it feels wrong and alien.

Its eyes. There is something wrong with its eyes.

"What are you doing over there?" You ask, and your voice is little more than a whisper, low from sleep and unease. But he does not so much as blink, continuing to stare steadily and the candlelight wobbles on its wick and the cats shadow flickers. It is a strange shadow, much too big for a creature so small.

Then without any warning he shoots up from his place, trotting across the expanse of the floor and slipping from the door that had been left ajar.

Had it always been open? No

You hardly question it before you are scrambling from the bed to take after him, harshly whispering for him to come back as you pick up what little bit remains of the candle to light your way before hesitantly peek your head between the open gap of the threshold and door, scanning the hallway. But there is not a single guard in sight. The hierodules that had been stationed outside of your quarters were absent. Another peculiarity that is brushed aside when you catch the tip of Cat's tail vanishing amongst the heavy shadows that blot out the hallway and you chase after him regardless, shielding the tiny flame with your hand lest it blow out from the hasty speed of your walking.

You are being watched you can tell, and your mind distantly supplies that it must be the murals observing you. The painted eyes of the old priestesses and spirits that adorn the walls in robes and vines made from strokes of scarlet and hunter and cerulean. But you could not let yourself look to their judgmental and buoyant faces.

"Come here!" You hiss lowly through gritted teeth and cast a wary glance across your shoulder to briefly study the black void behind you, hoping that there is nothing lurking within it.

And you walk for what felt like forever, chasing after the cats wavering tail that turns around twisting halls that do not seem to end, never catching up no matter how quickly you shift your pace. And it is not until you come across another bend in the corridor that the suffocating walls finally seem to open up into a massive room of dust and stones, and the light from the candle casts a glow across the space that was much too abundant considering the modest size of the flame. But he is nowhere to be seen, almost as though he has vanished from thin air.

The air is damp here, clinging to your skin like the spray of the ocean's waves but much less pleasant. It is much more akin to the sweat that covers you when under the influence of a sickness, you decide. And the aged earthy aroma that permeates the air is even more troubling. Musty and cloying like rancid grapes. It has your nose wrinkling, and you suppress the urge to gag while you investigate the room. It takes a moment for you to make sense of what you are seeing, making out the details of the great room from underneath the oily yellow glow of the candlelight.

There are large rectangular divots that had been crudely chiseled or dug into the stone near the base of the floor and the many burrows line above each other and descend up along the wall and towards the high tenebrous ceiling. But nestled delicately within each one is some sort of lump, gently wrapped in a rich red clothe.

That nasty sense of unease washed over you again, prickling at your skin and your heart skips a beat at the sudden burst of fear. But there is curiosity too. It emerges from the recesses of your mind and seems to take a hold of your body, nudging you towards one of the burrows, and with each step you forget why you are even here. The search for your wayward cat completely discarded. Your focus is completely arrested one the form hidden underneath the vibrant silks, and that apprehensive part of you dislike how large the hidden shape seems.

You mouth has gone dry and your tongue sticks uselessly to the roof of your mouth and a part of you wonders if you would be able scream should you need to. You feel helplessly trapped within your body, like a reluctant passenger, once again forced to be paraded around in a vessel that you did not want to sit upon. And all you could do was watch and feel as your shaky had rose over the red silhouette. You felt the silk underneath your fingertips, too soft and too smooth. Like water. Like blood. And your mind ceaselessly chants no, no, no even as your body refuses to yield to its commands and your fingers pinch the cloth in a hold and pull it back from the shape. And the blood in your veins seems to freeze despite the way that it races, and the pit of your stomach drops like a stone.

You want to look away, but your head is locked in place and every muscle has coiled inside of your body tightly. You are paralyzed and pinned where you stand, forced to stare down at the gaunt remains. The sunken eyes and withered, leathered skin pulled taught around its bones like the skeleton is trying to break free from its own body. And brittle hairs still collect around the skull, that once probably shimmered yellow like the rays of the sun but was no lackluster and dry, frayed in its braids. Pinned in place underneath the wring of a ceremonial crown. Vine leaves and olive branches that is embellished with the bright blossoms of poppies. The crown you would be forced to wear tomorrow to symbolize your union with the Endless.

A shaky exhale rattles out, a dry rasping sound that you would have easily blamed on yourself and the fear squeezing your body in a harsh grip if not for the way that you see the mummified bride's chest quiver unsteadily. She is still alive with her body forced into some sort of permanent sleep. You cannot help but wonder how long she has been held captive here. A hostage in this awful, animated state. And all of these other shapes swaddled in red silks are other sacrifices. And they too are all still awake you realize once you hear the dry whispers of their breath echo across the chamber.

You want to scream. You can feel it rising and clawing at your throat, but it never escapes, balling up harshly in your chest and just sitting there. But whatever spell had been casted over you finally slips and you stumble back from the burrow and the mummified bride, and your knees shake and give, and you fall onto the chilled floor, dropping the tiny candlestick on your decent. Your knees scrape the rough granite, erupting with streaks of red but you can't be bothered to care, too focused on crawling away from the looming walls, towards the center of the room while your eyes search from the entrance, but it is nowhere to be found. You spin on your knees ignoring the sting, expecting to find the threshold, but all you see are the cold painted walls, adorned with stars and poppy fields and strange beasts with wings and horns and some have the faces of men and the bodies of beasts. But even worse are the open tombs carved into the walls, and they suddenly seem like gapping, hungry mouths and the red silks that adorn the bodies seem more like lashing tongues.

The candle flickers unsteadily, melted wax pouring around the weak flame, threatening to drown it and douse you in darkness. You make to crawl towards it before it before it can be snuffed out, but your stopped short by a pair of gleaming eyes watching you. The dark fur tells you who it is but your gut lurches at the sight of the cat. And some buried instinct tells you that something is not right.

The eyes you realize, are tinged with a faint scarlet around the edges, staining the pale silver glow. And it was wrong. That was not the right color. This was not your cat. How did you not notice before?

It was an imposter. The face too narrow, its shadow too big. Too sharp.

Your heart flutters like a startled bird and your breath seizes in your lungs when the red silks bound around the brides starts to drip and flow down from the stones like liquid. Blood. Their garb has shifted into blood and is pouring and merging into a massive pool around the edge of the wall and it steadily grows.

The brides labored breathing whistles across the air, raising in volume until it hurts, harshly grating in your ears in a shrill pitch. And the sound mutates into a chorus of screams that you swear you can feel dragging over your skin like claws. You cover your ears with your hands to muffle the impact of the tortured shrieking, but it offers you no solace from the pain. And all the while the cat - the thing - stares at you from its place on the bloody floor, stained by the very red that is closing in on you from all corners, but you cannot find it in yourself to look past the agony to find strength and collect yourself from the cold granite.

The red pours around the remaining bit of the candle and the small flame at the end of the wick hisses and sputters at the liquids touch. The light emitting from it dims considerably, threatening to enclose the catacomb in a void. And the cats shadow seems to expand underneath the waning fire, stretching in a jagged way that looks like arms trying to tear free from cloth or skin.

And the cat - a mere extension of the true monster - steps forward while its eyes burn brighter. And the blood is upon you, threatening to touch you. Nausea churns in your stomach and all of the muscles in your body draw taught. You are forced to watch as the creature grows closer, and all you can do is try your best to prepare to fight it, as pathetic as your odds no doubt are. And the brides screaming warbles and shifts into a painful mocking laughter as though they could sense your thoughts. And it makes you feel like an animal caught in a cage. A bird pinned between jagged teeth and the jaws are closing in. The walls and shadows move in closer and their joyous howling and giggling rises in a crescendo, celebrating your anticipated death. You brace as best as you can, balling your hands into fists so tightly that your nails break the skin, watching as the monstrous shadow builds up and prepares to lash out with obsidian talons.

But the killing blow never comes. Instead, a pair of steady arms wrap around your body, encasing you against the comfort of a chest. And a rush of scents washed over you with its presence, and you struggle to place what it reminds you of. The musk of the soil after fresh rain, the salt of the sea, a calm breeze on a summer night; light and floral and earthy, but those descriptions also do no service to the fragrance that engulfs you. And with it something magnetic dances across your skin and it steals your breath away and your body threatens to melt against theirs.

Your mind can hardly catch up with what you are seeing. The bloody floor of the burial chamber dematerializes from underneath you, but you do not fall but your body tenses in preparation regardless. The walls shake with a tremendous groan, splitting under the seize and giving under spills of sand and the murals bleed with the fractures. And the air is electric with something heavy and alive and angry, and it courses across your skin and siphons the air from your lungs from the gravity of it. Even the beast made from shadows lurches back as if it was struck and hisses underneath the heat of the rage permeating the atmosphere, clawing against the wall that was rapidly disintegrating and losing tangibility. And the beast screams along with the brides as they vanish from existence. One final baleful cry that rattles your bones and shudders over you before it drowns out completely and with it the catacomb all but vanishes and instead of the blood-soaked stones you are looking down at the expanse of the night sky with stars spread out underneath your feet.

You brain fails to register that you appear to be hovering over a cluster of distant galaxies and you are left to stare down dumbly at the dark mass of the sky, taking in the stretch of the rich splashes of blues and stellar remnants and stardust gathered like clusters of diamonds and the scale of it nearly makes you forget about the press of someone's body along your back. Their arms around your waist in a tight hold, but there is also a sort of reluctance in their grip made known by the rigidity from the muscles of their arms and the narrow gap left between your bodies. But even between the space you can feel the low heat of them radiating against you. A part of you wanted to look over your shoulder, to discover the face of your savior but some pull in your gut warned you not. That you would not like what you would see. And so, you keep still underneath their embrace, staring off into the quiet breadth of the cosmos where comets drop across the darkness like crystalline tears. Seconds pass without either of you moving, as still as statues. As though if either of you so much as breathed the delicate emanation that cocooned the both of you would shatter. But despite your hesitation there was a prickle of curiosity tugging at you, and you could not deny the pull and you made to slowly turn your head in an attempt to sneak a glance over your shoulder.

You barely manage to twitch a muscle of movement before they seem to shed their initial diffidence and nestle their face near the nape of your neck, and you can feel the tip of their nose brush against your ear like they mean to hide their identity from you. Their chest expands against the flat of your back, and it takes a moment for your overstimulated brain to realize that they are drawing in a breath, taking your scent into their lungs and holding it there like its oxygen. For some reason it sends of thrum of heat over your body, and combined with the steady, pulsating hum of otherworldly power that courses through the air, it makes you feel as though you may collapse. That you might come apart and burst into flames. There is no chill of fear and disgust does not rise in your stomach like nausea instead their presence feels welcomed. And despite the foreign sensation of their touch, there is also a sense of familiarity to it. Like finally falling into the arms of an old lover.

They move their head from your by just a few scant inches, and a strange part of you mourns the loss. You wished that the hover of their lips would land on your skin, but they do not. The circle of their arms seems to press you in closer, like they cannot bear even the possibility of you parting.

For a moment the cosmos seems to halt, the intersperse collection of individual galaxies and stars pausing in their rotations and the night holds its breath and so do you. Then a sound purrs out, a heavy baritone that pours across the silence of the universe and fills you with honey and warmth. A deep, smoky cadence that you can feel curling inside the cavern of your chest and running deep across your bones and the nerves and sinew of your entire being.

"This dream is over."

You wake with a start. Sucking air into your lungs with a strained gasp while your hands reach around the bedding in a mindless scramble, struggling to orient yourself, but eventually you are able to at least prop your body up on shaky arms. Your eyes rove across your surroundings, no longer taking in the breathless view of stardust and nebulas but the dull clay walls of your vacant quarters and apart from yourself the bed is empty. A quick press of your hand against the stuffed mattress confirms that Cat - you're Cat had been there at some point in the night, the heat still trapped within the fabric from where he sat next to you. And you had shakily removed from yourself from the bed and searched the room for him. You had even approached the door, pressing your head against the wood and contemplated opening it but you could hear one of the guards shuffling behind it, trying to find some reprieve for their aching feet. And so, you returned to the bed with that dark voice still echoing in your ears. You could not sleep. Not even if you wanted. Not with that shadowed creature lurking and that familiar stranger invading your mind. The Nightmare Ruler, your brain supplied without forgiveness, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

And you lay there for hours, now awaiting the sunrise despite the threat that it posed, clinging to your own body with shaking arms as you stare into the darkness, waiting to find something looking back. But soon the maids are pouring into your room and scattering around the foot of your bed, and they must have noticed the panic on your face as a hint of curiosity bleeds through their blase expressions, apart from that single one who always seems to be plotting your demise.

"Is something the matter? You look troubled." And even in your tired haze you know that it is the voice of the one who openly dislikes you. The one with the sable hair and venomous words. Euthymia, you had learned her name to be. She makes no effort to hide the delight in her tone and in turn you do not even try to school the scowl that takes over your features, pinning her with an open glower, but it does nothing to extinguish the joyful gleam in her eyes. The other servants are ushering you out of bed, already cooing and gushing over the prospect of preparing you for the day ahead and you suddenly feel as though you have been tossed into a lake of ice. The five-day long celebration is coming to a close. The ritual is tonight.

They ignore your distress, urging you to shed your slip and climb into the bath full of steaming water and oils to prepare you for the ritual. And they had patted you dry when you had gotten out of the tub so that they could dap at your skin with lotions and perfumes. Running marjoram in your hair and something faintly sweet but heady and spicy beneath your jaw. Even spreading fragrances across your inner thighs and palm oil around your breasts. It had an embarrassed heat prickling across your face, and you nearly scoffed at their presumptuousness. And then they were guiding you to kneel on the cushions placed before the large, polished bit of bronze propped along the wall, using the reflection so that you may observe the process as they worked. You were in a fog as they combed your hair and set it and pinned it in a way that they deemed worthy, but you cannot stop thinking of that velvet timber and the feeling of being watched by concealed eyes prickles along your body. And you try to ignore the sensation, telling yourself that it is just paranoia.

But you could not dwell on your troubles for long before you had taken notice of the strip of fabric from the corner of your eye. And a better look had confirmed it was indeed that dreadful gown that had been laid out along the cushions. You stared from your peripheral vision and each time your head moved even the slightest degree out of their disliking one of the maids would jerk it back into place, scolding you underneath their breath, but your eyes did not stray from the pieces of clothing once. It would have been a gorgeous thing if not for the horror that is comes with it. A vibrant scarlet and intricate gold and black stitching and embroidery. But you could not marvel over its beauty, instead you eyed it warily as though it was poisonous. And perhaps it was.

It truly disturbed you. That horrid red thing that signaled the final chapter of your life, and you could hear the anguished cries and manic laughter of the brides from your nightmare echoing out from the depths of your mind. You could not suppress the way you shuddered. Was that meant to be your fate? A captive in her own body, suppressed underneath a spell of eternal slumber while her body wasted away in a forgotten tomb? You had heard rumors of what happened to the nightmare king's brides after the ritual. Presumptions truly, fabricated speculation that had no true foundation as the priestesses are very private about the affairs of the ceremony that do not require the presence of the villagers. And the townspeople are typically guided out of the temple after the connection between the Chosen and the Endless has been successfully tethered.

Most speculations were good natured enough. Painting the role of becoming one of the Dream King's brides in a lavish light. Something to be envious of, with many saying that to be one of his Chosen was to spend eternity of nights in endless pleasure, with the world at your fingertips.

But there had been other more sinister whispers, idle gossip that the unconscious brides were taken to a subterranean set of tunnels built underneath the temple. Dug to house the women as they slept on, not killed so as not to sever the link between them and the dream god but kept animated and sleeping within the icy tombs of the catacombs. Kept that way so that the deity could torment them in the halls of kingdom for all eternity. Feasting on their souls and flesh. But many refuse to believe the rumor, even your own father had rebutted the very possibility, as he was a firm believer that the Chosen were simply killed off after the ritual and their bodies were burned so that the ashes could be released upon the winds and lifted to the gods along with the plume incents and smoldering herbs.

But neither option fared well for you.

"You had seemed quite distressed when we came in. Did you have a nightmare, my lady?" Euthymia asks, voice sickly sweet with false sincerity. "How strange that the Dream King would allow his Chosen to be harassed by his spirits." And she pats the juice of crushed mulberries onto the rise of your cheeks to add color to your skin, but the push of her fingertips was much too harsh. You were tempted to lunge at her but restrained yourself.

"Not at all. In fact, I had a rather pleasant dream. " You reply cooly, not allowing her to see you shaken and you tilt your head, pretending to admire the way that they had dressed your hair and decorated it with flowers and pieces of jewels. " It was a rather pleasurable one."

"Pleasurable?" Comes her nonplussed response and her hand pauses, simply hovering.

"Oh, yes." You speak lowly, like you are sharing a scandalous story, and your tone is all smooth and honeyed. " It was not a nightmare that visited me, but the Dream King himself. " And you cannot help but internally gloat at the way that some part of her seems to waver, visibly deflating underneath your lie. " He had crawled between my thighs you see and ravished me with his tongue in ways that no mortal man ever could." Even the other ladies had halted in their routine, stopping to listen to your hastily spun fib. And you casted your gaze downward to your hands demurely, like you were shy or embarrassed that you had lost your manners. Scandalized, the other maids had bent towards each other and exchange giggling whispers, but Euthymia was less than enthused. And for the remainder of your time together she had been tightlipped and scowling, and you were surprised that a storm cloud had not been following her every move with how bothered she seemed to be.

But you could not deny that she made a good point. Why had you suffered from a nightmare at all? It had been sometime since you had. You could hardly recall when it had been last. Perhaps you truly had done something to anger the god. But that had been him, had it not? The one who had come to your aid and taken you in his arms and spoke to you with that smoky cadence. It must have been if the way that he had ended your dream so easily was any indication. And that primordial vibration that had surrounded you both; it was the same that you had felt at the pyre when that strange man was watching.

And perhaps tonight you would get the answers that you seek, but then you might not want them.

The rest of the day pours in a distorted stream, and you hardly register slipping into you into that disturbing red garb and you barely notice when the priestesses and temple guards arrive to collect you from the maids and guide you to the dinning haul of the commune where you are assisted down to the sunken floor in the center of the room as some sort of center piece, once again forcing you to sit underneath the eyes of hundreds. You feel exposed, as though you were not wearing clothes at all. Stripped for them to criticize and leer at. You were sure that every person in the village was here to enjoy the banquet. Even the servants were allotted freedom from their duties for the final night of the ritual and were free do dine alongside their masters as equals.

And once again they had provided you with the best meats and fruits and wine available. The finest of the bounty collected over the farms and orchards for you to gorge yourself on like a swine before its slaughter and because of that you could not bring yourself to eat despite the hollow pit in your gut that begged you to do so. And you could feel the Priestesses dozen eyes boring into from their place from above, no doubt taking your refusal to eat as not just an insult to themselves but to their god as well. Good.

But the townspeople did not seem to care, laughing freely and enjoying the festivities without pause and you had been forced to sit as time waned and the sun drifted closer and closer towards the edge of the earth, no matter how much you wished and willed for it not to. And once the townspeople had finished indulging on mead and wine and satiated their hunger, the shrine had collected you once more to climb upon the palanquin that awaited outside, surrounded by servants who prepared to march you across the town from the strength of their shoulders to the Temple of Morpheus where death awaited you. You had tried to struggle against the shackles of the hierodules hands that had seized your arms and shoulders like bands of steel. But you could not shake yourself from their grip and they were mercilessly placing you upon the extravagant cushions of the human-powered vehicle to be suspended high in the air.

And the townspeople congregated around you as you were carried from the walls of the commune and into the streets, lighting the way with burning torches. And many people had once again adorned themselves in the beastly costumes and danced and cavorted around the palanquin and through the crowd. The Sisters' lead the collective. And you had noticed in the head priestesses' hands, she cradled an obsidian bowl covered by a lid decorated by strokes of gold. A harmless item that on its own would have done nothing to inspire fear in you, but you had heard hushed conversation of its contents before. Some sort of vapor that smoldered from the extract of the poppy flower, and it would serve to tether you to the gods. Or in this occasion one god in particular.

And once again blossoms and seeds were being tossed over the procession in a celebratory display. In the hands of men and women and children alike people carried votive offerings for the Endless, such as figurines of animals and carvings of a humanoid figure. And in the cavalcade, musicians were present, playing from a kithara and an aulos, and a lyra. But even over the cheering and commotion and music you could hear a soft repetitive ruffle along the low breeze. You had jerked your head up to search the sky, nearly straining a muscle in the process but the pain had faded into the background at the sight of a dark bird coasting along the current. And a faint iridescent sheen had gleamed on its feathers from underneath the dimming sunlight and the Priestesses - and in turn the crowd had all rejoiced at the bird's appearance, as it no doubt heralded good fortune.

But you did not share their positive reactions. You heard all the stories, that the ravens were the dark god's familiars, serving as his eyes and ears when he himself could not be present. Your anxiety had not time to settle no matter how much you tried to swallow it down and the presence of the circling bird did nothing to quell the bubbling fear in your gut and bones.

And soon the procession ventured from the village and the pale marble of the temple seemed to rise from the hill behind the security of its protective wall. It was the only building that had been spared in the initial siege from the Oneiroi when the Nightmare King had abandoned the village in his scorn. It is just the same as when you had last saw it as a child. The ghostly white columns that reminded you of the remains of a skeleton, and the sculpted pediment that depicted beastly creatures in various poses; lashing out and snarling while some seemed to be frozen in the motion of dance. But in the center was a more human figure. No doubt the Endless himself. And the scene was painted in blues and black, with hints of red and gold embellishments.

And the closer you got to the temple the more your anxiety climbed, until you trembled where you sat, staring into the vacant eyes of the god's sculptured image. And even those they were not real they seemed to bore into you and flay you open until all of your emotions and shaky breaths poured out. Even the sheer fabric of your veil did little to lessen the feeling.

It was not until you felt hands circling the shape of your arms that you came to and were able to discern that you had been lowered to the ground of the courtyard and were being pulled from your knees, and you were wordlessly guided up the temple. But you did not feel the stairs underneath your feet and the music and laughter sounded as though it were coming from miles away, carried in on a foreign wind. And even when you stepped upon the landing and two of the sisters spun you around to face the crowd down below that had not felt real either. It was like looking at a tapestry of faded figures and blurred colors.

Then the head priestess stepped in front of you in a flash of black, blotting out your vision of the crowd like the moon obstructing the sun in an eclipse, but you were thankful for it. Then her voice broke out in a shrill bellow, the passion expelling from her cracking it around the edges. " Tonight marks the emergence of our return to grace and glory from underneath the compassion of our god! " She cried and the crowd cried along with her, waving their torches animatedly to show their elation. " No longer will we be shunned by His Sovereignty for we have been given a chance to correct a wrong that should never have happened! To bow our heads in humble plea and return to him which was stolen all those years ago!"

It made you nauseous the way they spoke of you. As though you were some frivolous token to be bartered. How they did not see you or any of the women before you as human beings with lives and wants and futures but as a cow to be slaughtered. A coin to be exchanged for lavish fabrics and abundant crops. And you could feel the stinging heat of anger filling your chest and pushing out heavy breaths from your lungs. But when the Head Priestess had shifted and moved from out of your vision it left you to make eye contact with the cheering masses; her voice had faded into a low, distant drone. And inside their crazed sort of jubilation, you could see every other emotion that you had felt since the Endless had descended his hoard upon the village in incessant torment: Loss, pain, fear, hunger, sorrow, confusion.

Many lives have been lost since the day that he had seemed you all unworthy of his gratitude and sanctuary. He had turned the land barren and dry and the animals that had once flourished here have all been culled by his nightmares and their numbers have suffered and dwindled greatly. But as much as you sympathized with these people, understood their plight, you did not owe them anything. Certainly not your life. Especially since they had casted you from your home without so much as a backward glance, forcing you live along the forest all because you were not a kept woman.

And in five years' time there would be another there would be another girl here, standing just as you do now, willing or unwilling to bear the collectives sins, to pacify the Endless for the good fortune. It would be a ceaseless loop. History repeating itself one poor soul at a time.

A part of you considered fighting free from the sisters' hold. Of running down the steps and out of the temple grounds without looking back. But even if you happened to make it past the massive crowd of desperate villagers and to the sea, there were no ships, no small rowboats left for fishing. All of the seafaring vessels had been all but demolished by his spirits to keep all of the locals who wronged him trapped on the island to endure the full brunt of his punishment. And even those who have managed to hide the construction boats - avoiding the Ruler of Nightmares many scrutinizing eyes and pushed their watercraft into the dark waves while underneath the shine of the sun, when his influence was claimed to be at its weakest had all disappeared into the heavy wall of fog that surrounds the coast. Only the remains of their boats would float back to shore, sometimes with blood staining the waves.

You truly were left to the fate that these people and their god spared you to.

Then the head priestess was spinning around in a flurry of robes, and you could not evade the fervor of her gaze, could not flee from, still immobilized by her sisters and their rigid hold of their hands. The gleam in her eyes was detached and wild; the darkness of her pupils swelling, eating up the colored rings around their borders until they were nearly gone. It was the expression of someone who could not be reasoned with. Poisoned by power and hope. But you did not waver underneath the weight of her fixed stare.

Then one of the sisters was gripping you by the nape of your neck, the movement unexpected enough to pull a startled cry from your lips. It did not give you time to register the obsidian bowl being lifted to your face, the lid being removed to release plumes of smoke. Even through the veil you could feel the warmth of the vapors caressing the skin of your cheeks. It is all so abrupt that you inhale a large lungful in the midst of your struggle, and the scent of it overwhelms you. Stuffing your mouth and nostrils full of something sweet and floral, tinged with the musk of the earth. It reminds you of flowers, of incents but also not at all. And your lungs are too busy heaving around the unexpected rush of smoke and your mind too confused and scrambled to feel or focus on the world around you, and the Priestesses voice was the last coherent thing to break through the fog: "Do not fight this, my dear. " Her voice crooned. Too sweet, to gentle for her cruelty. "To you we give thanks for your sacrifice for our prosperity."

And in your distress, you tried to think of anything to keep yourself grounded and present. Anything to keep you here in your body, terrified of crossing over and falling into the Nightmare King's gnashing teeth. So you think of your list of chores awaiting you at home; tending to the garden now that life was coming back to the soil, setting more traps in the forest, plucking wild strawberries from the small cluster that you had discovered growing in a small grove, seeing Cat again - the little beast refuses to eat unless you prompt him to (there is no one else to take care of him) - and walking along the beach during the sunrise. Feeling the sand and water underneath your toes and watching the sunlight reflect and dapple the surface. But soon the thoughts were drowning out underneath the impression of the fuzz and haze that blanked your mind. You felt as though your soul was rising from the casing of your body and floating up to the sky above the temple, but you could still feel your knees making contact with the cold marble floors, though the feeling was far off and dull. But there was still anger simmering through your veins. Hurt and betrayal. What were you mad about?

And the world around you is a rush of colors and blurred shapes and muffled sounds. But you do not want to focus on it regardless. You can't when the weightlessness is pulling at your fingertips and threatening to take you away with it (but you can't leave, what about him?) and deposit you among the stars, and the only thing that gives you even a scrap of connection to your own body is the repetitive pulse of your heartbeat coursing in your ears. The floral sugar and salt of the smoke still coats your tongue, and you can feel it in your lungs, heavy and syrupy. And the drag of your relaxed limbs seems to pull you down now instead of up, with the thrum of your heart doing little to center you anymore. But its less of a pulse now and more of pound -an angry crash. That's not right, is it?

You try to blink. To get some scope of reality, but it's difficult to keep your eyes past the blurred sting. Are you crying? No, that is not right either. It is no longer a steady beat, but a deafening layered rumble, muffled but also painfully loud. You can faintly see past the red sheer of your veil glimpses of black and blue streak across your vision, with peeks of flashes of tiny pale dots.

It is all to distorted and airy. Too muddled for your mind to make something tangible but then your body is being tossed by some unforeseen force. A sharp, unrelenting pull that moves your entire being like it weighs nothing and the air is snatched from your lungs, and you choke on something. Some deeply imbedded survival instinct awakens and your body flails, limbs dragging and reaching through the thick atmosphere in attempt to grab ahold of something. Anything to orient yourself and make sense of what is happening to you, but your hands come up empty. Your lungs twitch, trying to draw in a breath but instead they burn, and the sting is so potent that it licks a trail up your throat and the pungent taste of salt blankets you tongue.

Water, some faint thought breaches the cotton that stuffs your skull. You're in water.

And your body moves on its own, arms and legs kicking to propel in what you hope is the direction of the surface. In a glance upward you notice the distorted expanse of what must be the waves, and through the commotion above you see that glimpse of those burning pinpricks of light again and with no other alternative, fueled by an animalistic sort of fear you swim towards it. You can only hope that you make it up in time, with your lungs aching and burning like smoldering embers within your chest. You can already feel your limbs growing sluggish from the lack of oxygen and the heavy tow of your ceremonial robes, but you try your best to keep moving, dragging yourself forward with weak arms and legs. But death still hangs heavy in the back of your mind. And for the second time tonight you're terrified that this may be your final moments, with your legs flailing uselessly and the darkness clouding at the base of your senses like a layer of winter ice. It makes it difficult, but it is sheer instinct and panic and hope that burns at your muscles, reviving them of their vigor and pressing you onwards.

It is your hands that break through the surf first, quickly followed by your head and you could have sobbed with relief if you were not busy trying not to remain afloat and actively choking on the water in your throat. And you push yourself forward, even as the waves toss you in their angry roll against the shore. But blessedly under the current that threatens to drag you under and drown you it also serves to propel you forward towards the beach, jostling your body with their great power and you feel like a child's toy that had been lost over the side of a boat. It is on the pale crest of an angry wave that you meet the shore, being carelessly discarded on the sand and the rush of water pelts across your back, soaking you one final time before retreating back into the ocean behind you.

You gather as much as strength as you have left to prop yourself up on your hands and knees, carrying yourself across the beach with wobbling limbs while your abdomen and chest shiver and heave in a violent fit. The muscles of your body squeezing you tightly to expel the sea water from your lungs in a shaky grip that has you gasping and wheezing. And even though your lungs sting like a raw wound as you suck in a ragged inhale, the dim feel of oxygen filling your lungs is wonderful, like a healing ointment smoothed over a fresh burn. You allow yourself to collapse onto your stomach once you escape the reach of the sea, but it is difficult to see, to hear and even still hard to breathe with the thin fabric of your veil clinging to the shape of your face from the weight of the water pulling the material down, pressing it against the divots of your nostrils nearly waterboarding you with each breath.

You blindly yank at the veil, tearing it and your Stefana from your head with an angry huff, carelessly tossing it. You do not see where it falls but you can hear it land with an unattractive wet plap. You blink freely now able to take in your surroundings now that, that cursed thing is no longer tainting your vision. You deduce quickly that you are on a beach. Obviously. But it does not appear to be the one that you often find yourself strolling down on your free time, fantasizing about distant lands or the Isles of the Blessed, or the islands where the sirens live and lure sailors to their deaths. The sand was far too pale. Too soft. And when you moved it seemed to glitter like snow underneath sunlight. But it was a glance upward that confirmed your awful reality. The sky above was not yours. The scattering of stars not sparing enough and the expanse of it was not simply a dark backdrop but splashed with vibrant rich nebulas of azure and silver and pale golds against the black velvet of space. The stardust seemed to shift as though the heavens were a living breathing thing. And the constellations above you are unrecognizable. There is no Orion, lunging forward to strike or brace against the blow of a foe, and the scattered knot of the Pleiades is absent from the sky.

Your heart sinks to the base of your gut and a heated rock seems to lodge itself in your throat, rising with the threat of tears all from the bruising reality that you are no longer home. Not just the island, or your house, but the entire plain of your existence. Plucked from everything you have ever known by the hands of your people to appease a monster. Heartlessly thrown into the deity's domain. Forgotten and used.

You remembered the tales told by your mother and the words that had been passed down from priestess to priestess across the centuries that spoke of the Nightmare Ruler's world: The Dreaming, it was called. The place that served as the cradle of the universe's collective unconsciousness, housing the minds a mortal, beast and god alike while they slept. An extension of the Endless himself. The entire realm was a dream in its own right. That means that you must be able to wake from it. Perhaps you could will yourself awake if you concentrated enough. You have been never much of a lucid dreamer. Only able to do small feats of altering landscapes or changing the color of your dress. You had never been aware enough to wake yourself. But maybe here in the Dreaming you would be able to conjuror some sort of exit.

You centered your attention down to a single thought: Waking up. Of feeling the drag of consciousness slipping back into your physical body and opening your eyes. And you pushed that thought until your body responded with the ferocity of it, your muscles tensing under the strain of it, and you are left gasping, the same as you had when you crawled ashore. You think of your body, still and induced in that horrific stasis, being purified underneath the smoke of incense and wrapped in the red silk and voile fabric by the Priestesses to be carried and stuffed down in the catacombs like a forgotten relic. You thought of waking suddenly. Of tearing yourself from the cloth and fleeing home and dropping to your knees to burry your fingers in the soil there and crying with the relief that would swell within your chest and blossom with the joy of being home.

And you had found that in your desperation you had actually crumbled to your knees, but you did not feel the gentle earth beneath your hands but sand.

You take to pinching at your arm in a pathetic attempt to try and escape the Dreaming, twisting the flesh between your fingertips until it stung but to no avail.

And a low, heavy wind rumbled across the beach, howling over the waves and the field of crimson blossoms and golden wheat, punctuating the silence and the loneliness that hung over you like the aftermath of a tempest. Defeat weighed down your shoulders as you watched the thrashing ocean with a sense of detachedness. Then something in the air seemed to shift, pulsing with something alive. That distantly familiar alien thrum and you could feel it against your skin; a magnetic pressure that reminded you of a brief night in the cosmos, held in a tight embrace. You did not have to turn to confirm who the presence was. You did not know if you had the strength to. The fear and gravity of the beings pull nearly seized your lungs, and you clenched your hands into fist to bear the feeling of it. And then that velveteen rasp speaks out, moving down your body like a flow of water and smoke and you can feel the hum of it in your bones.

"I had no intention of your arrival being so distressful. Had you not struggled your coming would not have been so violent. " His tone is a placid timbre, but you swear you can detect sympathy - perhaps a sort of regret - tinged into the edges of his words. But it does little to placate you. His detached surprise at your anguish only serves to mutate your sorrow and defeat and it gives way into anger, searing at you like a burning fire that needs something to burn, and chars any remaining pieces of your self-preservation and wit, making you forget that you were in front of deity that has seen eons come and go in its lifetime and was currently holding your mind and possibly your soul hostage. But you did not care. Not now, with your entire life in an upheaval. And even then, you still can't bring yourself to look at it - the source of that primordial electric pulse. To confirm all of your fears, that home was truly out of reach, that you were entirely out of depth and in a plain that you did not belong in. There was a safety in your delusions, your self-imposed ignorance. And so you stared at the angry, rolling waves and pretended that they were your own, not daring to turn yet. "What was your intention? " You inquired, not even bothering to hide the scorn in your broken voice. Not caring of the consequences. " That you'd just steal me away from everything I've ever known, and I'd be content with it?"

"Look at me. "

It is a simple set of words, but the conviction of it beats across the very fabric that binds and creates the Dreaming, rippling over the sand, shifting stars and stirring the already tumulus waves to threatening heights and the power of it runs through your unconsciousness as well, tingling across your body and it commands you to move. An unwelcome reminder of your mortality and the scope of the deity and his domain. You turn slowly, helpless to ignore the order even while you dread looking upon him. Wondering if he would wear the skin of a monster to punish you for your ire. Perhaps contorted limbs and bloody jagged teeth or stretched flesh and the lifeless abysmal gaze of that otherworldly helm.

There is none of that. No cloak made of nightmares or terror. Just a man. But that is not right either.

Regardless of the glamour he had casted this was no man. Ignoring the information as told by the naked eye all of the minute tells became glaringly obvious, such as the way his skin was too soft and free from blemish or flaw, like the statues crafted in his commemoration; the messy tresses of his hair that appeared as though they were spun from the night sky itself and the impossible blue of his eyes that mimicked the shade of a crystalline sea, or perhaps they were a reflection of the very nebulas above you now. He is so beautiful that it is almost cruel. You have to wonder why he chose you specifically. That he has been watching over you since the night at the pyre. Long before that even. That, that same voice had spoken to you during your sleep and commanded you to wake, and once again you are unable to ignore it, standing from your place on the sand.

The brunt of his gaze is too much- scrutinizing. You felt like you were stripped bare. Every nerve, every want or worry or promise that you had ever made was laid out across the shore for him examine. You quailed underneath the breadth of it, the sheer intensity was maddening - that there seemed to be no secret that you could hide from him. The entirety of your mind held within the webbing of his domain for him study and toy with.

"Why do you fear me?" He asked, and you could laugh or cry at the question but neither would do proper service to express the severity of your emotions. The turmoil and confusion. He sounded so sincere. Just as perplexed as you even though his stance was devoid of any body language. Rigid and exact, with an almost clinical posture. But you could see it in his eyes. A small, fleeting glimpse of his own confusion, a slight furrow of an eyebrow, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, erased and blotted out by that aloof expression.

You were not even sure how to respond, and for a moment your mouth hangs open silently while you collect yourself and find your voice: " I - just - all of the death. " You finally answer lamely, trying to swallow around the dryness of your throat. " The slaughter and starvation. The disease. The suffering."

"They broke their promise. " It was said so simply. As though it was enough to justify the atrocities and it made nausea bubble in your gut, and hatred too.

"All because of a woman." You cannot contain the way you scoff, shifting on your feet like you do not know whether to approach him or step away and create more space, your body prickling underneath weight of his aura and his unwavering observation. "You had hundreds slaughtered because you were not given one woman."

"That is the price for bargaining with an Endless and taking back your word." He replied easily. A simple matter of fact for him, like it was a natural law, a part of his nature that should be expected and understood without consequence, that all failures to comply could not be faulted on him. It was just another tough reminder that this was no mortal that you stood before and that he could not be expected to obey or sympathize with the jurisdictions of your human morality.

And there was a shift in his expression, something steely and resolute, and the distance between your bodies seemed to close in even though neither of you had placed a single step until there was only a scant space left between you. " I will do the same for you. "

There was no past tense used. And perhaps under different circumstances you could have seen it as an intimate declaration of love, but it was uttered with a conviction that you could feel and the threat - the promise was hauntingly clear. That he would lay waste to the remaining people of your village if you refused. And although his body remained unmoved, the pressure of his influence hummed and molded against you and robbed you of your breath. It felt like you were standing within the deluge of a summer storm, caught within spires of stardust and the heat of a nova.

"Their crime is no longer yours to bear. " He said calmly - soothingly like he was trying to placate you. " You will not be harmed. "

"Is that really true? " You ask, still full of disbelief and contempt and this time you do venture to take a step back and blessedly he allows you, and you cannot help but be thankful that he does not shift the sands to draw you in closer. "They tell stories of what you do to your tributes once you have them, I'm sure you've heard. That you mold yourself into the likeness of a beast and hunt them, chasing them down the halls of your palace and tearing them limb from limb for eternity: A cycle of death and pain."

And that pale animal gleam from the bonfire burns alight in his eyes and it does little to quell your steady stream of anxiety, but his indignation does not seem to be aimed at you specifically. " Is that truly what you believe?" And there is a gentleness to him, the annoyance receding as though he was more perturbed than angry, and a part of you nearly regrets having told him, but you squash that scrap of emotion before anything can come of it. "That I am some heartless monster than means to torture you for my entertainment."

"Well, what else am I supposed to be led to think?" Surely a being of his scope, of his age and power must realize the severity of his actions. The violence and heartache that has bleed across the island and tainted the soil at his command. The senseless slaughter and starvation, forced to helplessly watch as your loved ones succumbed to it. The horrid, twisted sleepless nights and soiled dreams, and then you can hear it again, that twisted vacant laughter, rushing blood and mutilated shadows. " Especially after you sent your nightmares out to trouble me."

"I promise that I have done no such thing" He assured, but it did little to soothe your frazzled state. " I gave them all specific instruction not to harm you, but they are not without their own free will, and I have delt with it accordingly." He spoke of his creatures as though they were misbehaving children. Simply spoiled and wayward, and not cruel, sadistic beasts. And perhaps he truly did not mean for one of his Oneiroi to haunt you in the night. After all, he did arrive to banish the spirit from your unconsciousness, to wrap his arms around your body in a secure embrace before ending the dream. But regardless of the fact, you could not forgive him.

"I don't care. I want to go home."

"Is that truly what you are clinging to? Those empty cold walls, vacant of family or companionship? Or is it them? The very people that so freely discarded you. Abandoned and out casted you as though you were a leper."

He was right of course. You were already well aware of the fact, but it did not make it sting any less to hear, and the old memories that rose up were less than welcome. A painful reminder that even your own father and mother had rejected you, not physically but the emotional disconnect had been there. A rift had torn between your dynamic like a gaping, festering wound that had never truly healed. They had never looked at you the same, the both of them loathing you for marring the family name and social standing. And the other villagers would all murmur and stare in disdain whenever you had ventured into town to collect fruits or fresh meats at the local market, all because you had slept with a man as an unmarried woman. And your alienation was palpable. But you did not want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it and caving in.

"No- they didn't-"

"But they did, didn't they?" You could not stand his confidence. How he held his head high with that resolute air of certitude and kingly ego, how the air pulsed over you and tingled at your flesh like a balm. "Leaving you all in alone in that quiet little house, hoping that you'd fall prey to one of my nightmares."

He steps forward crowding into your space with that pale wicked gleam in his eyes and the stars hanging in the sky behind him seem to warp towards his person, as though they were trying to leave their heavenly cradle to follow him. You heart speeds from apprehension surely, but you don't find yourself leaning away from his body or trying to flee. You are stock still, hardly able to spare any pieces of your attention on anything other than him. And then he is lifting a hand to brush against your cheek, featherlight but somehow still reverent in its glide and you can feel the life radiating from it. Ice and heat simultaneously, cosmos and earth.

"I can give you everything you crave. The life you've always dreamed of having." His voice that dark velvet purr, draping around you temptingly. "You will want for nothing." But you are hardly hearing his words anymore too preoccupied with the tender trail of his curled fingers; his knuckles tracing a blaze of warmth down your throat, slipping down dangerously close to the bit of your chest exposed by the low hang of the garment. But his hand pauses in its descent, stopping just a few inches from the valley between your breasts, and you cannot hide the way that your body shivers at the contact, a heat stirring within you. "But it is a decision that must be made of your own accord."

And then he is backing away from you, allowing the atmosphere to clear of its electrical charge and for oxygen fill your lungs, but your body mourns the loss of his touch regardless of your returned breath. And it is then that you are able to realize what he had said, and some bit of hope blossoms, and now it is you who makes after him, following his path as he glides through the field of red and gold.

"Wait? I can go home if choose to?"

"No."

"But you just sai-"

He turns to you so quickly that it is surprising, whipping around in a stream of darkness, and in the distant stars held within the fabric of his chlamys adjust with the movement. "You are a part of the Dreaming now. There is no place for you in the mortal realm - not anymore."

The revelation has the same effect as a pail of ice water being doused over you. Unforgiving, paralyzing. And this time you do not have the ability to respond, far too busy grappling all of the emotions that are clamoring for the forefront.

"Your home is here now. " He insists, lips pursed in a petulant sort of way. " Regardless of if you decide to take your place alongside me, this is where you must stay. Even if you were to leave this instant, time within the Dreaming does not abide by the same laws of your world. You would return to a point not of your own. Lost in a time entirely unfamiliar."

And the chasm that has been threatening to break seems to grow deeper, fissures and cracks breaking at the foundations. And you vehemently want to deny him. To call him out for lying. Surely, he must be, how good can the Nightmare Ruler's word truly be? Is he a being that can possibly be trusted? But if he is correct, telling the complete truth and you were able to return to your realm would you be able to survive it? The sight of your home now years, if not decades old crumpled and dilapidated from the unforgiving pressure of time might break you. He must notice that vulnerability wearing down on you, because something in his gaze softens and you wished that he didn't look like he cared because some horrid part of you - the same one that had preened underneath his touch - is comforted by his attention, left wanting for it even and you are finding it difficult to be revolted or angry anymore. You would like to blame it on remnants of that perfumed smoke being still in your system, but truthfully you have not felt its influence since you had been dunked into the ocean. The brackish water and chaotic waves seeming to have strained it from your system. Or perhaps it had been the Dreaming itself that had done so, assisted with the fact that you may not even be tethered to your body at all anymore, the effects of the smoke too distant to reach your spirit that has drifted too far from its body. Maybe you truly do belong to his realm now. And you wait for that coal of anger to burn again, but it never comes, leaving you feeling hollow and broken. Exhausted even while you stand in a world fashioned from dreams. "I'm just tired . . . " You mourn weakly, watching the reeds and blossoms sway in the soft wind.

"Then let me ease your burden. " His voice is much closer than it had been before, and when you jerk your head up, startled from the proximity of it, the point of your nose nearly brushed against his. You are immediately drawn into the all-consuming center of his gaze, and it feels like you are being held within it, called to the edge of something yawning and consuming, beckoning you to jump and you do not think that you have the strength to pull back from it. And you found that you did not want to.

He has not made any means to move, leaving it to you to close the distance and you do, the hesitation thawing. He tracts you as you draw near, seeming to hold a breath that he did not need, and he appears tense, rigid like he was physically restraining himself with a practiced sort of patience. And it might have frightened you earlier, but the fervor in them does nothing to dissuade you now if anything it only serves to motivate you. Inside those pale irises you see cyan and indigo and sapphire flaring like nebulas drawing you in like a flower leaning towards the sun, and for a moment you swear you caught a glimpse of something else lurking inside of them, a glimmer of his true self perhaps; something vast and entirely beyond you. It felt ancient and ever-expanding, ignited and twisting and looming. And you felt like you were on the horizon of making sense of it and both entirely too far, slipping through your muddled understanding like sand and smoke, scorching like a harsh ice.

It is the whisper of his nose brushing against yours that draws you from your fixation, a delicate sensation but it was blessedly enough to bring you back to the present, assisted by the rich rumble of his voice. "Come back to me. "

"I nearly fell in, " you murmur back. And it was not a lie, you had nearly lost yourself in the paradox and cosmos that created him but it was also said in an attempt to jest. And you succeeded it seemed if the light, barely there rise at the corner of his mouth way any indication. It all feels fragile, unsure but not unwelcome. Like life returning to the earth after a harsh winter, blossoms breaking through sheets of snow, guided by the tender thaw of sunlight.

"May I touch you?" He asks, tilting his head to just barely skim the fulness of his lips against yours, not kissing you but just enough to leave your skin tingling in their wake. It is a simple question, but it is enough to have that burning ache coming alive again, taking root deep in the base of your abdomen and you find yourself nodding. Frustratingly enough he does not move, ever a pillar of restraint and he leans his head back when you tilt to close the distance between you. And you catch the smug air that surround him, and you would have snapped at him if you had the gall to, if you did not want him to just kiss you already.

"Use your words. " That dark honeyed resonance tramples any semblance of a barb that you had even fleetingly entertained. The Dreaming has long since gone quiet, seeming to betray its creator's appearance of undisturbed control with the febrile energy that tangled around the both of you, fueling your own growing need with its charge. And you were unable to withhold the plead that leaves you, a floaty sigh: "Please touch me."

You do not compute him nearing, eliminating the remaining space that divided you to press his lips against your own, suddenly they just are. It is soft, explorative but not without longing. And the sheer need behind it has your knees going weak, and if not for the appearance of an arm around your waist you feared that you might have actually fallen. Your body thrums with a sort of unsuppressed elation, a syrupy heat spreading across your limbs and dripping down your spine, settling between the cradle of your hips from the swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip, silently asking for your permission. You thread your finger through the silken tresses of his hair and lightly scratch across his scalp. You can only feel the groan rumbling against your lips when you allow him to lick into your mouth and you immediately decide that you need to actually hear it. You are sure that the sound of that husky timbre breathing out in a rapturous moan will haunt you for the rest of eternity, and you could not wait to hear it.

He cups your face in a single hand, securing your head with the curl of his fingers, allowing him to slant the plush of his mouth against you in an angle that let him to pull you in closer, enfolding you into the warmth of his chest. And the remaining doubt and restraint that had seemed to hold you two back was quickly beginning to melt, giving way to carnal sort of urgency. And already you are left panting, sweeping your hands across any part of him that you can, gripping the watery flow of his robes to center yourself through it all.

You had not felt yourself tipping but your back is now pressed against the textured terrain of the Dreaming, the crushed stalks of reeds and flowers lightly digging at your skin, though it does little to take precedence over your current focus. And he is pulling away from your mouth to duck his head neath your chin, nipping and sucking at the skin there until its tender and you can tell by the way that he tucks your flesh between his teeth and licks that he is leaving marks in his wake, staking his claim upon your body and the mere idea of it has you lowly keening into the night; your body going lax underneath his. All things considered; he has not done much but your brain is already clouding with want, eyes glazing over. And then the heat of his mouth is sealing over your breast, the silk texture of your robe only adding to the pleasure as his tongue circles around your taut nipple. You can't help the way that you arch into it, seeking out more mindlessly but it is not enough. It is does little more than tease you, even with the way that he has draped himself over you he has himself suspended in a way that keeps you from being able to achieve the friction that you desire, stoking that heat inside you with eat nip and suck from his teeth and mouth.

You can hear him chuckling from above you, the vibrations of his low smug amusement tingling across your chest, adding to your pleasure. If you were not so preoccupied with thoughtlessly trying to grind against his abdomen like a whore, you might have snapped at him for it, but instead you are removing your hands from the rich earth to sweep through his unruly hair, holding him against you instead, melting underneath the feel of his tongue.

He does not let you have that for long either, releasing the swell of your breast and ducking from your grip, nuzzling a path down the plain of your abdomen and taking your thighs into the smooth glide of his hands, ignoring your protesting cry as he licks at your stomach from over the barrier of the silk. And once again you find yourself cursing that dreadful fabric, swearing into the night while you squirm in his hands.

"Easy, sweet thing. " He coos, the image of patience. And if not for the wild, glow twinkling in both of his eyes like a beast you would not even think he was affected in the way that you are. That burning light serves as a reminder that he is not normal man, that you are rabbit ensnared within the jaws of a wolf, a mortal lying with a god. But it does not frighten you anymore. Instead, it douses fuel over an already steady flame. And you find yourself hoping to be consumed, taken between the teeth of this dark, cosmic deity and eaten alive.

His descent does not stop, the point of his nose dragging down until it stops over your mons pubis and your whole body tenses in anticipation, waiting for him to move just a bit lower, to bundle your skirts in his hands and take you into his mouth. But he does not do any of that. He simply hovers there. His clutch on your thighs tightens, threatening to turn your flesh tender and you swear that you can feel the points of talons pricking at you, but it is too dark from the cover of the moonless night to see if he truly has grown claws in his passion - if they have drawn blood. Not that you would have minded if they had. You wanted it. Wanted his claim visible on your body, open to be seen by anyone who may gaze upon you. A trickle of concern does make it through the honeyed smoke of your want, as fleeting as it is, and it is quickly forgotten. Casted aside at the sound of a soft repetitive panting filling the silence. It does not take you long to realize that it is coming from him. He is breathing in your scent, hovering over the heat of you to take lungful's of your arousal.

It is completely debased. Dirty. But the sight of a this primordial being kneeling between your legs and drawing in the scent of you in this perverted display that you would expect from man and not a god has you moaning into the air. Your cunt throbs, clenching around nothing while you rock your hips near his mouth. His grip tightens once again, smarting your skin while he tries to pin your body even while he chases the shift of your hips. And for one moment you think that he may finally ease both of your discomfort, feed the hunger ravaging your bodies but then horribly, he is pulling from you, leaving you to pant into the open air in a confused daze. "Why did you stop? "

"Let me taste you. " He said thickly, and his eyes shimmer again like the stars suspended in the heavens behind him. "Let me drink from you- worship you."

His words have your mouth going dry and that aching heat pooling between your thighs. Never in your life have you ever known a man so desperate to pleasure you. To practically beg for it with a barely concealed avidity. That an Endless would ask for your permission. But he is no man after all. And you are nodding once again, but he does not move until the echo of that old sentence chimes in your head, use your words, you remember, and you manage to utter a rushed, "please" out from a shaky huff.

He rumbles in a pleased way, the Dreaming trembling lightly with the resonance of his satisfaction. You hardly have time to blink before your ceremonial garb all but vanishes, baring you to the soft breeze and then a soft warmth enveloping your wet cunt, leaving you to jerk in surprise and scramble to grab something, anything to tether you. You claw at the field, the soil, before combing them into his hair while you gasp. All the while he is completely immovable, fixed to you throughout your writhing, lapping at your slit to collect the taste of you on his tongue and drink it down with a content purr, before licking up so that he can suckle your clit into the clutch of his mouth. Prompting that heady warmth to drizzle up on top of itself within the base of your abdomen.

He alternates between that for a few moments, completely unhurried as he switches between lapping at your slit and sucking at your engorged bundles of nerves. And then his tongue is slipping inside of you, working along the walls of your cunt in a way that has your eyes rolling and your back bowing in a taut seize. But it does not stop. Extending into an inhuman length. It is thick and textured near its base, working so deep inside that you have to cry out. The repetitive drag and pull of it ushering you to roll your hips to match its delicious rhythm, building up a rising tide, dangling you over the precipice of something debilitating.

"Oh gods - I - "

But he is jerking away from you leaving your cunt to squeeze around the absence of his tongue, biting into the meat of your thigh like he has to preoccupy himself or else he will bury his face back into your heat like you so desperately want him to. You clumsily prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him and the intensity of his gaze would have been intimidating if you were not in your current position.

"Why did you stop?!"

"When you come in will be with my name on your lips, " and something possessive layers the rich rumble of his tone. It is heavy and bears no room for argument, but you have no wish to do so. "Say it."

"My Lor- " But his pointed glare is enough to cut you off, but you find yourself yelping from the reprimanding nip at your sensitive skin. It did not hurt but it took you by surprise regardless.

"My name." He repeats carefully, and laves his tongue over the dull sting to soothe it, all without breaking eye contact, keeping you within the scope of his watch. And it takes you a moment to sift through his abundance of monikers and titles, trying to think past the sensation of his teeth and lips on you, but you finally manage to settle the same one that the Priestesses would often whisper with reverence.

"Morpheus. "

A pleased hum greats you and then blessedly he is spreading you open with his thumbs to subject you to the calculated, blissful lashing of his tongue. And you allow yourself to fall back onto the ground in a boneless heap, easily falling back underneath the sway of that fuzzy Elysian pleasure. Unrestrained moans now freely spilling from you, but you cannot find it in yourself to be the least bit embarrassed by the way you openly keen and whine in bliss. You head tips as you toss in reckless abandon, staring up almost sightlessly at the star cluttered sky. And in your drunken haze your mind oddly remarks that the twinkling stars remind you of peering eyes. But before the thought can take flight a strange sensation is enveloping you, like the brush of water rushing over you. Rolling textured waves, feathered touches and the brush of fingers.

Hands, a distant thought supplies weakly. It does feel like hands. Thousands of them all scattered about your body. Running over your hips, your stomach, your chest, your throat. And then it feels as though a pair of mouths are taking your breasts into them, and you just barely manage to jerk your head up to confirm that Morpheus is still nestled between your thighs, slurping at your messy cunt even while those phantom hands and mouths stroke over your body, sucking at your nipples in a way that has a gutted moan tearing out of you.

He is watching you from his place between your legs and the gleam of his eyes are nothing short of smug, taking absolute pride in the way that he is unraveling you at the seams.

Your body moves as though it is possessed. Writhing like it can't decide which sensation it wants to arch into; the ghostly grasp of a thousand hands or the needy, warmth of his mouth.

And the squelch of his tongue is sinful, noisily plunging into you. Its passage completely frictionless with the combination of his saliva and the way your cunt drips around the intrusion. He takes the meat of your ass into his physical hands, guiding the jerky rock of your hips into something deeper while he drinks you down, swallowing the obscene slick of your coupling down his throat. And you are babbling now, unable to recognize or understand the scattered way that you beg and cry. Lost to drift in the ceaseless ecstasy, a willing prisoner forced to take it. It feels as though your mind is breaking around the edges, fraying from the sheer scope of your pleasure, leaving you a weightless passenger, no longer held within the restraints of your own body. You soul is alight, burning and drowning in a rapture so sweet that you have no choice but to sob from it all.

"Morpheus - " You choke around the raged heaving of your chest. And the hands on your body are joined by the phantom lapping of tongues, invisible teeth nipping at your skin and the mouths on your breasts pull and tweak at your nipples. The pleasure is too much, too great for you to fully comprehend and that wave is climbing once again, hurtling you towards that cliff. And now you are begging - pleading that he does not stop and leave you wanting. His name falls freely from you now, and endless mantra pleading for him to guide you into the sweep of fire and bliss.

You barely feel it approaching. Suddenly your body is tensing, going rigid underneath the curl of his tongue and your thighs clamp around his head while you sob through the convulsions wracking through you. Completely swept up in a tide of heat and electricity. But he has not pulled away from your cunt, still nuzzled between the clutch of your thighs while he drinks your come with a satisfied sigh. The vibrations of it combined with the idle way that he continues to lap at you despite the sensitivity and it has your muscles twitching in response.

"Morpheus, please. " You gasp underneath him, and he finally pulls back from you, albeit reluctantly before he is crawling over you, leaving gentle pecks across your body as he moves. And you can still feel those phantom touches across you, but they are feather light now, melting into the background as his lips meet yours in a hungry kiss. It has you moaning into his mouth, and even with your recent orgasm you can already feel a syrupy heat building up within you coaxing the gentle rock of your hips. You can taste yourself on his lips, earthy and somewhat sweet. The weight of his arousal presses against you from underneath his robes, heavy and hot and the Dreaming thrums with his want, the soil trembling beneath you both.

You reach a hand down to paw at him through the dark fabric of his chlamys and the smoky, ragged groan that escapes him is a reward all in its own. And you were right. The sound of his breathless, rumbling satisfaction is something that you will never tire of hearing, and you are already desperate to drag more from him. But what truly has your attention is the length of him. You are unable to see it from the cover of his robes, but you can feel it, the thickness of it, the length. And you drag your thumb around its head, the cloth clinging to the shape of his cock from the precum leaking from the tip. He jerks in your hand, breaking your kiss to duck his face into the crook of your neck, sucking at the skin, prompting you to moan breathlessly.

"I need you inside of me. " You whisper unsteadily.

"Take what you need. " Comes his response as he mouths along your neck, taking your ear lobe into his mouth and pulling it between his teeth. Just as yours had, his robes vanish from his body, baring himself for you admire. And admire you do. Gazing upon the milky hue of his skin. The lithe muscle that ripple and flex and the added detail of blue vessels spidering underneath his flesh. Your eyes drop lower, settling on his cock, and the tip has flushed red from his arousal, and you briefly entertain the idea of taking him into your mouth, tasting him on your tongue as he had done to you. But the throbbing heat that has settled between your thighs is the only thing that keeps you from doing so. You need finally feel him and so you are gently pushing at his chest, guiding him to remove his head from your neck and to lie on his back. And he allows you to so - a god obeying your wishes.

His gaze does not stray from you, even as he settles against the ground and allows you to climb astride his lap. Now that you are here atop him you find yourself wavering under the intimidation of your self-imposed task. It is a stupid thing to be fearful of. You have done this before. But those was a man, not an immortal deity that has seen centuries come and go, watched curiously as humanity's ancestors evolved and give way to empires the ultimately rose and fell. You are sure that he has lain with deities beyond your comprehension. Gods and goddesses, nymphs and spirits, pure divine beings from the heavens. How could you compare? How could you possibly please him? Would he want you even as a tainted woman?

And as though he can sense your discomfort, he sweeps his hands along your hips, the action breaking through your internal struggle, and he is once sitting himself up enough to plant a kiss between the valley of your breasts. And then he is guiding you to look down on him with the gentle brush of his fingers, fixing your attention solely on him.

"Take what you need. " He reiterates. But it is not said in a scathing or annoyed way, it is gentle, loving you want to believe, and you nearly melt against him. Those ghostly touches are back, no doubt an attempt to draw you out of your head. And it is working to stoke the fire, the fervor returning to your bones, but your mind still struggles to return you, still tangled within the confines of your insecurities. You could not manage to pin them down no matter how hard you tried to.

"Speak to me, " he murmurs against your skin. "What troubles you?"

"I - " you choke around the shakiness in your chest. You want to speak but it is difficult to do so around the rock in your throat, the disconnect between your head and your tongue stalling the words before they can even truly form. He begins to circle his thumbs against your hips. It is no longer sexual but completely tender, meant to coax your feelings from you rather than your desire and it does serve to ground you somewhat, offering you some clarity to articulate yourself. " I - you do know that I'm not . . . " You trail off and you attempt to meet his curious gaze, but you find your own quickly darting away, scanning the kaleidoscope fields that surrounds you like it might help you find your courage. " . . . What if I'm not good enough?"

His expression becomes stormy. Something menacing and severe and it is a stark reminder of the darker side of his nature. He had been so gentle and giving with you that it had been easy to forget the depths of his anger, and for a moment you had feared that you somehow managed to offend him personally. His lips have pursed in that cross way, his eyebrows pinched, and you would have anticipated him molding himself into wicked shadows and talons, if not for the flash of something soft showing through the cosmic blue of his eyes.

"Have I not worshiped you thoroughly enough?" He asks, but he does not necessarily sound affronted out of concern of his own pride but rather disappointed that he did not please you. The mere notion of that could make you scoff; you were certain that he ruined you for anyone else. No man would be able to touch you in the way that he had. And now you were opening your mouth to reassure him, but he is responding before you can utter a single word. " Then allow me to rectify my transgressions."

And you whole heartedly expect him to once again knock you on your back and take you, but he does not. He keeps you secured on his lap, grip firm but not controlling and fixes you with a stare that seems to hold you open and reach inside, melting at your frayed vulnerabilities. "Now. Take what you need." His voice has dipped into something deep and orotund, clearly enunciating to make sure that his intent is clearly broadcasted. And the intensity that he projects is enough to pull you back into the moment, his power coursing over the Dreaming and rippling at its seams. But it is more than that too. He has been nothing but gentle with you this entire night. Patient. Without judgement. And it is as though he has been plucking you apart piece by broken piece, stuffing you full of sunlight and helping you mend your shattered edges. Not fixed or magically repaired, but it is the closest you have felt to peace and adoration in a long time. And you feel like you are choking on the affection that he openly displays. The want and the need.

You become startlingly aware of the way that your cunt drips, come smearing the insides of your thighs while that warm honeyed ache steadily thrums within your abdomen. And it is difficult to ignore it now. The sheer scope of your desire could smother you, threatening to take you under and drown you. Everything else after that is instinctual -needy. You take his face in your hands, smashing your lips to his in a bruising kiss trying your best to project your emotions into the exchange of tongue and teeth, stroking the sharp edges of his cheek bones with the same reverence that he had shown you. And you blindly reach down to take the rigid heat of him in your grip, throbbing and wet with a steady flow of precum, and he rewards you with a heady groan when you circle your thumb around the leaking slit of his cock.

You are quick to line him up with your entrance, and without little fanfare sink down onto him. The relief that comes with the fulness of his girth tears ragged sighs from the both of you. And you give yourself little time to adjust before your already working yourself down his length, toes curling when the blunt head of his cock brushes against that devastating spot inside of you that has you jerking from him to gasp into the night. And unable to ignore the all-consuming passion that takes you over, the pulsing, electrifying power that permeates around Morpheus you draw yourself up with the strength of your thighs, using the push you can achieve from planting your feet on the ground to bounce on his cock in a hedonistic display.

It is debased and vulgar, fucking out in an open field, in the soil like animals. Completely lewd, but so right.

Morpheus lies back against the ground on his own accord, reclining like spoiled royalty and allowing you to plant your hands on his chest to assist you to deepen each thrust, letting you take from him. And already his name is spilling from your lips like a hymn while you watch the Dream King with rapt attention, enthralled by every minute expression that flickers across his schooled features. The way that his eyebrows pinch together, how dim but eager pants puff past his open mouth, the dazed sort of pleasure that shows in his eyes while he gazes upon you like you're a deity that has descended down from Mount Olympus, a nymph fashioned from Aphrodite herself to encapsulate his every wish.

And those delicious, invisible hands have returned to roam about your body in their sweet exploration, plucking at your body like it is an instrument that they have played for years. The sound of your coupling rings across the Dreaming, the smack skin against skin, your unrestrained moans. It all has that thick, deep-rooted ache spreading further throughout your body, reaching from your core and all the way to your fingertips and toes. But there is something missing, a nudge needed to push you over the edge. "Morpheus, " you cry weakly, thighs already beginning to sting from exertion, but you refuse to stop, continuing to drop yourself on his cock, working tight circles with your hips with each descent.

You can see something smug bleeding into his features, your neediness nurturing his hubris, and his lips quirk in just the faintest hints of a barely there smile.

"What is it, my love?" He asks, feigning ignorance and it irritates you how put together he sounds, voice having dropped into a low, rumbling cadence, but apart from that he sounds seemingly unaffected despite the glazed over quality to his gaze. You whimper around a particularly harsh thrust from him that has your back bowing, pushing your breasts into the palms of ghostly hands. Your eyes nearly go cross at the drag of his cock, but you manage to keep your concentration around the sweeping torrents of smoke and ecstasy.

"Please!" you keen drunkenly. "Please, I need you! "

A satisfied purr resonates underneath your palms and his pupils flash in that pale tantalizing, dangerous way and you cannot believe that the look of it had frightened you at some point. Now it only serves to pool more liquid heat down the base of your spine. A heaving mewl is all but punched out of you when he takes you by surprise, using his place along the ground to thrust up into you with wicked rolls from his hips. Fucking up into you with a ferocity that has you struggling to meet his pace, and you are hardly more than a passenger at this point. All coherence is stripped from you and your entire body feels like it has been doused in honey and fire, and the timbre of his raspy voice speaking out only serves to nudge you closer to your undoing.

"You'll stay here with me, won't you?"

"Yes!" You agreed in a slurred whine.

"And you'll give yourself to me?"

"Yes!" You are near sobbing now, body jerking and writhing atop him while the phantom touches roll your nipples between soft fingertips, and his cock pumps into you with depraved, filthy squelches of your combined arousal. And that primordial energy is pulsating around the Dreaming. The same power that creates the ground you both lay upon, that fashions the field and the sky above you too, permeating from the deity that is currently fucking every shred of a possible thought from your brain. And the power feels charged now, like it is growing and expanding into something great, seeping into your skin and soaking your bones. Then a transparent grip is taking your jaw between its fingers, directing your gaze to the god underneath you, and another slips down your stomach, reaching down to drag tight circles around your neglected clit.

"Then come." It is a command that your body cannot ignore, seizing up tight, trapping the strangled wail deep inside your lungs while your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull, stars exploding against the darkness there and you lose all sense of tangibility. Your sense of time, place and self slip from perception like water pouring through spread fingers, and now you are just floating. Caught in bursting cosmos, pinned before the scalding light of the sun, caught in a torrent of arresting, unyielding rapture. And your cunt clamps down his cock like it means to milk him for all he is worth, your orgasm ushering him into his own and thankfully your coherence begins to return to you in time for you to admire him while he is subjected to the throes of his pleasure. And you are still gasping and moaning while his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated, observing as his eyelashes flutter and his mouth opens for a long husky moan to escape him as the warmth of his release pools inside of you.

You all but collapse on top of him in a boneless heap and your cunt spasming weakly around his spent length but neither of you make any effort to move. Simply basking in the afterglow of your highs. It is your sense of touch and hearing that serve to orient you. The distant crash of waves rushing over the surf, the whisper of the breeze dancing across the grass and blossoms. And you can feel him underneath you. His chest is moving with a breath that you are certain is simulated for your own comfort, an attempt to appear more human. But he feels too heated and simultaneously too cold to be a person, like he has no idea which temperature to project. But you decide that it is not at all unpleasant, instead it feels good against your feverish skin.

But you still wait for the sting of disappointment to strike you - for disgust to bleed and taint the satisfaction now that the lust has died, but it never rises to meet you. And so, you rest, satiated upon your god. Pliant like melted wax. But there is the insistent nudge of something burrowing at you. Concern, you quickly identify. And it has your sluggish mind wandering back to the root of the thought, trailing after it until it finds the conclusion which takes that shape of a memory. The memory of perhaps the only companion you have ever known, and it is bitter and sour reminder that they may not even be alive anymore. That centuries may have passed during your brief stay in the Dreaming, and that they may have succumbed to the passage of time.

"What ails you now?"

You want to say that it is nothing, sweep it aside and ignore it while it festers and grows. But you know now that he will not accept nothing as an answer, not when he can possibly feel your distress across the threads of the Dreaming. You feel foolish in your answer, but it is the only one that you can manage. " My cat. "

"Your . . . cat. " He echoes slowly, and you are certain that amusement is lacing his tone. You bristle a bit preparing to defend yourself, your right for being worried, but he is nudging you from his chest so that you may see each other as you speak.

"I can assure you that your companion is safe. He's quite content." He says. His gentle mirth still very much alive, but you do not return his light-hearted attitude, waiting with bated breath for him to answer the question that hangs heavy in the air. And a part of you fears that he may have somehow managed to converse with Death of the Endless, or that he was still connected to the passage of time that operates outside of the Dreaming and was able to deduce that the feline had long since passed, joining Teleute in the Sunless Lands. But then he is brushing a hand along his side, drawing your attention to his ribs where the skin there ripples like the surface of a disturbed lake, and a set of angry jagged scars emerge from the mirage, appearing across his pale skin, spanning from his armpit down to the notch of his hipbone. It is hauntingly familiar. The placement, the number of claw mark left in stretched healed tissue. One, two, three . . . four, you count.

You understand what it is that he is implying. And betrayal sinks its enamel into your heart, but the bite is shockingly dull and not the unforgiving split that you were expecting. And you can tell that he is calculating something, surely waiting for you to lash out. To scream at him and demand that he take you home. Perhaps that is what you should do. But you do not. "How? Why did you- a cat?" Is all you manage, more perplexed than irate.

"I had been injured by an old foe of mine, " he explains, allowing you to curl into his side, curiously running your fingertips over the marred flesh. And you have suppress a shudder, wondering what sort of being could be strong enough to injure an Endless. A god. "As for why I assumed that particular form, I needed to conserve energy. It was small. Familiar. It served to save much needed strength. "

There has always been something strange about that cat and his watchful stare. Admittedly you had always swallowed down the suspicion that prickled at you whenever he had curled up within your house, but you had been too desperate for some sort of friendship to truly question anything. The barrage of emotions flooding you, making you a muddled unsure mess, but one thing that you do know for certain is that you are completely and undeniably relieved. And truthfully you are still far too tired, simply uncaring to have been tricked by the god. You are happy- actually well and truly happy to embrace the joy and serenity.

"And then there was you, " he murmurs in your ear, devout and soft.

The both of you remain there for an insurmountable length of time. Lounging in each other's embrace, delighting in your shared presence. Listening to the peaceful noise of the Dreaming and the warmth of your lover. And for the first time that icy gapping pit of loneliness no longer gnaws and tears at you. You finally feel at home, and the desire to flee and leave eludes you. Perhaps because you have finally found a place to belong.

Here with him.

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream the endless #the sandman #netflix sandman

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fyeahnix · 9 months

Text

Dogsong | Sevika/Reader Explicit 10.6k F/F CW: breathplay, mild daddy kink, lesbian smut, no y/n use AO3 (read here for correct texting format)

High-energy evenings in Zaun melted down and metamorphosed into bustling and boisterous nights. Laborers swarmed from their day jobs tired and grumbling, eager to shake off the stench of a hard day's work with an even harder pint of hooch. The last rays of sunshine retired beneath the horizon; neon streaked the Lanes, picking up the slack where natural light abandoned its role. Buskers and ruffians bathed in magenta and mint hustled blue collar workers and businessmen alike. Black market vendors screamed over drummers to fence their hottest products before closing. Jericho's food stall was packed to the brim with Zaunites of every race imaginable starving for their last meal of the day. But The Last Drop? Closed for the night.

The bar-turned-nightclub was the landmark halfway point in your designated path home from work. The chartreuse lights blinked on one by one as the giant drew close to opening every night. Once the last light flickered on, the club was open to scrounge every last cog out of its dedicated patrons. Tonight, the cyclops slept. No lights and no patrons lined up around the corner waiting for the doors to open. The owner was preoccupied with more pressing matters this Friday evening.

How did you know that? The same reason your evening walk home was as peaceful as they came, even around the shadiest crevices of the Lanes. You'd witnessed muggings and assaults before, dodged solicitors and chem-stunted drug dealers seeking to become your next plug. Zaun's infamous crime lord, Silco, ruled with a more notorious underboss as his right hand—your girlfriend, Sevika. And your relationship with her had its perks. She made doubly sure that your usual trek home was safeguarded by her underlings hidden in plain sight. A watchful weapons salesman here, a nodding thug there. "Zaun royalty" was as close a descriptor as anything else.

When you entered your condo on Zaun’s Promenade level, you knew Sevika had only left recently. Wisps of cedarwood cologne clung to the foyer and living room and trailed back into the bedroom. Last year's name day gift to her—a custom, earthy note mastercrafted from Renata Glasc herself. You were thankful for the connection since you'd had next to no experience with fragrances on your own. Still, as infrequently as she sprayed the unique, luxurious scent, it left you yearning for her all the same.

An important business dinner whisked her away tonight. Normally, you were invited to events as her plus one, and her boss, Silco, would regard you with a gentle cant of his head. Tonight? The final stages of new business dealings—no outsiders allowed. Fair enough.

You still pouted at her yesterday when she had relayed the news. Sevika wasn’t immune to your perfected puppy-dog eyes, a skill you picked up from the very hounds you bred and trained in your profession. She placated you with a kiss on the forehead and the promise of dinner at one of Zaun’s finest establishments tomorrow night. At least you had that to look forward to after a long week and barely any time alone with her.

Sevika had left her discarded clothing and towels scattered from the bedroom to the bathroom, and you rolled your eyes at once again having to remind her to pick her shit up. A quick scolding text would suffice, but you decided against it. She probably left in a hurry again, and she wouldn't answer anyway. Rarely had the opportunity when discussing business.

Under steaming water, you showered, scrubbed away any lingering dog fur and hidden slobber. The relief was instant and welcome, but as water pounded your face and neck, you found yourself missing a pair of hands on you. You didn’t shower together often; between your schedules and Sevika’s disdain for hot showers, there wasn’t much opportunity. Friday was your dedicated time together in preparation to spend most of the night at The Last Drop. And Janna, did she know how to use her hands during that time.

Where would she have ventured tonight? What winding road would she have traveled? Which muscles would she have massaged first? Back, traps, deltoid? How far down would she have dragged her lips? You shivered at ghostly memories caressing your neck, your shoulders and hips. Arched into the imaginary fingertips under your breasts and across your ribs. Held still at the phantom hand nestled between your thighs—

But it was far, far too early to get carried away. She'd be back before the twenty-second bell, right?

Out of the shower, you stole a shirt from Sevika's armoire and paired it with your own underwear. Your shared bed was a mess of cream sheets and burgundy blankets that neither of you had time to straighten. You didn't mind the mess as much when you flopped onto the bed and snuggled into Sevika’s pillow. Her lingering scent, smoke and spice, rose proper butterflies in your belly. And with those butterflies, memories of your first encounter fluttered back.

You had met over two years ago. Ungrateful new owners and teething puppies made your week worse than hell, and that pushed you to craving a drink or five at the first watering hole you laid your eyes on. The Last Drop loomed in the distance with a "Grand Reopening" sign, so you shrugged and took your place in line.

New ownership—a middle-aged man with a timid adoptive daughter he doted on—had seized control after the previous owner's mysterious disappearance and death. The heady club atmosphere didn't match his gaunt, professional demeanor. The homely vibe was rendered extinct, usurped with neon and black lights. Exotic dancers shared a newly-built stage with underground indie rock bands, entertaining patrons drifting under the influence of a new street drug called "shimmer."

You'd taken solace at the end of the bar—ordered and enjoyed your first shot of vodka, no chaser, to wash down the anger and frustration. The squirrelly bartender eyed you closely when you quickly waved for a second shot. You were a lightweight and it took no time for the alcohol to kick in. You rimmed the second glass as a reminder to pace yourself.

The crowd and bass had been deafening. Pool balls cracked behind you in a rowdy game of nine-ball. Players swore and roared insults across the table over a heated poker game in the distance. Your guard lowered, easily lost in the music and bluster.

A piscine Vestayan male had approached you and leaned against the bar in your personal bubble. Glanced you up and down, licking his chops and flicking his barbels. Asked how your day was. You initially clocked him as bad news and hindsight confirmed that.

Short answers didn't cut it for him. Neither had telling him to go fuck his mother sideways with a rusty axe. His webbed, moist fingers landed on your shoulder, and when you jerked away and attempted to stand, they wrapped your upper arm. The strength in his grip was herculean, and you immediately regretted even venturing out for the night.

You had broken his hold enough to attempt an escape but bumped into someone solid behind you. A tall and dark-skinned woman with a strong nose and full lips had inserted herself between you. She took a final swig of her drink, then set it on the bar like it was a piece of fine antique glassware. Glanced the guy up and down before tilting up her chin.

The music had drowned most voices out, but you heard her rumble clear as day. "Is there a problem here?"

The guy's barbels flickered again. He released your arm, shook his head, and slinked off like the plague rat he really was. No argument, no fight, no challenge.

Before you'd taken the second shot, she stopped you and asked to buy you a drink instead. You scowled until she mentioned the drink had been spiked when your attention was diverted. One furtive glance, and the bartender immediately discarded it without a word. The entire ordeal made you want to leave and sulk in your bedroom for the rest of the night.

Sevika, as she had introduced herself, was persistent in a way unlike the asshole from before. She didn't press the drink more than once but sat with you for over three hours at the bar and chatted you up until you released the tension in your shoulders and jaw. Growing up in Zaun accustomed you to a certain flavor of brusque speech but never with the level of humor Sevika peppered in.

As the night carried on without issue and you planned to leave, she had offered to walk you home. You hesitated until you realized how much bigger and taller she was than other patrons in the club. There was no telling who you'd run into on the way back home, so you did what you thought was best and accepted the offer.

Vague conversation had colored the walk home. Your apartment at the time was over a mile away from the club, so you were thankful for the company in the dead of night. Sevika strolled a safe distance from you, never invaded your personal space, nor did she seek anything in return. She was, however, persistent.

"Drink offer's still open if you're interested."

You'd told her you'd consider it.

The smirk she'd given you was telling, like she already knew the answer you'd give. She fished an unfinished joint from a tin in her pocket.

Inhaled.

Exhaled plumes through the nose.

"The bartender, Thieram? Ask for me if you're ever at the Drop again. I'm there most nights."

"Most nights? Why so often?"

She'd laughed, drawing your blush at what you assumed was a rather stupid question.

"Guess you'll have to find out."

She'd taken a final drag, flicked the roach into the pavement across the way, and wished you good night.

You'd taken up her offer the next night.

It wasn’t extravagant or any novel-esque version of a meet-cute. A bad week at work and a pushy asshole brought you together purely by chance. Sevika didn't tolerate harassment in her club, and she thought you looked pissed off enough to strangle a gigalodon. Had plenty of bark between your teeth, she said, but lacked the bite to back it up.

And she was absolutely smitten with it.

You hugged Sevika's pillow closer, memories drifting as a Piltie drama slurred in the background.

Bzzt, bzzt!

Your phone stirred you out of nodding off. You unlocked it and checked the notifications. Sevika?

Should have smoked before this shit…

Poor baby. Dinner must have been stale. You typed up a response.

that bad?

It's bad. Fucking piltie. Won't stop bragging about his summer home and horse stables in the countryside…

ugh, another, seriously?

Good for business. Unfortunately…

details?

Sevika's responses were quick. You imagined her resting her chin on her bronze fist, right hand typing away under the table as a haughty socialite bored the group. You couldn't picture Chross having any patience for such gloating bullshit. And Smeech? Likely snapping his jaws and stroking his short beard.

You mean besides his apparent connections to Demacia? Nah. Don't have em all yet, go fucking figure. I might fall asleep at this rate…

I'll keep you company bear~

What would I do without you?

oh I dunno, I could prob list about 17 things…

Shut up lol

Sevika's following texts staggered in. Bouts of instant messages would follow minutes-long periods of utter silence. The updates for the meeting proved to be entertaining at the very least. Silco sat unamused. Renata picked at her nails while Eramis picked at his food. The new dealer droned on about the partnerships he garnered topside and how much wealth and prosperity he could provide Zaun. The man had his head crammed up his own ass, Sevika said, but Silco at least straightened in his seat once talks of shimmer exchanges with Demacian black markets commenced.

Despite the spicy entertainment, boredom set in for you as well. There was nothing else on TV save for the usual Friday night drama or movie. Any friends you had were more than likely busy with their usual weekly activities, as you would have been. You stared at your phone, hoping and willing for a text from Sevika to come in after your last response. None did.

Still, you could garner her attention. She may be stoic and gruff oftentimes, but she'd raise an eyebrow at a few salacious words, two if you were lucky. Why not roll the dice?

Vikaaa… how much longer? really been missing your hands all day

It was a start, and you buried yourself deeper into your blankets eager for a response. Sevika didn't enjoy texting much. It was tedious for her, too slow and monotonous where a simple phone call would suffice. Not to mention, she could only text with one hand. While she'd past gotten accustomed to gauging the grip strength of her metal prosthetic, her fingers proved a different challenge altogether. "Claws" were more accurate as she'd unintentionally gouged at least three phone screens by now. If not for you, she wouldn't text at all. You were grateful she'd made an exception for your disdain of most phone calls.

Still, the wait was agonizing. Minutes sailed by and you drifted before the indicator danced on Sevika's side of the conversation.

Yeah? Funny. I was just thinking about wrapping my hand around that pretty little neck of yours. Squeeze just a bit so I can hear you struggle to breathe.

Sevika may not have enjoyed texting, but she certainly wasn't terrible at it. You grazed your neck right where she would normally place her hand. Yours wasn't big enough.

dont you wanna hear me choke on your fingers instead?

You wet your lips thinking about Sevika's fingers exploring your mouth. Brushing your lower lip, stroking your tongue. You crossed one leg over the over, smashing your thighs together as Sevika's response came in.

Careful, sweetheart. Keep talking like that and I'll have you choke on my dick.

Would that have been so bad? You didn't think so.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Tell me where you want my hands first.

You swallowed hard. Playing hardball already only to dangle it over your head like a carrot. If that didn't say much about Sevika, you didn't know what else did. But fine, you could deal for now.

everywhere fucking everywhere. want your hands down my back, squeezing my throat, my tits, my ass, janna, I really want you playing with my tits right now

Your thoughts soared as wildly as a cliff-shrike’s first flight. Sevika's caress was calculated. She knew where to glide her hands to make you sing, where to prod her claws to make you growl. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't emulate her precision and poise. And her size? Out of the question. Your feeble attempt now was another failure for the books. A pinch at your nipple and clit coaxed a moan from you, but you still heard Sevika's usual croon of "patience" in the back of your mind.

Hadn't you been patient enough? You'd been waiting all day, hell, all week, and dragging your thumb over your clit for an ounce of relief grinded your nerves to ash. You huffed. If you had to suffer, then so did Sevika; it was only fair. You gathered your bearings enough to type a follow-up.

and your fingers? fuck I'm getting so wet thinking about them. want em in and around my mouth, pinching my nipples, buried in my cunt…

You set the phone down and breathed deeply. You wanted to do more, tease more, show Sevika what she was missing being away right now. You bit your bottom lip as you contemplated. Sevika would never say no to any selfies of you, even if they were sent at the most inopportune moments. Hell, if anything, they'd rile her up even more. Couple that with the danger of opening them around prying eyes, and you had a recipe for disaster.

You tugged your underwear down your hips and rested them at mid-thigh, exposing yourself to cool air and crisp sheets. From memory, you mimicked where Sevika would glide her hands in habitual order: jaw, sternum, hips, ribs, breasts. Between your thighs, a gentle tease, before running one finger right up your slit.

A sigh crept from your lungs.

You grabbed your phone—Sevika still hadn’t texted you—and snapped a quick photo of yourself. Your lower half, hand buried beneath a mound of hair, right on display. With minimal internal debate, you shifted positions for a second and caught your full-length mirror in your periphery. Perfect. With some adjusting, you knelt, bent over face down, and snapped a photo of your cunt and ass up on full display. Not at all an unfamiliar position. Satisfied, you shuttled them off into the void with a message:

missing you

It took no time at all before you saw the texting indicator bounce once more. Sevika's response, however, was delayed. She texted, then stopped and repeated the pattern three more times. What stole her attention so suddenly? A new proposition? A conversational shift? Maybe a nosy chem-baron spying over her shoulder?

At long last, her response dropped in and the corner of your lip lifted.

fuck

…Or she was speechless. That worked too.

Pride puffed your chest. With any luck, you'd rile Sevika up so much that she'd have no choice but to fold you into the compromising positionings you photographed yourself in. It wasn't the first time you tested the waters with an exhibitionist stunt like that. Certainly wouldn't be the last.

You'd often hung out with Sevika at The Last Drop on Friday nights. Amateur poker players—who were much too busy coveting what wasn’t theirs to keep their cog purses from drying up—dared to ogle you as you sat perched on her lap. You stared and winked at the spineless ones all while murmuring sweet nothings in your girlfriend's ear. They'd tug at their collars, lick cracked lips, swish their ragged tails like they had any chance in hell. Tunnel vision prevented them from gawking at your little grinds on Sevika's thigh. That or she glared daggers at them when you did. She was never bothered, only playfully whispered for you to knock it off in a voice so husky that you didn't mind the threat to pay you back in her private office upstairs.

Your phone vibrated right before you aimed to toss it across the bed. While you expected another text, a quick glance at the screen flashed Sevika's name with a heart next to it.

A phone call? Now?

You answered. "Didn't think you could talk right now, bear."

"You're a fuckin' menace, you know that?" she drawled, halfway between a growl and purr.

If only she could see you humorously twirling a lock of hair at that.

"Know who almost saw that? Take a guess."

You scrunched your nose. "Chross?" Gross.

"Nope."

"Please not Silco…" You didn't think you could face that man again if he ever saw those images. It was a dangerous game you played, sure, but anyone but him.

Her silence spoke volumes and your stomach dropped at least fifty feet. Of all the people…

"...Sev, I'm serious."

Sevika snickered. "I'm fuckin' with you. Nah, not Silco. Glasc."

Renata? That was more than a relief. Still, she'd throw you a sly glance across a dinner table the next time you saw her, but she wouldn't judge you for it. You may have only been acquaintances, but she was more than open about the certain… souvenirs she claimed from her own sexual escapades.

"Came at the perfect time. Needed a break and a smoke." On cue, you heard the crackle of embers from Sevika's inhale. "But don't think I didn't have anything for you. Check your messages."

You pulled away from your phone to do just that. She had—two images—and excitement trilled up your spine as you gaped at them.

Sevika took them in a restroom that was nearly as nice as the basic ones you'd seen topside. Soft lighting highlighted her dusky, brown skin well, accentuating a strong jawline and the sharp bridge of a once-broken nose. Jet-black hair was fashioned into its usual top knot with a few loose strands framing her face. The lower half brushed her shoulders and warned of an upcoming haircut. The black button-up she wore was crisp and tailored, one sleeve missing to accommodate her bronze arm, the other rolled up to her elbow to flaunt corded muscle in her forearm. The first button on the shirt remained unbuttoned, and you licked your lips at the tease of skin leading down her chest. Your eyes followed and you took note of the simple elegance of the dark brown waistcoat protecting her broad, muscular chest. Her gaze fixated on the phone carefully cradled in her claws.

You swallowed hard at the next image as another long drag crackled in your ear.

The hand clutching the phone hadn't moved, but Sevika's attention did. Light wolf-grey eyes bore holes in the mirror. Where her free hand had been jammed in her pocket previously, now it was thrust into the front of her undone black chinos. Unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped. Free from the confines, she displayed the gunmetal grey boxer briefs proudly. And with that display came the delicious glimpse of brown skin and trail of dark hair that snuck into her underwear.

Sevika was unbelievably handsome—suited up, naked, or any state of undress in-between.

The cherry on top? She was packing. The slight bulge in her underwear commanded your attention, made you salivate. Janna only knew you wanted to grind your ass against that. Or maybe worship with your lips.

"Don't get quiet now. You had so much to say earlier. What was it? You wanted my fingers in and around your mouth?"

A "yes" slipped between your lips like a snake's slither and so did your hand slither between your thighs again. Your eyes fluttered closed.

"Wanted them sheathed in that fucking pussy?"

You choked out a moan. A barely noticeable hitch in Sevika's breath coaxed a tug at the corner of your lip.

"Answer me," Sevika said, voice hardening.

You scrambled to find your own voice as you rolled your hips and lifted one leg. "Mhmm…" you started, attempting a pathetic nod Sevika would never see. "Want 'em deep. So fuckin’ deep."

Sevika sighed deeply. "Baby?"

The way her voice lilted forced your eyes open.

"I want you to stop touching 'til I get home. Can you do that for me?"

Like the hounds you trained daily, your ears perked. You'd grown accustomed to the intention and inflection in her voice and even caught the hint of a smirk at the end. Despite the honey dripping off her words, it was a command, no mistaking it. And though it coaxed a strained whine from your throat, no command she made ever came without buildup towards a worthy payoff. Sevika rewarded patience, after all.

Your words caught in your throat, but you pushed through. “Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

A quick smile broke through. So that's how she wanted to proceed? Considering the long week, you'd definitely play along. Your chest heaved and breath hitched before you spoke the words that served as a verbal handshake to start your "game."

“Yes, Daddy…”

The quick laugh that followed was broken—deep, breathy, a growl of triumph. Shifting fabric crinkled in your ear with a sharp inhale following suit. “That’s my good girl.”

And while you longed for a follow-up to her praise, you received nothing but silence in return. Sevika’s breath still lingered with the occasional drag of her joint. But there was nothing else you could perceive.

…Until you listened closely. Sevika was experienced, a master of controlling her own body. You’d seen as much when she threw rear hooks at the punching bag in your spare room or armlocked sparring partners at the gym. Years of boxing and mixed martial arts trained her to a level of discipline you only coveted. Breath control came to her easily. Well, normally, it did. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” was what she taught you, but her breaths now contradicted her advice. Shaky, uneven, so subtle that she may have been trying to hide it.

And then it clicked.

You tightened your grip on your phone, then released it to trap it between your ear and the bed. You lay there, paralyzed under the fear that if you breathed the wrong way or uttered a word that she’d stop. You shut your eyes and listened. It was a private show in your mind’s eye—Sevika with her hand jammed in her boxers, undulating her touch between her folds, abs flexing with every jerk. Lips parted, the small and cute gap between her front teeth peeking through. Attention focused on nowhere but her own actions.

And you couldn’t do a single thing.

You clamped your thighs together, moist from your slick. No touching… Now it was evident why she voiced the command.

Every Zaunite swear rolled past her lips as she lost herself in her ministrations, and you couldn't help but let a pathetic sigh escape yours.

Sevika shifted and the sudden sound of her belt clinking against the counter startled you. “What I wouldn’t give… to have you on your knees right now.”

Straight to the point. Straight to your cunt.

“Have you look up at me with those pretty eyes. And that pretty fucking mouth.”

There were more than a few occasions that you both had slipped away for a few precious moments during a business dinner. Lips met tongue met neck. Knees deadened in genuflection on carpet or hard marble, primed for worship. Sevika's breath hot in your ear that she’d forgotten what you tasted like and needed a reminder. If you had attended tonight, you'd bet your life savings you'd have had your face stuffed between her legs as you stared up at her with stars in your eyes.

“You better not be touching right now,” she warned playfully.

“‘M not…” you whispered back. It was hard. So fucking hard to keep your hands balled into the sheets instead buried in your cunt. Patience, a waiting game, and you relaxed as you grew tired and started to drift. “Not touchin’.”

Sevika let a strained groan rip from her chest. She was finished, and the jingle of her belt confirmed as much. As she came down from her high, she inhaled deeply. “What I wouldn’t give… to have you clean me up right now.” Her words echoed twice in your head as your world went black. You would clean her, tongue only, licking up every stray drip of slick that rolled down her muscular thighs. Silence festered between you for a spell, allowing you to delve deeper into the thought until she spoke once more. “Gotta head back. See you when I get home, cariño.”

You drifted into the abyss, your declaration of love dying on your tongue as the call ended.

------

The front door's lock clicked in the distance, and the instinctual bout of anxiety burned away as you realized what it was. Not an intruder, but your girlfriend returning from her business dinner at… first bell? Fuck, she was late. Memories of her earlier words quickly stamped out any surfacing annoyance.

Sevika shut the door and locked it, kicked off her boots, and threw her keys and something else onto the kitchen counter. Despite her size, she ambled silently through the condo, and it was only her usual sigh of relief that allowed you to track her movements to the bathroom. She used the sink, likely washing her hands and face before letting out another exhale that was muffled through a towel. The same routine you committed to memory through a sleepy haze for months prior. The same routine that ended when she finally poked her head into your bedroom.

Her eyes darted between you and the TV before she raised a brow.

"Thought you'd be asleep by now," she said.

"Is that why you told me 'no more touching'?"

Sevika approached and sat on the edge of the bed to hover over you, trapping you between her hands.

"Wasn't expecting it to be that long, baby. Dinner went over an’ our debrief at the Drop took longer than usual too." You scrunched your face in mock annoyance as she leaned in and settled at your collar. "But… I'm here now. So lemme make it up to you."

Sweet citrus undertones intermingled with herbal cigar and her own natural, smoky scent. Memories of your late-night parting kisses outside your old apartment wafted back like pleasant dreams. For a few precious seconds, you shut your eyes, craning your neck to submit to her. And just like old times, you trailed your fingers at her waist before raking your nails up her spine, drinking in the guttural groan at your collar.

Sevika kissed a pathway up your neck and along your jawline before she pulled away just enough to leave her own lips out of reach. Even through the soft, amber ambiance of the room's light, her eyes sparkled with genuine interest. The arcane scars on her left cheek glittered, silky under your fingertips.

"Hi, sweetheart," she said.

A sweet smile tugged at your lips. "Hi, bear."

Sevika closed the distance. Your foreheads knocked, breath mingled, and before her beautiful, dark lips could capture yours in a kiss, you halted her advance with a single finger.

"Uh uh. I know you saw that mess you left out when you came in…"

She sighed, shut her eyes at your light scolding.

"...so please. Pick your shit up and then maybe I'll keep playing with you."

When you let go and she opened her eyes again, her face twisted in half-amusement and half-apology, a cute and unguarded expression she reserved only for you. The twitch in her lips revealed her desire to retort, but ultimately she conceded.

"’M sorry. Woke up late, was in a rush."

"Baby, I told you I was working later today and wouldn't be able to wake you up. Some of the pups are having teething and potty issues this week."

"I know, I know," she murmured against your lips. "Slept through three of my alarms. I'll pick it up. All of it."

"You fucking better," you said, teasing her lips with yours before you steal a kiss. She wasn't caught off guard in the slightest. In fact, she was ready for it, leaned into it with all the bravado of someone who missed a long lost love. When you had your fill, you pulled away with her bottom lip in tow. "Now, stop stalling."

Sevika grumbled in protest. She pecked the corner of your mouth before retreating and snatching the first articles of her discarded outfit from the bedroom floor. The action was entirely juvenile, not at all indicative of the type of person Sevika presented publicly, but well within the line of her subtle humor you grew to love.

Regardless of said task, you couldn't help but break out a smile as you followed her out of the bedroom and into the hallway, a flighty bounce in every step. You tried to hide it as she glowered at you.

With her dirty boxer briefs in hand, she finally spoke. "The hell you smilin’ about?"

"Just find it funny," you said, circling her. "How much you harp on me about being patient. And yet… here you are, having to wait yourself."

Sevika clearly didn't find the predicament humorous. With an upturned brow, she flung her boxers at your face. You didn't have time to react and your head became a makeshift hamper. She choked out a laugh as you tore them off and threw them back at her.

You tailed her through the condo as she picked up her discarded nightwear and towels and tossed them in the hamper. The final destination was your bathroom and you leaned against your sink, biting your lip, suddenly drawn into Sevika’s chosen outfit for the occasion.

“What?” she said. “See somethin’ you like?”

Quite an understatement.

Photos didn’t do her justice. You couldn't help but rove your eyes over her. Her shirt and pants accentuated her toned musculature in a way that made you lick your lips. The getup fit her well, looked comfortable, and even masked her usual disdain for dressing up to “kiss businessman ass.”

You’d once made an offhand comment about how great she’d look in a vest. Her effort clearly didn’t disappoint. For someone who hated dressing up? Damn, did she exceed expectations.

Sevika rolled her eyes and motioned to undress herself. You caught her wrist in yours. Laced your fingers and squeezed as you lowered them both. She raised a brow, eyes searching yours. She was so eager to rid herself of her clothes, but you couldn’t bear letting her tear herself out of them so hastily.

Not so soon.

Not yet.

"Let me?"

She canted her chin. Studied you.

You released her hand and mapped out a path with deft fingers. Up her right thigh, ghosting over her zipper to her hip, relishing the flare of her nostrils. The bathroom light twinkled off the waistcoat's buttons as you ascended over them, each resounding with a simple tap when you flicked them. You traced the visible shirt buttons upwards, stopping at her sternum where it flared open. Beautiful brown skin starred with small freckles and moles gave way where you pressed. You glided over her neck, felt her throat bob when she swallowed. The scar on her left cheek shimmered under your touch, silky aqua and turquoise marbling that guided you back down her jaw and neck. Back to the second button on her shirt to finally undo it.

You looped the button through its hoop and more of Sevika's skin became available for you to dusk your lips over. Her audible exhale drove you further as you released the third. More skin, more area to cover with gentle and practiced kisses. If you could cover every inch of her chest, you would. Stain her, mark her, claim her with the most seductive shade of lipstick you owned. A rich burgundy that matched her favorite poncho would suffice, wouldn't it?

While you kept your mouth busy at her chest, you released every button on her shirt and waistcoat. As much as you desired to roll them off her shoulders, you kept them on, admiring how they framed her over her dark sports bra. You scored down her taut abs with your nails until you found and fiddled with her belt. A bit of handiwork made releasing it trivial, and it clinked beneath you both as you left it undone to fumble for the button at her pants. Unbuttoned and unzipped, her pants lay open and free for you to graze fingertips at the waistband of her boxer briefs. You glanced down. A subtle bulge hidden beneath dark grey.

A cold, metal hand teased your waist, found purchase at the small of your back, spurring you on. From her waistband, your touch rose up her lower abs, pressed against them to coax the slight give and jerk of her muscles. She was solid underneath you, honed and sculpted like an athlete carved out of Pentelic marble. You rebuffed any muttered insult of her being a brute. She wasn't, far from it. Mixed martial arts and boxing kept her in shape, but her intimidating size and strength only belied her gentleness with you behind closed doors. Besides, would a brute have enough patience and self-control to handle the pressure of being Silco's right hand? The weight of being heir to the metaphorical throne?

Sevika flicked her tongue over the corner of her top lip when you feathered the dark hair that vanished into her boxers. Your final descent brushed over that trail, crept over the bulge at the apex of her thighs. The metal hand at your back pulled you closer. Sevika lowered her head to rest at your shoulder and you caught the tail end of a guttural groan at your ministrations.

She inhaled. Deeply. Her lips latched to the juncture of your jaw and neck. Her rumble deepened, hips angled into your touch.

"Cariño…"

It was your turn to smile. You knew where to touch and prod, the correct tempo and intensity to render Sevika putty in your hands. She melted when you tugged at silky, black hair. Let her lips part and drag across your cheek until they met with yours. It was cute how hard she tried to reel it in and keep her control, how hard she tried to stifle the jerk of her hips. You congratulated yourself for the effort… until she spoke against your lips to render your work undone.

"Turn around for me?"

Tone relayed the intended message. It sent a shiver crackling up your spine that halted your movements. Surprise quickly morphed into latent arousal. Why keep her waiting when you could smell the direction this was turning?

Her grip loosened enough for you to adjust yourself. You turned, slowly, and faced the mirror to watch her rise to her full height behind you. Sevika held several inches over most human men in Zaun and a full head over you. The toughest men who frequented The Last Drop tucked their tails at her size and strength. With you? She was as harmless and cuddly as a teddy bear. And she proved as much when she wrapped her arms around you and squeezed for good measure.

She buried her nose into the crook of your neck and shoulder, planted open-mouthed kisses up the side of your neck and into your jawline. In pure Sevika fashion, she tipped your jaw to give herself more access to the column of your throat. You couldn't help the giggles that fell from your lips, and she followed suit with a few chuckles of her own.

Any words you would have spoken were lost in a whispered sigh as she nuzzled right against your ear and spoke. "Been missin’ you all night."

And your heart somersaulted out of its cage.

Your eyes caught Sevika's in the mirror—predatory, wolf-like—irises pushed to the edges by pupils blown wide. She stared back at you. Mischief brewed underneath as the corner of her mouth tweaked upwards. She pulled you in closer, ran her full lips up the nape of your neck.

"Tell me again where you want my hands, beautiful."

Fuck, her voice. Like a growl soaked in arousal. You shifted, aiming to turn around but she kept you in place. All you wanted was to steal her breath from her lungs, make her speak those words again into your mouth. Consume every consonant and vowel as sustenance.

Her hands roamed and if you didn't give her an answer, she'd probably decide for you. So, you dredged up your earlier conversation and relayed it back to her.

"My… my mouth."

"Yeah?"

You nodded pathetically. She obliged.

Her left arm stayed wrapped around your waist. She brought her right hand up to lift your chin. Examined you in the mirror, turned your head this way and that like she was contemplating what to do with you. Finally, she tutted and smiled.

"Such a pretty girl." She thumbed your bottom lip and you flicked your tongue out to graze it. She didn't mind in the slightest, even encouraged it by dipping in to brush the inside of your lip. When you wrapped your lips around her thumb, she allowed you for all of ten seconds before removing it and painting your chin with your saliva. "With a pretty fucking mouth, too. Don't you think?"

Another nod, and she nipped the shell of your ear.

"I wanna hear you say it, baby. Tell me." She squeezed you gently for emphasis.

You sighed, cheeks flaring with the words floating in your mind. "I… I have a pretty fucking mouth."

Sevika snickers and kisses you in three places. Lightning bolts on inflamed skin. "Good girl. Now, open." Her fingers slid across your lips, waiting for the access that you granted immediately.

Her index and middle split in your mouth, taking residence on either side of your tongue. You teased between both before running up the middle finger. You swirled it left, pulled it center, sucked it like your life depended on it. You repeated the same for her index. Her fingers were devoid of any distinct flavor, but if you thought hard enough, you feigned the savor of your dripping cunt from memory alone.

You sucked and sucked and sucked on her fingers, bobbing slowly as you maintained eye contact with the owner of the wolfish grin in the mirror. One draw of her fingers withdrew them far enough to let your saliva dribble down your lip and chin. You cleaned up as much as you could, but the rest streaked and smeared as Sevika removed herself completely to cup your chin, then your cheeks.

That same hand made the agonizing trip down your neck and chest to graze over your pert nipples peeking through the large shirt. The breath you inhaled made her stop, and her stopping made you whine in protest.

"Think I remember you wanted my hands on your tits. That true?"

While your head was swimming through the heady haze of arousal, you'd have been remiss to not notice both her hands at the hem of your shirt easing their way up. Each second she waited for a response made the trip more leisurely. Typical Sevika behavior. She was a master of drawing pleasure out until the last second—the true embodiment of the virtue of patience despite how many vices she indulged on the regular.

Once more, an eager nod didn't satisfy her.

"Use your words, baby."

"Y-Yes, I want your hands on my tits. Mmm… all over them…"

Sevika flashed you a quick smile before she peppered four kisses from your neck up to your cheek. The last she released slowly, letting her lips linger hot on your skin. Her nose feathered across your cheek, ghosted your earlobe. She kept silent, but her gaze followed her hands as they raised your shirt.

Slowly.

“Arms up,” she said.

You obeyed. Up, up, up the shirt rose. It stopped right over your face, and Sevika held you there with your arms raised for several seconds before you caught on to her game and hip checked her. She laughed at you when you cussed at her, but once the shirt was tossed aside, Sevika was free to fully engulf your breasts in each hand. Her hands were big; you placed your own over hers and relished at the difference in size. A groan roiled in the pit of your chest only to ease up and drift from your lips as a breathy sigh.

She massaged them, kneaded them, rolled them under strong hands. Her fingers, still damp and drying from your mouth, tweaked and tugged your nipples. The motion and temperature difference had you choking out a moan, and you felt it like a bolt of lightning from your cunt to the soles of your feet.

Her bulge pressed right against your ass. You pushed and grinded back into her to elicit a low groan. Not a full-size dildo or even a pack-and-play from what you could decipher, but the friction still felt fucking amazing.

"Feel good, babe?" She pulled your earlobe with her teeth, and with it, a strained moan from your throat. "You're lucky," she began. You protested when her claws left your breast and descended to squeeze your supple ass. "You're lucky it's late and I'm tired.” With her hand at the back of your neck, she bent you forward until your cheek lay flat against the cold marble counter. She flicked her tongue out against your tailbone, then the dimples in your back. Licked an unwavering trail up your spine until she reached your nape. The shiver she coaxed from you was delicious but didn’t hold a flame to the words she purred in your ear. “Or else I'd fuck you silly. Tear your little ass apart." She could be so much dirtier, so much kinkier. This? It was light work, and it still made you gush between your thighs.

No manner of struggling or rolling your hips made Sevika let up. But you still played along.

"Good thing… you don't need a strap for that."

"Oh yeah?" You felt Sevika's smirk grow from her place at your neck. "What else should I use?" She lifted you, gave you a quick swat on the ass—you flinched—before tugging at your breast again. She rolled the nipple between her thumb and forefinger then repeated the same motion with the opposite hand, making your toes curl.

You cursed yourself for being so fucking sensitive. Sevika had learned of it after your first night together and had been exploiting it ever since. With enough attention, it wasn’t impossible to make you come from nipple play alone. Janna knows she’d done it before and then laughed at you afterwards. Called you cute.

Whether she aimed to elicit another slew of moans from you, or make it difficult for you to answer properly, you didn't know, but she was successful regardless.

"Mm… your fuuu….f-fin….fuck…"

"My what? Speak up, baby girl."

"Fuck off, Sev. Your fingers. I want your fucking fingers inside me."

You let her tweak your nipple one final time before you grasped the back of her large hand, intertwining your fingers. She didn't resist, let you guide her hand slowly but surely down your ribs. Under your guidance, her touch remained gentle with a rebellious edge as she scored your heated skin with blunt nails. She pinched at your hip bone as you passed, then reached to trace the ring of your belly button before stopping briefly at the waistband of the underwear.

With one snap of the band with her thumb, you brought her hand lower and gasped when her fingers weaved through the hair on your mound. You squeezed it in your claw grip. Grinded against her again.

"I’ve barely touched you and you’re already writhing under me," Sevika whispered.

Well, she was right. You'd been so pent up and eager the whole night, a simple ghost of her fingers right where you needed her drove you wild. All the hours of waiting and you'd finally get closer to release. The grand question was… how quickly would she let you?

Sevika was notorious for her antics. Begging on your knees? She had you covered. Servicing her first and thanking her for it? A favorite of hers. Worshipping every inch of your body under honeyed words and praise? You never minded waiting there. Patience above all was rewarded, but she still made the experience enjoyable along the way. Which route she'd explore today was still undetermined, even with the familiar mischievous glint in her eyes.

No amount of grinding or snapping the waistband of her boxers made her budge. Instead, you earned a smirk and playful tug of your left nipple. You pouted.

She moved an inch lower to appease you, kneaded your left breast again for good measure. The motion kept you at attention, pliable and eager to please, to do whatever needed to get what you so desperately desired. You shot Sevika a glance that would have put your own hounds to shame.

"Look at my pretty girl. Can't wait to get fucked, can she? What’s the magic word, sweetness?"

Your heart rate spiked right as your belly backflipped. Embarrassment shouldn’t have crept up given how many fucking times you both have done this.

And yet…

“Please?” you said, supplementing with a slow roll of your hips. “Please, Daddy Bear?”

Well, any amount of embarrassment was worth the tremor that vibrated through your lover. It was cute how she couldn’t fully contain her excitement when her sadistic side poked its head out to play.

"Good girl. Let go."

You gave her blazing hand one final squeeze before you did.

Sevika inhaled at your hairline and planted open-mouthed kisses from neck to ear. The shudder in her breaths was evident enough that she wanted to drive further, deeper. She was losing herself, relinquishing her mastery of control. "I want to hear you choke on my fingers, baby. Can you do that for me?"

You nodded. "Mhm…"

"Good. Now, open your mouth."

You obeyed, stuck your tongue out for good measure.

Sevika traced the curve of your chin and jaw, then your top lip until she rested on your bottom. She caressed the center right under the tip of your tongue. "Get my fingers nice and wet, and then I'll give you what you want. Deal?"

“Mhmm…” You accepted her first offered digit between your lips to suck on. She let you control the pace, allowed you to grab her flesh hand in yours to worship and savor at your leisure. You rolled your tongue around it again, working arduously to cover every inch in your saliva.

When you were ready, you added a second, her ring finger. It reached the back of your tongue with ease, and the thought of how trivial it would be to gag on it made you throb between your thighs. But you weren't ready. Not yet. With both in your mouth, you set them on your tongue and began to suck them off.

In.

Rest.

Out.

Rest.

Out.

You repeated the motion, eyes half-lidded as you savored the moment. You sucked her fingers like you would her strap, albeit a much easier experience, but erotic nonetheless. Unlike her strap, there wasn't enough girth to stretch your lips or ache your jaw. Not enough length to tickle the back of your throat into gagging too hard. But you still took her all the way, and when she hit the back of your tongue, you coughed and choked and opened your watering eyes to cherish your girlfriend's reactions.

An excited tremble shook through Sevika, rocking you. She fixated on your mouth and the saliva that dripped down your chin as she removed her hand. "Fuck…" She took one swipe over your bottom lip—admired it—before dipping into your underwear.

The two soaked digits glided on either side of your clit. The temperature and texture difference forced your head back onto her shoulder with a loud gasping moan. Just like her virtue, her strokes were resolute, every one aiming to make you feel it from top to bottom.

Sevika never disappointed. For all the times she enjoyed watching and hearing you beg, she loved giving you a full body experience to make up for the wait. While she worked her fingers, she pressed herself into you. She worked her claws up your body—cold metal on burning flesh—until she reached and tugged on your nipple again. Her breath tickled your earlobe as she alternated between nips and featherlight kisses trailing to your collar. Abandoned your clit to tease a ring around your entrance.

"That feel good?" she asked.

Dragging the response from your brain proved more tedious than you imagined. You pushed past the mental haze, swam past the dark cloud until you found the words you were looking for.

"Mhm… y-yeah. Yeah… it feels so good…"

“Hahaha… here." She snatched her hand away and you whined as she painted your lips with your own slick. "Taste."

You pulled her soaked fingers into your mouth, lapping at the lingering juice extracted from her tease and craving more.

You stole her hand and guided it back into your underwear, back to sliding around your clit. "Vika…" you whined.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Want your fingers in me, bear… Want 'em deep."

There was no shame in the request, even if your cheeks burned brightly. But you did shudder at Sevika's rumbling laugh behind you. Hissed at her teasing loop around your entrance.

"Want 'em deep, hmm?" she mimicked. Her words lingered, clung to the air like the Zaun Gray as she finally, finally pushed one finger past the threshold into you.

A gentle "fuck" dribbled past your lips. You ground your head harder into her shoulder as you shut your eyes to the world, hellbent on focusing solely on the sensations she gifted you.

Sevika plunged as deeply as she could. Slow motions, in and out, with a curling caress against your soft and sensitive front wall. Then stopped to let you accommodate. Her claws grazed your ribs and under your breast once more before settling at your neck.

Your spine straightened, eyes flew open as she tapped your jugular. Your attention locked with hers.

"You still with me?"

The implication was clear. Sevika loved to be rough and push your limits, and you were more than willing to bend and test them under her watchful guard. Two years together was enough to solidify a clear communication base, but you didn't progress this far without a great deal of understanding and patience. She was surprisingly a good listener, which, in retrospect, shouldn't have been surprising given her line of work. Credit where credit was due, of course.

Finally, you sighed your agreement and braced yourself for the oncoming crescendo.

Sevika retracted her finger to add a second to the mix. She inserted, slowly, sheathed both inside you like a deadly weapon. Large fingers stretched you in that way you loved so much, and she muffled your oncoming moan with her own lips and tongue.

The fog that muddled your brain thickened by the second. Your focus darted everywhere, trying desperately to keep up with every angle of pleasure she massaged your senses with.

Her claws set firmly in place on your neck. Tapped there again in rhythm. Made you acknowledge their presence. She tutted when you arched against her to coax her plan into motion.

"Deja de moverte. Be still." Her index traced down the column of your throat, bobbed under your careful swallow. If you hadn't known her as long as you had, it would have felt like a threat. Instead, it was a warning, a safety precaution.

You stilled, relaxed, and breathed evenly, counting in your head like she taught you.

She pumped once, a test.

Paused.

Another, and Janna, it was difficult not to fidget.

A third, and she open-kissed the corner of your jaw for passing. She kept her pace slow and put pressure on the arteries, leaving your throat and breathing free.

Your pulse thumped against her metal palm. The restricted blood flow intensified every other sensation, had your eyes fluttering. You rasped. The abyss lingered at the very edge of your consciousness, and you wanted to go deeper, sink further, play chicken with it…

Fuck.

Fuck…

But Sevika pulled you out as quickly as you dipped in.

You mourned the loss, but knew it was for the best. Sevika knew it was for the best.

"Good girl," she cooed in your ear, then turned your head back to the mirror. "Look at you, sweetness. My pretty girl."

You gazed in the mirror to stare at the absolutely fucked-out figure in your girlfriend's arms. Half-lidded eyes and parted lips meshed well with erect nipples and crimson marks painting a beautiful and exposed neck. The heady redolence of sex wafted in the air. With your underwear lowered, Sevika's fingers plunged in and out of a pussy glistening with slick. Every thrust filled your ears with the gushing sounds of your juices soaking her fingers.

Your juices.

You were acutely aware it was you in the mirror. Aware of the high you got from the deadly, metal hand at your neck. Aware that your essence remained coated on your tongue. Aware that she fucked you in all primal senses until they dulled.

Blood pounded your ears.

She thrusted.

Heart rammed against your ribcage.

She thrusted.

"Vika…" you moaned. "Se-Sevikaaa…"

You buried your nose into her collar and your world went dark as your hips gyrated into her fingers and into her body. Your orgasm rolled through you like a wave, ebbing and flowing with Sevika's slowing thrusts, every jerk a splash against her. The mantra of her name on your lips broke down to a whispering prayer. She murmured against your temple, gentle words you couldn't fully comprehend with your mind still rattled.

Ragged breaths escaped from your lungs. Your legs wobbled even with Sevika holding you up with her metal arm. And Janna, were you hot. Despite feeling like you’d just sprinted a marathon, the blissfulness was unmatched.

"You okay, sweetheart?" she asked, then her voice dropped. "Or did I fuck you too good?"

You cradled her left arm—a nice chill for your burning skin—with your laugh rolling right into a satisfied purr. She wasn't wrong; even with her fingers she fucked you well into another dimension and it took at least a full minute before your awareness returned. Sevika was still very much buried inside you, unmoving, but still there.

And it felt… good.

She must have been thinking the same as she adjusted and kissed behind your ear. "Gonna pull out now."

And when she did, carefully, you winced and jerked against her. But you stopped her. Her eyebrow rose at you in the mirror, and you quelled her questions when you took those two fingers into your mouth.

"Fuck…" Sevika's claws dug at your hip as she stared at you like Janna herself made her ethereal presence known to the world. She was awestruck watching you clean her hand of your essence. Hungry. Feral. Predatory glint in her wolf-grey eyes.

She spun you around and after a few quick glances at your lips, leaned in to capture them in hers. The usual spark and dominance showed in her aggression—teeth clicked against yours, deft tongue eager to taste and explore your mouth for the umpteenth time. It dizzied you, made it hard to breathe. You shivered as cool metal waltzed down your back, and you retaliated with a prance up her abs.

Sevika flexed under you, rock solid, before she pulled away and stared at you with blown pupils. She tilted your chin up, holding you in place to command your attention, then licked her full lips.

"You taste so fucking good," she whispers.

You locked eyes with her. Experience told you everything she wanted to do to you. How she desired to bend and mold your body, stretch and push you to your limits, savor every bite like a last meal at Stillwater. You melted under her watchful eyes. All you had for her was a smile, and she mirrored it with a wolfish smirk of her own. You seized the moment and moved from her abs to sternum. The thump-thumping of her heart slowed, adrenaline and lust finally wearing off as she knocked her forehead against yours. You inhaled, the lingering base note of her cologne recentering you and pulling your focus back.

"Look at you. So fucking pretty," she said.

Even with your own essence spread across your lips, your knees buckling under her, your eyes half-lidded and dazed, she still gazed at you like you were the most beautiful specimen in all of Runeterra.

"You're such a good girl, you know that?" She released your chin to knock a strand of hair out of your face. "Don't you ever forget it."

You knew what you meant to her, inside and outside the bedroom, but you would never grow tired of hearing her say it.

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Daddy."

She gave you two quick pecks followed by a final and more passionate third. And just like that you both relinquished your roles to pick up again another day.

"Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sevika caressed your cheek with her knuckles. “Ready for a shower?"

You shook your head. "In the morning? Took one earlier. Don't feel like it. Also don't think I can stand much longer."

That was all fine with Sevika. She hoisted you onto the counter, asked you to wait, and sauntered off into the bedroom.

The high was finally starting to wear off as you leaned against the bathroom counter, replaced with the occasional brush with darkness. The ghost of Sevika's fingers still remained buried in your cunt—a nice stretch that left a delicious throb and ache in its wake. Wet stickiness between your thighs had you rubbing them together. You could only imagine how great Sevika's tongue would have felt if either of you were up for it.

Eventually, she returned in sweatpants and her sports bra with a washcloth she pulled from the linen closet.

"Hey," she said, lifting your chin gently. "Sleepy already?" Her lip twitched at what you assumed was an oncoming smirk but it never came to light. Your attention wavered and those were the last words you were able to decipher.

Sevika chuckled to herself.

With the mess between your legs cleaned and dried, Sevika flung your arms around her neck. The bathroom light flickered off and you floated to the bedroom and drifted down to the bed.

Sevika stretching over you was the last thing you saw before the bedroom was plunged into darkness.

------

Sudden rhythmic caresses across your ass and thigh stirred you from sleep. Distant cerulean lights sliced through pitch black, left splatters on the far wall. Heartbeats rocked beneath your cheek in tandem with the rise and fall of the strong, bare chest beneath you.

When the motions stopped, you drifted again, struggling to fight sleep until a light buzz startled you alert.

Worry set in at the annoyed and familiar ursine grumble. The hand left you to snatch the phone off the nightstand. It only took five seconds before your girlfriend set it back down and shifted under you.

Immediately, you felt your time together was over. Early texts usually meant last minute shipping manifests. And shipping manifests meant the rare days where Sevika left you in bed alone. Instinct took over and you straddled the body under you, hands planted on her muscular chest to keep her in place.

Sevika rose to her elbows. "What's up, sweetness? You okay?"

You could have laughed. Typical Sevika, overly worried about you while her sleepy, husky voice lit a small fire in your loins. You made a valiant attempt to stamp it down.

"¿Cariño?"

You reached out slowly. Traced down the soft curves of her angular face—forehead to nose, lips to chin—then cupped her cheek. You rested your own forehead against hers.

Neither of you spoke. Didn't need to. Your worry was evident but Sevika snorted. Her sigh tickled your cheek and lips. She peppered lazy kisses across your jaw, down the column of your neck, and back up to rest on your lips.

Simple reassurance.

Metal and flesh engulfed you and pulled you close until you settled your head back home on her chest. Warm fingertips traced the ridges of your spine—down, down, down—back to cup your ass and the back of your thigh.

"Just a reminder text from Ran. Still gotta be up in seven hours." Her voice deepened, a still-sleepy-growling-purr that rolled a shiver up your spine. "After we're done, I'm all yours."

You knew from experience and the nature of Sevika's line of work that she couldn't promise that. Still, her word was as good as gold. Phone communication could only tide you over for so long after a long and stressful week. You drifted off, mumbling to yourself and Sevika about how thankful you were to finally have time together.

#Arcane #Sevika #Sevika/Reader #Sevika x Reader #Arcane Sevika #Sevika x You #Sevika smut #League of Legends #Sevika fic #fanfiction #nix fics #graphic design is my passion.jpg #I put way too much effort into making that image and correcting the formatting so please support lol #seriously image editing is like the one internet skill I never picked up LMAO #heacanon #headcanon: sevika

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rax-writes · 5 months

Text

↬ in the middle of the night

Sandor Clegane x Reader

Warnings: None

Something awoke you from a deep slumber. Perhaps it was the Mother herself, you thought, because when you opened your eyes, they slowly focused on your husband, who was standing in the middle of the room, his silhouette illuminated by a couple of candles and the sliver of morning sunlight peeking over the horizon.

Sandor’s back was to you as he stared at the cradle at the foot of your shared bed, fully clothed in his leathers and his sword strapped to his waist. When he heard you stir, he spoke, but did not turn to face you.

“I should go with them. Go kill my brother,” he said with a humorless laugh. “Gods know I’m the only one who could end that evil bastard.”

You said nothing, so after a few moments, he continued – and you could swear you heard him sniffle faintly before speaking.

“But I just keep staring at this little fucker here, and… I can’t. I can’t bring myself to walk out that door – knowing I’d never see him, or you, again. Knowing I’d be condemning him to grow up without a father. Knowing that me walking out on him makes me no better than my father – who abandoned me to protect Gregor.”

A little noise from the dark-haired babe in the cradle prompted another, louder sniffle from Sandor this time. There was another pause, followed by an agitated, “Damn it all.”

The Hound then began hurriedly prying off his sword, outerwear, and boots, letting it all fall carelessly to the floor before climbing into bed with you. When he rested his head on your chest and wrapped his big arms around your torso, you noticed his face was wet, and he sniffled quietly a few more times. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, the feeling of the scarred flesh so familiar to you now.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?” Sandor grumbled.

“For staying with us.”

He let out a heavy sigh, and although he did not respond, he gave you a squeeze in response. Sandor’s breathing slowed as you gently scratched your nails up and down his back, and when you heard a snore, you knew he was asleep. Soon after one last kiss to his forehead, you joined him in sleep.

#sandor clegane #the hound #sandor clegane x reader #the hound x reader #game of thrones #sandor clegane x you #game of thrones fan fiction #game of thrones fanfiction #got #sandor clegane fluff #sandor clegane drabble #sandor clegane imagine #my writing

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minaturefics · 1 year

Text

Once More (With Feeling)

Prompt: Faramir invites an old friend back to Minas Tirith

A/N: It's a little different, just slightly, to how I usually write. It's a rollercoaster, and it's long, so get yourself a hot beverage and prepare yourself for 6k words worth of brainrot.

Faramir x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

6.2k words

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You paced the lavish sitting room, throwing irritated looks at all the doors. Faramir was a busy man, you knew, but he had always been punctual. With a groan you sank into the cushioned bench and stared out of the tall, pointed windows.

Minas Tirith had changed since you were last in the city as a girl. Gone was the heavy atmosphere, the distant encroaching darkness on the horizon, The Dead Tree, its gnarled branches cold and bare, the darkened halls, haunted by Denethor’s bitterness.

The city had thrived under the new king’s rule and the new steward’s management. The white stone glowed in the sunlight, vines grew across walls and flowers blossomed in window boxes, there was chatter in the streets and laughter in the halls.

It was no mystery then, why Faramir wrote to invite you back into the city, now renewed and reborn. No, the mystery was why he wrote to you at all.

You had only known him for a year, more than ten years ago. Just two young teenagers, bickering with each other over readings while the tutor tried to calm the both of you. He had been a scrawny thing then, growing taller, but not broader. Not quite a man, like his brother was growing into, not quite a boy, like the other children in the Citadel. His hair too, had been at an awkward length, shaggy around his ears, falling about his forehead and into his grey eyes.

But while Boromir might have been the bolder of the two back then, when it came to academics, Faramir was just as eager. He had been relentless in his pursuit of knowledge, hounding the tutors and dogging the librarians, and, more than once, your spirited debates with him had drawn a small crowd of curious onlookers in the Citadel. There was even a time where you had to race him to the library to get your hands on some coveted book before he did.

But perhaps, the most infuriating thing about him was his kindness.

How he would smile softly after an intellectual argument, as though consoling you, if you had lost, or congratulating you, if you had won. How he would share his notes with you if you had missed lessons, or gift you with chocolate in return for a peek at your own writings. How he would walk you back to your rooms after classes, showing you shortcuts and asking about your day.

How he had offered you his handkerchief and wiped your tears away the night before you left the city with your uncle.

Your heart clenched and you blinked yourself back into the sitting room.

There were voices in the corridor now, and hurried footsteps. You stood and straightened yourself, smoothing the creases in your dress and schooling your features into something neutral.

The door swung open and a man walked in.

He was tall and broad with the build of an archer, with steady legs and strong arms. His light brown hair fell in gentle waves to his shoulder, and his beard was short and well-trimmed. You took in his sharp jaw, his pink lips, his face, handsome, noble, familiar somehow.

His grey eyes sparkled in the late afternoon light and a jolt shot through you.

Faramir.

You stared at him and his barely-there smile grew.

“You’re late,” you blurted.

His eyes widened in shock before he shook his head and chuckled. “And I was told you arrived early.” His voice was low and rich, inviting and warm.

Faramir. This man was Faramir. Solid, handsome, real.

“You have my apologies,” he continued. “There was a meeting that ran over. I did not intend for you to wait so long for me.”

“It’s no matter, I was just admiring the city. A lot has changed.” You turned away from him, scolding your racing heart and chastising your rapidly flushing cheeks. You sucked in a breath and straightened your spine. It was just Faramir.

He came to join you by the window and you kept your eyes fixed on the plains beyond the buildings. “Your letter surprised me,” you said. “I hardly thought I ever crossed your mind.”

A laugh escaped from him, short and sharp. “You’re still the same.”

Your head snapped towards him and you narrowed your eyes. His easy, unfazed demeanour rankled something in you. “It is quite a slight, being told one hasn’t changed in so many years.”

Did he still see you as that awkward, graceless girl? Someone who had not filled out her dresses yet, who made ill-timed comments in conversations, who battled with her skin, her hair, her sharpening mind and her rapidly fading childhood.

He blinked at you, jaw agape. “I did not mean… I simply meant…” He laughed again and gave you a rueful smile. “Forgive me. What I should have said, I suppose, is that I am glad to see you again.”

That strange, foolish feeling was rising in you, like you were fourteen again and you had said the wrong thing at the dinner table. You fought the urge to cross your arms and you nodded slowly. “I am glad to… to be back. Thank you for your generous invitation.”

The words felt strange in your mouth. So formal and distant. Polite. You gestured woodenly at the view. “My uncle would have been pleased at how well the country is doing.”

“I am sorry to hear about your uncle.”

“It has been a few years now.” You hazarded a look at him. His eyes had melted into something soft. You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I am sorry about your father and,” your breath hitched, “and Boromir.”

“Yes,” he said, voice low. “It has been quiet in the Steward’s House of late.”

Your chest constricted and you wanted to reach out, to lay a hand on his arm, to say, I too have been left alone by all who loved me.

He cleared his throat and nodded at the door. “Has anyone shown you to your rooms yet? I thought that the one on the second floor, that faces east, would be best. But if you’d prefer your old room, I’m certain we can —”

“No.” You swallowed and flashed him a smile, burying the discomfiting feeling. “I mean… No, thank you. I’m sure what you have prepared will be suitable.”

A bell tower somewhere chimed the hour and he grimaced. “I’m sorry but I have another meeting, the last of the day, in a few minutes. Would you be happy to join me for dinner? It would not be anything formal. We could even dine outside, if the fine weather holds. There is so much I wish to discuss with you.”

It was jarring to hear those words coming from Faramir’s lips. Invitations to dinner were something said between two adults, not adolescents.

But you were no longer fourteen, and Faramir was a man now. A friend.

A stranger.

“Yes, dinner outside would be lovely,” you said. “I look forward to it.”

He broke out into a wide smile. “I shall send someone to show you to your rooms, and please, if there is anything you should require, just ask.”

“Of course, thank you.”

He reached out and took your hand, large fingers enveloping your own, and gave it a light squeeze. “I shall see you in a few hours.”

He withdrew with a smile and closed the door behind him.

You stared at your hand for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks, before scowling and scrubbing it against your dress.

The evening breeze swept through the open doors and the candles on the table flickered. The temperature had dropped with the sunset, and in the end Faramir had settled for dining in one of the rooms that opened up to a courtyard. Trees rustled and crickets chirped and music from another part of the Citadel drifted over the walls. The warmth from the lit fire licked at his back and he belatedly wondered if he should have offered you the warmer seat instead.

Faramir caught his eyes wandering from some vague spot behind you to your face again. You were focused on the last bit of roasted meat on your plate, cutting it into dainty pieces before lifting it to your lips. He let his eyes trail over your hair, braided and pinned, to the softness of your cheek, the angle of your jaw.

When he had seen you that afternoon he could scarcely believe his eyes. He did not expect you to stay the same, of course, and yet… the sight of you, grown, beautiful and striking, made his pulse jump.

Where was the girl he had known? Who had picked up her skirts and clambered up walls with him, whose quick wit had both frustrated and delighted him? Was she gone, suppressed by etiquette lessons and laced up gowns, washed away by time and tempered by misfortune?

But then you had opened your mouth and bluntly stated his tardiness and he couldn’t help but laugh. No, your spirit was still unchanged, your fire still undimmed.

You looked up and his eyes skittered away. His palms grew clammy and he exhaled. Valar, he was acting like a silly boy, sneaking looks at you across the table, filling his mouth with food instead of conversation.

“What is the matter, Faramir?”

“Nothing.” He smiled.

You had an inquisitive look on your face, half-curious, half-challenging. The same sort of expression you used to wear before launching into an argument. “You were looking at me.”

Heat started to creep up his neck and he dropped his eyes back to his nearly empty plate. “I was just thinking.”

He heard your intake of breath and he prepared himself for an onslaught of words, ready for the cajoling comments and prodding persuasions that you always used to coax him to speak.

Instead, he heard the clatter of cutlery and he looked up to find you arranging your fork and knife at the side of your plate. You glanced towards the open door and, something in that small action, so intensely familiar, made the words tumble from his lips.

“Would you like to go on a walk?”

“I…” Your astonished look morphed into one of suspicion. “How did you know?”

“You used to walk after meals, if I remember correctly.”

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

He noticed. Of course, he noticed. Boromir had once pulled him aside, warning him that if he did not get his looks and glances under control, their father might start getting ideas for future marriage matches. He had wondered if your uncle had realised this and that was why he had whisked you off to the family estate back in North Lebennin when autumn arrived once more.

In truth, Faramir never found out the reason; he was never told, and he never asked.

He grinned and stood. A walk would be good. Dinner had been pleasant, with the usual, banal questions asked and answered. Proper and polite. A far cry from shared smirks and ceaseless chatter you once shared with him. Perhaps some movement would ease the atmosphere. “Shall we walk? Is there any place you would like to see first?”

You paused for a moment, biting your lower lip, before a sly smile crept onto your face. “The old lookout tower. The one that overlooked the Houses of Healing.”

“I do hope you won’t chase me up it. I do not think the excitement would agree with the food we just ate.”

“I won’t.” You looked out at the courtyard then back at him, eyes now dancing with mirth. “Are you becoming old and decrepit?”

“More like sensible and wise.” He walked over to the hooks by the door and reached for the two cloaks that hung there. “Here, you are welcome to borrow one of mine. It is cold out.”

He offered you the thicker one and watched as you ran your fingers over the soft wool before throwing it around your shoulders. It fell past your feet, pooling on the floor, and the sight of you swathed in his cloak stirred something in him.

He led you out into the courtyard and then onto the open ramparts. Hundreds of little lights flickered in the city below. It was quiet, save for the distant bustle of the kitchens and the rustle of the guards shifting on their feet. The wind carried your perfume to him and he inhaled the sweet scent of lilies.

“I have always wondered,” he said, “why you left Minas Tirith.”

“My uncle was worried about me growing up in court. I think he wanted to avoid any pressure that might have befallen me. Marriage offers and gossip and the kind.” You looked away, towards the plains. “I was sorry to leave, but I am glad that I had gone.”

His heart dropped. Had he been selfish? Writing to you and asking you to visit the city when you were clearly happy out in the country? Had you not thought of him once in all the years? He swallowed. “Does it bring you pain to be here?”

“No, not at all.” You shook your head and laughed, and his shoulders relaxed. “I simply meant that I think he made the right decision. It might have been a little boring, but I grew up unrestrained.”

“I do hope you will enjoy the excitement of the city.”

“The change of scenery is refreshing. And I will confess that a break from my responsibilities back home is welcome.”

He noticed then, the shadows under your eyes, the weary tinge in your smiles.

Yes, the both of you were no longer children.

The old, crumbling tower neared and your steps quickened. You paused at the base of the steps, throwing a mischievous look over your shoulder, before vanishing up the stairs. He chuckled and hurried after you, taking the steps two at a time. “You said you would not race me!”

“I said I would not chase you up it!”

He caught sight of the edge of his cloak and the flash of deep purple silk underneath it as he rounded the corner. “So you’ll have me chase you instead?”

Your laugh echoed in the narrow stairwell. “I have no doubt that you’ll catch up. You were always the faster one.”

“And you always the cheater.”

“It is called levelling the playing field.”

The gap between you and him rapidly narrowed, and as the both of you emerged at the top, his hand closed around your shoulder before he could stop himself. You turned, flushed and giggling, eyes alight. Laughter rose in his chest and he chuckled, breathless and buoyant. “You’ll get me into trouble. Like before.”

“Faramir, you are the steward. There is no one to get in trouble with.” You grinned at him before striding towards the merlons. “In any case, I have no plans to lob mushy apples from here so you need not worry about disgruntled guards and unfortunate citizens.”

“I always have to worry about disgruntled guards and unfortunate citizens. It is no easy feat, running a city like Minas Tirith.”

“I can imagine.” Your voice was soft, sympathetic.

He strolled towards you, and you glanced behind at him, shadows from the flickering torches dancing across your face. Your eyes were intense, searching. Valar, he could never stand to hold your gaze when it was like this. It was as though you saw through him.

“Faramir, why did you ask me here?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling boyish and clumsy. “I was… clearing some of the rooms in the Steward’s House when I chanced upon our old classroom. I found one of your old essays.”

“A beastly thing, I’m sure.”

He slowed to a stop beside you, close enough that your cloak fluttered against his legs when the wind blew. “It was rather good, actually. I’m certain you would have made a valuable advisor if you had stayed in court.”

“Well,” you scoffed. “I do not think the court missed us much when my uncle and I left.”

“Boromir and I did.”

“You did not write.”

“I was not certain I was allowed to. Father refused to tell me anything, and then there were other matters. Training, classes, scouting missions.”

He felt a pang in his chest. In truth, he had thought of you over the years, but there were always things to attend to. His father’s growing resentment, his strange prophetic dreams, city matters and trade routes.

The War.

It had been a sleepless night when he had wandered the empty halls, opening old doors and peering into neglected rooms, when he stumbled upon the old classroom. It was still and dusty, books stacked by the window and sheets of paper on one of the tables, abandoned as though someone intended to come back, but never did.

He had been hit with an intense loneliness, a hollowness, an aching.

When he had seen your familiar scrawl on the sheets of paper, along with an unflattering sketch of the tutor, the memory of your playful smile flashed into his mind. And then there was a comforting warmth in his chest, and then for the first time in weeks, he had laughed.

“Faramir,” you said, and he shook himself out of his thoughts. “I am sorry I did not write either.”

“It is no matter.” A smile tugged at his lips. “We are here now.”

“Faramir, if you wobble the ladder I will drop these books on your head.” You gripped the polished wood with one hand and clutched a stack of books to your chest with the other.

“If memory serves, you were the one who had a habit of rattling stools and ladders.”

You glared down at him, scoffing at the grin on his face. He was leaning against the shelf with his arms across his chest, relaxed and languid. That night on the tower had shattered the stiffness between the both of you, and the last week and a half had been filled with nostalgic adventures.

Between his duties, Faramir had shown you the changes in the Citadel, walked with you to the markets and shops, even challenged you to a slingshot contest which he won. There had been dinners on balconies, and picnic lunches in gardens, and midnight snacks in derelict towers.

He had told you about his experience in the war. His heartbreak at finding Boromir’s cloven horn, the near-fatal Osgiliath charge, recovering in the Houses of Healing. And you told him how you had to manage the family estate, the scramble to build temporary houses for the refugees, how many of them chose to settle and work the land instead of returning to the ruins of their villages.

He had smiled at you in that soft way you knew, had given you the unbroken strip of apple skin he peeled, had discussed new theories and topics with you by the light of the fire.

“Are you coming down?” Faramir smirked at you. “Or are you going to add to that dangerously heavy pile in your hands?”

You shook your head and started down the ladder, feeling the rungs with your feet.

The library was empty, the librarian having gone home for the day. Light rain pattered on the windows and a fire crackled somewhere in the room. The library, of all places, had remained the most unchanged. There was something comforting in that, in the musky smells of books and paper, of the plush chairs and rickety stools.

As you neared the bottom, your foot slipped, misjudging the distance to the floor, and you stumbled. Instead of hard stone, you were met with a firm chest at your back and a hand on your waist.

Had Faramir always been this warm and big?

“Are you alright?”

You felt the rumble of his chest, his breath by your ear.

His hand, large, heavy, burned through the thin silk of your dress.

“Yes, thank you.” You stepped out of his touch and fumbled with the books in your arms, rearranging them into a neat stack. Valar, what has gotten into you? It was just Faramir. You shoved the books into his arms and turned away. “Next time you can go up on the ladder.”

“I think I would flatten you if I fell.”

“I’ll be sure to step out of the way.” You forced a laugh and wandered down the aisle. You heard him follow after you, his steps slow and steady.

How could such a simple thing affect you so? It was not as though you were so wholly inexperienced; there had been one or two sweethearts in the past, though most of them were short lived.

Had there been anyone for Faramir? Some pretty thing with a perfect education who could recite poetry and embroider and dance?

Your stomach churned and the twisting feeling in your heart squeezed the traitorous words up your throat. “You know, I am surprised you have not found a partner yet. I would think that the offers must be pouring in.”

“Why would you think such a thing?” He was closer now, just behind you, and you could hear the dismay in his voice.

“The maids, they love to gossip.” You laughed, but it sounded hollow to your ears. “I spoke to a couple of them when I went down to the kitchens two nights ago.”

He fell in step with you and you glanced at him. There was a small smile on his lips but his eyes looked clouded. “There have been offers, yes, but I have declined them all.”

“Unable to find a suitable one?” You arched an eyebrow at him.

“It is not a question of suitability. There is no need for me to choose a partner for their station or standing. Such things never mattered to me, even more so since my family’s passing. I would much rather have someone’s genuine love and affection.”

Of course he would say something of that sort. You smiled to yourself, heart warming at his words. They would be lucky, whoever he loved.

The rain fell harder against the glass and thunder rumbled. You glanced at the window, a memory coalescing in your mind. “Is the little alcove still here? The one behind the curtain?

Faramir grinned and inclined his head towards the back of the library. “I believe so, though it has been some years since I have sat in it.”

He led you to the back of the library where a narrow velvet curtain hung in the corner. He drew the fabric back to reveal a cosy space with a wooden bench built into the wall by the window. The lantern that hung from the low ceiling was dusty and unlit.

You padded over to the bench, bending and inspecting the corners. “It is still here,” you breathed, tracing the two sets of initials carved into the wood. “I cannot believe it.”

He leaned over you, so close that you could inhale his scent. Sandalwood and something, paper perhaps, or mild soap. “So it is.”

You looked up and Faramir’s face was mere centimetres away. Were there always so many yellow flecks in his grey eyes? And his lips… did they always look so soft and inviting?

All you would have to do would be tilt your head, and your lips would connect…

You stepped back and waved stiffly at the lantern. “Shall we light this? We could read here. If you’d like.”

He glanced at the narrow bench. There would be no doubt that the both of you would have to be pressed up in some way to fit.

“If you would like. I think there are might be some oil on the librarian’s desk, and a lit candle, I could —”

“I’ll go.”

You turned around and marched away, pressing your hands to your hot cheeks when you were safely hidden by the shelves. You took a breath. It was just Faramir. You would find the oil and the candles and sit and read with him, and think nothing of lips or kissing or how solid he had felt behind you.

Faramir was in a hell of his own making. Truly, it had been all his fault. For the first time, he cursed his gentle nature. If he had chosen not to speak and steered you away from the instrument shop…

How could he have forgotten that he was not the only friend you had made in your youth?

Elphir, the boy, no, the man who made lutes and drums had been one of them as well. And how could Faramir have denied you when you had lit up at the sight of the old shop and nearly tripped over your feet rushing to the door? And when you had asked if Elphir could come to the Citadel in the evenings to teach you how to play, he could not find it in himself to refuse you, even as discomfort settled deep in his stomach.

In some fantastical lapse of judgement, or perhaps in some foolish notion to watch over you, he had offered the sheltered courtyard below his sitting room to you and Elphir, and now music drifted into the room. Teasing, taunting, tormenting in the way it would mingle with your laughs.

He strode over to the window and slammed it shut.

For five evenings now, you had rushed off after dinner to Elphir, returning to your rooms after your lesson without seeing him. The pot of tea you usually shared with him in the evenings sat unfinished and cold on the table each night. Faramir sagged against the stone pillar and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. If Boromir was alive, he would call Faramir a fool and insist that he go over and chase the man away. But what right did he have?

He was not your lover or your partner, and even if he was, it would be unreasonable to get upset over you spending time with another, especially for something as innocent as music lessons. Faramir was your friend and…

He was your friend.

His breath hitched as the thought rippled through his body. Somewhere in the past three weeks he had forgotten that.

When he had written to you, inviting you to the city, he had only planned to reconnect with an old friend. Someone who got along with him, who understood what his family had been like, who was not a soldier or a subordinate.

He did not intend to be run away with his feelings.

He had grown used to you in the Steward’s House. Your shawl was draped over a chair, the table was always laid for two, you wished him goodnight in the evening before you retired. He had even considered clearing the set of rooms next to his own for you so that you did not have to walk through two corridors just to visit him.

But alas, you were not his.

“Faramir!” You burst into the room with a wide smile on your face and he startled. You slowed your steps, tilting your head and lowered the arm that held your lute aloft. “Is something the matter?”

He shook his head and tried to smile. “I was just deep in thought. How was your lesson?”

“There is something I want to show you.” You wandered over to the cushioned seats by the fire. “Will you sit?”

He nodded and sat in the lone arm chair instead of sharing the bench with you. Your brows creased for a moment before you shook your head and positioned your hands on the lute.

A haunting melody began to fill the room. It was simple, no more than five or six notes that changed subtly every few bars. It tugged at something in his mind, a dream perhaps, or a memory.

A woman humming, a gentle hand on his cheek, the comforting scent of beeswax.

“My mother,” he whispered, frozen where he sat. “She used to sing this to Boromir and me. To get us to sleep.”

Your playing petered out and you looked up at him. “You used to hum it when we were younger, when you thought no one could hear.” You laid your lute to the side. “Elphir taught me the basics of playing. I taught myself the song. In the night, after my classes.”

He felt the corners of his eyes start to burn and he glanced away. How could he not love you now?

“I am sorry, if I shouldn’t have —”

“Please do not apologise. I…” He shook his head and dabbed at his eyes. “ She would be happy to hear these rooms filled with her music once more.”

You came over to him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, your thumb soothing the tension in his muscles with its idle strokes. His eyes focused and unfocused on the decorative ribbons on the bodice of your dress. The crackle of the fire and the rhythmic sound of breathing filled the space between your bodies. He felt your hand drift towards the side of his neck, your thumb just grazing the edge of his jaw, and he slowly, slowly looked up at you.

Your eyes were soft and half-lidded, your lips slightly parted.

He did not dare move, did not dare breathe.

“Faramir.” He shivered at the sigh in your voice. “I—”

A knock sounded on the door and you jerked away from him. Cold air replaced where your heated hand had been.

A muffled voice came through the door. “I have your tea, sir.”

“The tea,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “Would you like to…”

“It has been a long day,” you said, snatching up your lute and striding to the door. “I… Goodnight.”

You flung the door open and he heard the startled squeak of the maid followed by the rapid patter of your footsteps.

You slammed your room door shut behind you and leaned against it. Your breaths came short and quick, chest heaving and skin searing.

What had you almost done? What words were going to spill from your traitorous lips?

It was just Faramir.

Just… a friend.

You shook your head and slumped to the floor. There was nothing decidedly friendly about what had just passed between the both of you. And… and what? What could possibly happen between you and him? You had an estate waiting for you in Lebennin, there were people who needed your instruction and leadership. And Faramir was the Steward of Gondor; the people needed him as well.

Your trip to Minas Tirith was supposed to be nothing more than a visit to an old friend. You had forgotten yourself. For so many years you had run the estate on your own, had resigned yourself to quiet meals in the day and lonely nights in the study. There was no time, no place, to entertain such ridiculous notions like love.

And yet…

You stared at your hands, hands that had held him for just a moment, had felt the coarseness of his beard and the beat of his heart.

Want burned in you.

Want for his lips, his hands. For his gentle smile, for his joyous laughter. For a permanent seat at the table, for space on his shelves for your books.

Faramir stared at the tea tray on the table. Two cups, two saucers. A full pot of tea.

He stroked the side of his jaw, his own fingers feeling indelicate compared to your touch. There was no mistaking the look in your eyes, desire mixed with tenderness. Perhaps it was not so ridiculous to think that you might return at least a fraction of what he felt for you.

His stomach swooped and a strangled laugh burst from him.

But was it just a flash of fancy, borne from the moment? A reckless action in the dim of the night?

Were you going to slip from him, retreat back into your shell of polite distance? He would not be able to bear it, to hear your stilted words, to have you shrink away from his casual touches. To have you vanish again, taking your laughter and your light away with you.

Should he go to you? Would that be impertinent? But he had lost you once before with his inaction, and only a fool would not learn from their mistakes.

You tugged the borrowed cloak on your shoulders closer around you. It smelled like Faramir, like sandalwood and that evasive something, ink perhaps. Mist had descended on the Citadel and drifted across the parapets like sheer curtains. Your steps were soft on the stone and you wandered from torch to torch, veering closer for warmth, roaming further for the cover of shadow. The guards paid you little attention, and the stars overhead twinkled unbothered.

Twice you had tried to walk to Faramir’s room, twice you had turned on your heel and fled back to your rooms. In the end, your room had become stifling and you rushed out into the open air.

Your blood had cooled and, now in the starkness of the open night, you felt foolish.

You paused by the old watchtower, leaning on the cold stone and staring down at the Houses of Healing. You would apologise when you saw him next, and then perhaps it was time to return to the family estate…

Muffled footsteps approached and you turned.

Faramir emerged from the mist, still in his day clothes, his hair mussed and his eyes tired.

“Faramir,” you whispered, arms falling to your sides. You opened your mouth to speak, but your rehearsed speech refused to leave your lips.

He came to a stop in front of you, a disarming smile on his face. “Somehow, I am not surprised to find you here.”

“Were you looking for me?”

He nodded, and amusement coloured his smile. “I suppose, in a way, I have always been looking for you.”

“Is there something you wanted from me?”

His twinkling eyes grew serious. “I wished to speak to you.”

You turned away, suddenly unsure, but his hand reached for yours. His thumb caressed your knuckles and you lifted your eyes to him. “What about?”

“I think you already know.”

You swallowed and tried to speak, but the words stayed lodged in your throat, and your eyes fell to your joined hands.

“I have never been good at disguising my feelings,” he said, voice soft and low. “I am sure you must be aware…”

Aware? Aware of what? His feelings? That he only viewed you as a friend, and that perhaps you had taken advantage of his kindness, mistaken it for affection and…

His fingers skimmed your chin, gently urging it up. His grey eyes were alight, burning almost, with an open passion so rarely seen in him. You scarcely dared to look away. Your heart pounded in your ears.

“Perhaps I have always loved you, even before I realised what that word meant. I was too young, too naive.” He cupped your cheek and you leaned into his touch. “But we are older now. And I can say for certain that I… I —”

You surged forward and pressed your lips to his. They were pillowy and soft and carried a trace of bitterness from the tea. He deepened the kiss, pulling you flush against him. You laid a hand on his chest, fingers splaying across his heart. He sighed into your lips, his exhale hot on your skin. You felt him grin and you nudged his nose with yours.

“I think,” you muttered, “I have wanted to do that for a long time now.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You are welcome to do it any time you wish.”

“Faramir, why me? And after so many years since we last saw each other.”

“Can such a thing truly be explained?” He hummed to himself. “I suppose the simplest answer I can give is that you bring me joy. And perhaps also, I think we make good partners. We have always made good partners.”

You sobered at his words. “Faramir, we are not children anymore. My estate… I cannot leave it unmanaged. And I have neglected my duties already these past weeks.”

“We will find a way,” he assured. “It is only a full day’s ride from Minas Tirith, is it not?”

“Less, if one has a good horse.”

“Less, I think, if you had the reins.” He chuckled. “We are not children anymore, yes, but that only means that we can truly do as we wish. As we choose.”

You mulled over his words. “And you would choose to have a busy bride, to have to make trips out to the country with her?”

“I choose to have you.” He stroked your cheek. “And you, my love? What would you choose?”

“I choose, I think,” you said with a smile, “to remain where I have always belonged.”

“In Minas Tirith?”

“With you.”

He grinned and wrapped his arms around you. He laughed into your hair and you tucked your nose into his neck. You inhaled his scent, thinking of the unknown, familiar note in it that always eluded you. Thinking of how it smelled like rain and books, of apple peels and bitter tea.

Thinking of how, perhaps, it smelled like home.

---

If you made it this far, holy shit thank you for reading.

I characterised Faramir a little bit differently here. I think I have a tendency to conflate kindness with passivity when it comes to him, but I think he can be pretty intense if he wanted to be.

And also, I feel like this entire piece is tinged with the bittersweetness of growing up, but I hope that it veered more sweet than bitter. To you young'uns out there, truly, I promise you, it is not terrible to grow up ❤️

Taglist: @sotwk

#faramir x reader #faramir x you #faramir x y/n #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #faramir

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fulcrum-art-fox · 3 months

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Rewatching the last episode and going insane over just how tunnel vision Mizu is like. She’s in the middle of leading Akemi out of the city but the moment Fowler shows up, like the moment his banner is visible on the horizon, she’s just gone. Not immediately, physically, but like, mentally. She’s like a cat that’s seen a mouse, or a hound on a scent. Her whole attention has been snatched away, and it’s not long before she’s like “sorry Akemi here’s directions I gotta go” like. The thing Mizu has had all season and the relationship between being on the path of revenge and not wanting people close, Taigen can growl all he likes about “Mizu doesn’t care about anyone but himself and his revenge” cos it’s not that Mizu doesn’t care, Mizu does care quite a lot, about Ringo and Akemi and Taigen and even Madame Kaji and her girls, but her top priority and focus has always been the revenge, and she has never been subtle about this at any point ever

#it’s kinda funny how everyone’s still surprised by this lol #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai spoilers #I do wonder how they’ll continue to explore this dynamic between the revenge and people relying on you

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head-in-the-shrouds · 5 months

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366 Prompts For 2024:

One word prompts for 2024 (all 12 months) and some alternatives. These are mostly horror / fantasy aimed.

January (31):

Behold

Justice

Oak

Weave

Hook

Waggon

Torch

Jinx

Prey

Must

Lit

Keep

Vanquish

Yarrow

Intended

Tomb

Marsh

Leather

Blanket

Kin

Lordling

Promises

Heath

Rot

West

Under

Sworn

Rusted

Transformation

Quest

Pond

February (29):

Midwinter

Oath

Croak

Blush

Nimble

Malady

Deal

Roots

Willow

Orders

Moss

Lantern

Portent

Lovelock

Mourning

Horned

Keys

Earn

Remedy

Bog

Yearning

Lace

Trunk

Coiled

Linger

Soothsayer

Revenge

Oleander

Revered

March (31):

Metal

Pride

Gunpowder

Inheritance

Master

Brandish

Enchanted

Path

Sacrifice

Tailor

Crypt

Remain

Toad

Understanding

Legacy

Archway

Mirror

Omen

Home

Fur

Dust

Bow

Necklace

Sly

Permanent

Grin

Aim

Nest

Hex

Church

Valour

April (30):

Masonry

Inquiry

Ledge

Years

Hospitality

Clay

Priestess

Sunken

Lavender

Trust

Waters

Guilt

Dusk

Protection

Musket

Castle

Flee

Ancient

Value

Charm

Fever

Penance

Silk

Foxhole

Ornament

Tradition

Meld

Hare

Well

Pest

May (31):

Moonrise

Sea

Wander

Absolution

Bark

Ridge

Crackle

Sacred

Bind

Frozen

Thatch

Naming

Elder

Wealth

Dappled

Reading

Father

Cathedral

Tent

Grey

Payment

Enshrine

Tales

Velvet

Cell

Guide

Dawn

Mines

Riddle

Falling

Clock

June (30):

Vixen

Stolen

Worth

Tar

Alchemy

Fickle

Barrell

Harrow

Pyre

Chest

Worship

Steps

Armoury

Tear

Den

Ladder

Ruins

Bargain

Snake-leaves

Corn-doll

Garnet

Eccentric

Telescope

Antler

Stone

Break

Laden

Tower

Chain

Rook

July (31):

Masquerade

Pines

Mother

Herbs

Limb

Prize

Rescue

Scales

Melody

Shore

Tempest

Appease

Queen

Hermit

Separated

Bear

Righteous

Chimney

Storm

Manipulate

Boots

Apple

Rings

Crafted

Trail

Bleak

Dear-heart

Sanctify

Feast

Gathering

Door

August (31):

Luck

Display

Greed

Autumn

Found

Wildfire

Sleep

Grandfather

Watch

Hidden

Lookalike

Whimsey

Thicket

Runes

Horseshoe

Smoke

Awaken

Gargoyle

Wig

Poison

Thousand-fur

Shatter

Barrow

Tempt

Flag

Mercy

Web

Beast

Candle

Hunt

Serpent

September (30):

Belladonna

Magician

Birch

Reflection

Sight

Elaborate

Captive

Rope

Glass

Decades

Blade

Sorrow

Finickity

Carving

Stag

Fairy-tale

Spark

Blackthorn

Mountain

Century

Fury

Question

Claws

Fangs

Decay

Gift

Shipwreck

Blessed

Harvest

Crown

October (31):

Troll

Vines

Scattered

Prayer

Hatchet

Coat

Fireside

Grim

Sealed

Walled

Healing

Cobbled

Secure

Forest

Blind

Constellation

Shroud

Regal

Helm

Shadowed

Ward

Sinking

Hills

Goldsmith

Silver

Entwining

Soldier

Courtship

Guest

Defy

Crone

November (30):

Bones

Fear

Talisman

Song

Witness

Cloak

Plague

Hearth

Returned

Testament

Ceremonial

Yearning

Written

Silhouette

Gilded

Boundary

Hunger

Stranger

Fiend

Dungeon

Huntsman

Want

Birdsong

Wish

Hierophant

Favour

Dreaming

Coal

Brother

Fields

December (31):

Bottles

Curse

Horizon

Supplies

Wallowing

Hodge-podge

Thorns

Wisdom

Trinket

Warmth

Timber

Honest

Ritual

Welcome

Branches

Disguise

Bound

Gallows

Shield

Window

Finality

Tinder

Starlight

Winds

Bridge

Fortune

Tracks

River

Guardian

Summon

Warmth

Alternative Prompts:

Cunning

Puppet

Hound

Brambles

Eldritch

Garden

Eldritch

Cosmic

Bells

Tainted

Sleigh

Sect

Glowing

Coven

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redbleedingrose · 11 months

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Wake Up Call

Girl Dad!Eris x Reader

A/N: 6.2K words later?? I missed Girl Dad!Er and my babes Marwa and Twila! I hope y’all enjoy! As always, please reblog, comment, and like! It means the literal world to me and I will smooch you! (if u want)

~ a special thank you to @augustinerose who inspired me, and pushed me to continue to write, even when I didn’t think I could.

Warmth. It was all I felt. It was all I wanted to feel. I shuffled my body closer to the only source of warmth in the large emerald stained oak bed, wriggling my hips backwards and using the corded bicep that was resting under my head to cuddle further into the sleeping male behind me, the high lord of Autumn Court, my husband and mate. A puff of breath escaped his lips, too sleep-idled to fully be aware of my nestling into him, but sensing through the bond that had been present for multiple centuries now, one that had grown stronger and firmer with every moment we spent together, that his mate was near, but not nearly close enough. Eris shifted his body towards me, groaning as he lifted himself from his back and onto his side, throwing his free arm around my waist and squeezing the soft flesh as he closed the gap between us, yanking my body in one tug to be fully against his, before settling his face into the crook of my neck.

He pressed a soft kiss just behind my ear, humming in contentment before, apparently, falling back into a deep sleep as quickly as he had woken up, his soft snores fading into the fall breeze that was entering our room from the open balcony doors. The sun had barely risen, just peaking above the horizon, the milky orange and peach from the rays blending into the background of the giant sequoia forest that was married with the colored leaves of the sycamore maples and the weeping willows that I so very much loved. Sighing slowly, I dropped a delicate kiss onto a knife thin yet deep scar that marked the cream toned arm that had been acting as my favorite pillow since we had accepted the mating bond. I watched, barely awake, as the sun rose in the quiet peace of the morning, reveling in the end of the cries of the crickets and the start of the singing of honeyed songs by the diamond spotted doves.

I lived for these moments where I had alone time with Eris, as did he, his arm tightening around my waist as the song of the morning became louder and the chill of breeze became stronger, marking the start of a new day. The moments before we became high lady and high lord to our vast and expanding land. The moments before the Autumn Court depended on our daily activities to keep the territory in harmony and fruitful success. The moments before our perfect, mischievous little babes sneak into our room with their “guard” dog, who was really just a runt from a killer hound litter that Marwa and Twila convinced their papa, the usually unshakeable high lord, to buy from the farmers market with their tiny pouts and big brown eyes, in tow, just to jump onto our bed and scream with delight until we would wake and bless them with our coziest of hugs and our sunup smooches.

Honestly, I was quite surprised the babes hadn’t run in yet, the pitter patter of their feet running towards our room that correlated with the sunrise is usually what sent my eyes flying open, shoving a warm and cuddly Eris off of me, scrambling to pull on any clothing that the newly grumpy male had hastily pulled off the previous night before we scar our innocent children for life. An observation that apparently hadn’t gone unnoticed, a groggy murmur emmenanting from the lordling whose hand was now roaming the expanse of my abdomen and breasts, a stray finger sliding over my nipple, “What trouble do you think the babes are getting up to right now, my beloved?”

I caught his exploring hand with my own, twining our tattooed fingers together before bringing it up to my lips and pressing firm kisses that were followed with a tiny bite to each of the available pads of his fingers, humming in response, “I haven’t the foggiest idea, husband.” He growled, shoving his naked leg between my thighs, sighing out as I brought his pointer finger into my mouth for a soft suckle to soothe the sting of the bite I had gifted him with, running my tongue along the length of his digit.

A grin overtook my face as I finally turned to face Er, who was staring back at me with his own lust-filled smirk. A jolt of excitement ran through your core, the warmth that I had felt suddenly, rushing down to my barely covered sex that was starting to throb at the butterfly sensation that had erupted in my belly. My mate pulled me in for a slow kiss, meshing our lips together so that they would melt against each other as they had last night, quickly working in harder and faster pecks. I molded my entire body against his, grinding into the hard muscle as his hand slipped out of my embrace and up to caress my jaw, his thumb carefully pressing into the soft skin of my neck. Another thrill of heat tingeled its way through my entire body, starting from his thumb and spreading down all the way to the tip of my painted sage green toes. I couldn't help the desperate whine that escaped me, further encouraging Er to kiss me more firmly, with intent to continue into what would surely be rough morning sex that would blend into incredible love making as the hours passed.

Unfortunately, the gods had other plans for us two today.

The familiar sound of two pairs of small feet scampering through the hall towards our room had sent me thwarting off the edge of the bed, hurling Eris his pants as he chuckled at my panic. I shot him a dirty, betrayed look, rolling my eyes as I shoved on the silk slip I was wearing last night when I put the babes to bed, tossing myself back into Eris’ arms while pulling the heavy comforter back over us. The lordling grunted in surprise as he caught me when I tossed myself back into bed, pulling me back into his grasp, chortling into my disheveled hair with a planted kiss, “Ah, who would've known our babes would be such wonderful cockblocks, my beloved?”

I clenched my jaw, jabbing my elbow into his perfect abs, hissing at him to “Shut up.” If I was anyone else, if I wasn’t the love of his life and his mate, if I wasn’t the mother of his children, I would already be disintegrated into ash with the force of his magic. Another swift kiss was pressed into my hair by the high lord as the hickory double doors carved with intricate designs and stained with henna were barely pushed open by the two toddlers who tried peaking their heads through the opening.

A tuft of amber hair resembling her fathers along with another tuft of darker hair resembling her grandmother poked into the room through the doorway, curls inherited from their papa that are tangled and in disarray from the dreams of their pegasus’ in Day court, taken care of by their grandparents, mixed in with dreams of milk chocolate swirled with caramels and pecans that their uncle Lucien sneaked them constantly. Tiny grunts are heard as the babes struggle to manage keeping the doors open, their little, pudgy hands too strained against the heavy wood to even allow their shoulders to squirm against each other and through the pressed doorway, “Help pwease, papa.” The request comes grumbled out by Twila, who has decidedly put all her effort into keeping the door open for her and her sister, Marwa, whose back is now pressed into the grand oak, bare feet trying to climb up the emerald green wallpaper to use the force of her upper body to aid her twin, waiting rather impatiently for their papa to save the day, as he always does for them.

I lean back into Eris, chuckling at the effort of the babes, nudging his already moving body towards them. His reply comes swiftly, mingled with mirth at the sweet girls he loves more than the moon, more than the stars and the sun itself, “Coming, my little loves.” Centuries ago, he couldn’t have ever imagined this is what his lifetime would be blessed with. Two perfect babes who were happy and safe, and a perfect mate who warmed his heart more than the eternal fire of Autumn. Now, he wakes every morning to the scent of his high lady who seeks him out for the fire in his blood he once despised, followed by the sounds of his precious darlings sneaking into the room, jumping onto our bed, screaming with laughter to start our day.

He drew the door open slowly, allowing for Twila to release her efforts from holding the doors open and shift them into racing into the room towards the bed, leaving her sister behind who is hoisted into Eris’ embrace. I watched him press soft kisses into Marwa’s cheeks and messy hair while Twila fisted the fluffed out comforter to pull herself onto the bed. I settled myself into the padded headboard, crossing my legs at my ankles and placing my interlocked hands into my lap. A chuckle escaped me once again, Twila’s grunts and reddening face bringing me a sense of delight that can only be ascribed to the pride I felt in her never-ending effort, “Do you need help, little one?” I hummed down at her, leaning down to the side to see her bare feet off the floor and pressed into the side of the bed to steady her climbing.

She whined for a moment, her amber curls falling above her eyes which she swatted away, huffing out a, “No tanks you mama.” In all her struggles, she didn’t notice Er sneaking up from behind her, winking at me with a small smirk when he fisted her daffodil yellow nightgown and gave her the final tug she needed to climb onto the bed, letting go before she could realize how her papa has interfered, and ultimately helped her succeed with her mission. Twila panted against the crumpled bed sheets, her hands curling to fist the fabric for a moment before leaping up onto her feet, jumping on the bed as though the completion of her mission had revitalized her energy, big brown eyes sparkling with joy, leaping into my open arms to shove her face into my cheek, sloppily pressing a wet kiss before she cried out, “Look mama, I did it!”

My arms wrapped around her wriggling body, yanking her into my lap while she giggled and kicked at the feeling of my fingers poking into her sides, “You did it my sweet, good job!” I returned the sloppy kiss two-fold, pressing a smooch to her warm forehead and freckled nose. The mattress shifted as Eris sank in beside me, Marwa quietly pressed into his side, her head leaning on his chest, her heavy eyes watching her sister and I before taking a deep breath and clinging closer to her papa. I reached out my hand to run my fingers through the tired babes hair, giving a soft tug to one curl following it with peppered kisses all over the top of Marwa’s head. A sleepy smile tugged at her flushed cheeks, preening under her mamas attention and love, her half lidded eyes finally giving into the sleep she so clearly felt, sliding shut with puffs of breath escaping her open mouth, soothed by the strokes of Eris’ hands down her back and back through her hair.

Twila kindly babbled on, though, she did so more softly so she didn’t wake her twin, telling Eris and I of the things she planned on doing today, “I wanna eat nachos for breakfast, mama, an then I wanna go for a walk with Ruby,” the pup who had slid into the room with the babes and had nestled himself into the rug, dozing in front of the crackling fireplace, “An then I wanna eat nachos for lunch,” Eris cut in with a small laugh tumbling from his pretty lips, a single brow arched as he eyed the babe in my lap with amusement, “Nachos for breakfast and lunch Twi?”

She brought up her tiny palms to stifle giggles that escaped her like a little sprite at Er’s slightly concerned tone, nodding with a hum in affirmation, finding great pleasure in being a source of what could be called ‘a healthy stress’ for her papa. Twila was always the most mischievous and playful of the two, the one most likely being the mastermind for the adventures she took herself and her sister along in as the outgoing babe she is. Poor, sweet Marwa always found herself roped into whatever Twila had planned, following along with unbreakable loyalty, and a secret knack for getting the two out of any trouble they may have found themselves in.

Eris shot me a look that nearly sent me over the edge with cackles, the hilarity of Twila’s cravings were too adorable to handle, a feeling of delirious content spilled into my heart as I thought back to my pregnancy with the babes that were sat in our arms. I thought back to the countless nights I had woken up Eris, who startled awake with distress, thinking there was something wrong with me or the babes, or that there was some danger that needed to be eliminated, only to find that his high lady was craving cheesy, melty nachos with jalapenos and all sorts of other peppers as toppings. Pressing another kiss, this time into the babes chubby cheek, I let my smile widen as her big brown, sparkling eyes turned up to me, “How about we have scrambled eggs and potatoes, the ones that I make, and nachos for lunch, hmm?” Her replying smile lilted her ruddy cheeks enough for Eris to lean in and press his own kiss onto her.

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

It had been hours since the morning lull had quickened into the busy afternoon. Eris and I were immensely crammed with our duties, negotiations of forging an alliance between Night, Dawn, and Day was proving harder than expected. Demands that were being sent by all parties were being denied outright without explanation, driving tensions higher and higher with every passing day. The other problems of the court also required our utmost attention, the lords who remained from the rule of Beron were rebelling against Eris’ new laws that were set into place to protect the farmers and townspeople that were once oppressed, both financially and politically. Changes had to be made in Autumn once Eris took his place on the throne, assigning me as the first high lady of Autumn was the first step he made into bringing these changes. After years on the throne, things hadn’t gotten any easier. The only point of peace we got were the moments we had with each other, and the moments we had with our babes.

We hadn’t been able to see them since breakfast; Er and I had been pulled into different meetings while the babes were whisked away to their morning lessons. I glanced up, looking over Eris’ hair at the clock that had been hung on the wall behind his desk. The times after our meetings were spent decompressing within his office, either through fucking out our frustrations or reading together in a peaceful silence. Today, it had been reading together in a peaceful silence. It was nearly a quarter till the sixteenth hour, which was encroaching on what should be the babes naptime.

Their nanny, Zephyrus, should’ve put them to bed already, and it was high time to check and see how they were resting. Normally, Twila slept like a log, soft snores leaving her, similar to her papa in every way. It was Marwa who sometimes struggled with her sleep, waking up in the middle of naptime, coming to her papa’s office to be snuggled and sung back to sleep. Sighing, I pulled myself up from my seat on the tanned leather couch, lifting my feet from Eris’ lap, lightly smacking his shoulder at the groan he had let out as he threw back his head into the couch. I was ready to kiss the babes and give them a quick snuggle, however sexually frustrated my mate was. “Leaving so soon, gorgeous?”

I nearly tripped at the nickname, my heart stuttering for a moment as the bond between us pulled taught. I recovered rather quickly though, my heart returning into the deep yearning feeling for my babes and their warm bodies pressed against mine, clinging onto my hold and whining in their sleep for more soft kisses to their foreheads and cheeks, their mama’s attention something they craved even in their deepest of dreams. “I’ve been here for two hours Er, giving you my undivided attention,” I replied in a rather deadpan tone, the poor male could really never get enough of me, and he made that quite clear with another groan that slipped from his lips. I scoffed at the high lord of Autumn, “so fucking needy aren’t you?” sending him a smirk, swaying my hips as I turned toward the exit. I could hear him shuffle behind me, the image clear in my head that he was adjusting his hard on; another smirk tugged at my lips, one that was now hidden from my mate.

As I turned to shut the door, I brought my hand up to blow Eris a kiss, and he, wordlessly, caught it, his beautiful gods-forsaken eyes glinting back at me until the knob had clicked into place. The bond between us was now struggling against me with need, enticing me to run back into the office so Eris could have his way with me, but I was more focused on getting back to the babes. I strolled through the halls, tracing with my eyes, the giant archways and marbled columns that opened into the back forest and plains of the estate before looking to the ceiling. There is a haze of lychee and pear in the breeze that guides the hung roses and peonies that cover whole portions in rocking motions, the portions that sit free are painted with the histories of Prythian breaking into the seven courts that stand today. The inner gardens had fountains that spouted water that glittered like diamonds under the afternoon sun, dazzling rainbows sent in every direction, landing on the swaying leaves of the eldred willow trees that Eris had planted in victory after he had defeated Beron.

I reached their bedroom without haste, admiring the peach pink and lavender shade of the stained glass embedded into the entryway to the babes room, a lovely gift from Rhysand and Feyre when they were born. The rulers of the Night court had been delighted to hear that their own son, Nyx, would have not only one, but two playmates whenever we would find the time to visit their home in Valeris. Our alliance had never been stronger with the Night court, and that was something that both Eris and I had taken great pride in. I cracked the door open, peering into the dark room, only to find the two beds where the babes should be asleep, empty.

A jolt of panic shot through me and down the mating bond without meaning to, the answering tug from Eris, filled with concern and worry. I sucked a tense and heavy breath through my teeth, calming myself into believing I was just an overprotective mother hen. I sent back an ounce of reassurance down the bond, back to Er before hurrying down to the playroom. I convinced myself that it was entirely possible Twila woke early and insisted that Marwa join her for a game of pretending, pushing down the weightful sense of dread that began to fill me. The estate was impossibly protected with wards and spells that Eris himself, along with Lucien and Helion had cast, blocking off any chance of breach. My breath was too difficult to catch as I paced down the hall, a horrible voice croaking in my head, ‘Nothing is impossible, you fool. What if they were taken?”

Hot tears rimmed my eyes as I tore into the playroom. Empty.

Scattered toys were all over the floor, the table in the center still set with the tea cups that Marwa had gotten as a gift from Lucien, ready for the babes and their favorite uncle to join in on their ‘princess party.’ The sun shone in through the window, heating the room to the point where beads of sweat had formed at the top edge of my lip. The panic that I had shoved down reared its ugly head, spreading through me and in full force down the bond as I broke into a sprint towards their tiny classroom where they received their afternoon lessons. Maybe they had been kept by Draconus, the fae professor who, before, had taught Eris and all his brothers, and before them, Beron and his siblings, and so on. Marwa had always complained about the elderly male droning on for lengths beyond their lesson time.

The door banged against the wall with the force that I had used to slam it open.

Fucking Empty.

My hand came up to my chest, clenching at the feeling of my heart squeezing too tightly in my chest, like a noose had been tied around it and tugged. A wave of nausea and dizziness swept through me, sending me tumbling backward. I nearly fell over as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, turning me to face the person who had caught me, but I couldn’t see. My vision had blurred, blackening around the periphery as ugly, deep sobs ripped through the lump that had lodged into my throat and out of me. A set of warm hands cupped my cheeks, lifting my gaze to meet crazed amber eyes flickering back and forth with mine, “They are gone. Where are… Where are the… Where are my babes?” It comes out rather quietly, stuttered between short and incomplete gasps. Rather breathless. Almost whispered. As if I couldn’t find it within me to speak the horrid words any louder.

My knees gave out completely, any sensation in my legs ceased to exist, but Eris was there to lift me into his embrace, wrapping his arm around my legs and lifting me into a bridal style before resting me on the small desk that Marwa usually sat at. He didn’t wait for another moment, screaming out to his personal guards in the most chilling voice I had ever heard him use, “Lock down this fucking estate. No one moves in or out. Search the entire fucking house. Leave no room unsearched. Turn every piece of fucking furniture over. Find my children, heirs to the Autumn throne. Immediately. Or heads will roll.” His back is turned towards me as he shouted, but the panic he felt rippled down the bond in heavy waves, focusing into a rage that he had never experienced, not even when Beron lived, “and bring me the fucking nanny.”

His guards immediately drew their iron swords at his orders and dispersed rapidly, some running further into the home, some running outside. Splitting into groups of two, one ran towards the outskirts of the estate where Zeyphrus lived to drag her back here, and the other towards the outer forest that surrounded the home. My hands shook as I traced the little carving of Marwa’s name on the small desk, left by what looks to be a very sharp pencil, or possibly, a tiny dagger. I could hardly feel the indents into the wood, my hands tingling with panic and nerves as Eris turned towards me, the fire in his eyes still evident. His hand caught mine, squeezing tightly, “We will find them my love, they will be fine. They are strong and will take care of each other.”

Another sob escaped me as I collapsed into his arms, clinging to his figure for a moment before the shouts of the nanny were heard down the hall. Two of the guards were dragging her by her elbows, she glanced wildly around the room in confusion until she was brought to her knees facing us. She took one long look at Eris’ face, wincing at the cold fury that was directed at her and turned to stare down at the ground, “Where are Marwa and Twila?” Her head snapped up, confusion washing over her face, “I– in bed my lord,” stuttering it out, more as a question than as a statement. She shifted her gaze to me, maybe hoping to find more mercy, mercy that I could not find within me as long as my babes were missing.

She continued, her voice trembling as her body began to shake, the guards tightening their grip on her elbows and yanking her up to face us once more, “My lord, I put them to bed for their daily nap, I– are they not there?” Her cerulean blue eyes filled with tears, panic shone across her face as she begins to process the implications of not knowing where Marwa and Twila were. My tone was piercing, “No, they aren’t.” She began stuttering, but the patience of Eris and I had already been drawn out the moment we found their classroom empty, Eris had fully shifted into the ruthless high lord he once feared becoming, slamming his hand onto the wooden table next to him, his eyes filled with the fire that was stoked by the fear of losing his children, the greatest joys of his life. Zephyrus cried out in fear, flinching as the nearby supply closet lit into a controlled fire, the pent of rage and horror Eris felt bleeding into his surroundings through his fae magic.

But there was something in the way that she had looked at us, the way she had been truly confused, almost flabbergasted that we had been questioning her about the whereabouts of our babes that made me feel as though, deep in my gut, she had nothing to do with this. I felt weak, my hands still tingling from the panic, shakily resting on one of Eris’ forearms, “She doesn’t know anything Er.” Both of their heads jolted towards me, Zephyrus with a look of relief muddled with confusion, and Eris, shaken and upset. The babes adored their nanny, and she loved them. Marwa always has stories of the cuddles she and Zephyrus had, and Twila was filled with tales of their afternoon walks through the forest. She had looked after them since they were born, setting up to help me on the toughest of nights, and the busiest of days.

Er jerked his head at the guards, gesturing for them to take the woman away, likely to a holding cell for further questioning until the babes are found. But it would be pointless. We had sworn her into secrecy and loyalty the day she signed on as our babes nanny, and any movement away from that sworn loyalty, would result in her immediate death by the magic that bound us together. I painfully swallowed against the hard lump in my throat, still struggling to breathe, the pressure in my chest making it only possible to catch my breath, even in small gasps of air.

The fear burned my eyes, I blinked back the stinging tears to prevent them from streaming down into an endless sea of panic. Blowing out the breath from my puffed cheeks, I stared into Eris’ flickering irises, still flaming from the worry. His warm hands came up to cup my cheeks, pulling me closer into him until his forehead was pressed against mine, “You can find them my love,” his lips fluttered above my upper lip as he spoke, “You know them better than anyone. They are your soul, as they are my heart. C’mon sweet girl, think.” His hand marked by our shared tattoo reached down and grabbed hold of my own, pressing it against his chest right where his heart beat. It felt like a hummingbird fluttering against my palm, only slowing with pulses of comfort that waved down our bond.

I tightened my palm into a fist, gripping the soft material of his blood red shirt as I forced myself to think back to where the babes could possibly be. All the areas I had checked were my firstline stream of thoughts, but it was possible they were elsewhere in places I hadn’t even initially thought of. But the possibilities remained endless. Eris and I had been quite strict with incorporating family outings into our schedules. Even as high lord and lady, we still made sure to have one on one time with the babes, girls’ day out with their mama and daddy's day out with their papa, even their favorite uncle, the newly ascendent high lord of Day, Lucien joined in on occasion.

From having their own treehouse built in the sacoya, to private pathways in the forest, to small alcoves for a game of hide and seek, to the rapids of the Sienna river where Eris took them fishing.

They could be anywhere.

And who even knows if they were together?

I sent a silent prayer to the mother and gods above, to any deity who had the sympathy to listen and hopefully, the benevolence to answer such prayers, that they were together, that they remained as a unit of sisters, stuck together with the everlasting love of siblings. I prayed a prayer that they would give me even the smallest of clues as to where they could possibly be, And I hoped that Ruby, their pup, was with them, even as small as he was, it was possible that–.

The pup.

The hounds.

Though Eris’ palm was rubbing the back of my neck, keeping me close to him as he eyed my now concentrated face, I felt myself hurtle back. The fucking hounds. “I– I think I know. Gods, please, I think–,” I couldn't even finish my sentence, already using all my force to push myself off the desk, legs pumping underneath me, carrying me before the thought could even finish itself. I continued crying prayers to myself as I ran, “gods, please, please.” I could barely hear the thudding of Eris’ leather boots against the marbled floor and then the evening dewed grass over the blood that was whooshing in my ears.

Eris slammed into my back, not expecting me to suddenly stop in my tracks. His arm wrapped around my hips as we both stumbled forward, trying to prevent me from being thrown over the stable door as the force of his impact made its way through me. But my feet were planted on the floor, my hand frozen stuck on the door handle. A question comes out of Eris’ mouth, one that I do not hear as I forced myself to take another deep breath, a final beseeching prayer to the cauldron before heaving the heavy door open.

One of my hands reached back to grab Eris’ as I pulled him and I inside, eyes searching over every millimeter of the stable, over and over. The stalls remained childless, with only hay and curious horses peaking at us. My grip tightened its hold on Eris’ hand, squeezing three times on occasion as he paced behind me, rechecking every stall that I have peered into. I switched my path away from the horses and towards the area where the killer hounds were kept. The ones that belonged to Eris, even before I was in his life. The ones who are supposed to tear apart any enemies to the Autumn Court into literal shreds. The ones who are known to maul intruders of the estate.

The ones that have the softest of soft spots for the babes and I.

The ones who used to whine at our bedroom door until Eris would get out of bed to open the door for them. The ones who would rush into the room and pounce onto the bed to snuggle against me. The ones who refused to leave my side during my pregnancy, taking turns laying their head on my swollen belly. The ones who stood at the doorway during the birth of the babes, growling at any sentry who walked past the room. The ones who licked the small toes of Marwa, and sniffed at Twila’s little fists. The ones who ran ahead during our family hikes to warn us of any pedestrians ahead. The ones who slowed their trots to match pace with the small toddling of Marwa and Twila. The ones who patiently allowed for Twila to climb onto their backs, who screamed with joy, “Onward Buster!” forcing them to carry her to wherever the little one pleased. The ones who sat with Marwa, who settled herself on their side, reading tiny books to them, pointing out the pictures with her chubby pointer finger which they would attentively stare at.

And there they are.

I took a moment, soaking in the scene before me, pressing my hands into my belly, trying to quiet the sobs that are forcing their way through my body. I heard a gasp of relief from Eris, who hugged me from behind and stroked the backs of my hand, popping a quick kiss into my cheek and then on my temple before resting his head on top of mine. He slowly swayed us side to side, enjoying the most adorable, relieving sight he had ever seen in his entire lifetime.

Twila was curled into Marwa, her pudgy arm clinging to her sister's soft, plush belly. Marwa’s head was turned toward Twila’s, her tiny hand tightly gripping her sisters, the both of them fast asleep, cuddled together, surrounded by the warmth of the twelve killer hounds that Eris had raised. Their pup lay on his stomach, snoring softly as the babes feet rested under him, acting as a miniature comforter.

It was Marwa who woke first, hearing the shuffling of her mama and papa trying to move around the hounds to reach them. Her tiny fist released her sister's hand, rubbing at her sleep crusted eyes, a tiny yawn escaping her as she sat up and stretched, her adorable rounded belly sticking out. “Mama?” Her voice is heavy with sleep, her eyes half lidded as she fought off falling back into her dreams.

I choked down another sob, reaching down for her, my smile watery and full as her arms automatically reached out so she could be held, “Hello my beautiful little babe.” I pulled her into my embrace, clutching at her dress and stuffing my face into her messy, knotted hair, “And what kind of mischief have you and your sister gotten into little one?” Her legs could barely wrap around my waist, her arms tightly wrapped around my neck as she buried her face into my shoulder, taking a deep sigh of content as she took in her mothers scent. Eris finally reached the passed out Twila, who continued snoring quietly as he lifted her up into his chest. He planted a kiss onto her nose, which twitched at the tickling sensation, before she snuggled deeper into his warmth. He rocked her, patting the space between her shoulders to soothe her back into her deep sleep. The hounds lifted their deadly stares at us, taking a moment to recognize who we are, before resting their heads back onto their feet.

I huffed out a snort, rolling my eyes while I approached Eris, focused more so on bending over to kiss Twila’s ruddy, warm cheeks than the napping hounds. Marwa grumbled, wriggling deeper into my embrace when Eris landed a sloppy kiss onto her forehead. He sent a smirk my way, bumping his hip into mine as we strolled out of the stables, “They really are your children,” his voice is hoarse, but filled with mirth and fondness. I scoffed, bumping his hip in return, much rougher than I had initially intended, “And what is that supposed to mean fireboy?” I side-eyed him, pursing my lips into a wicked grin as he flushed red at the nickname. “I mean, they fall asleep anywhere and everywhere at any time. And I wonder who they got that from,” boring his amber eyes into mine without any sense of hesitation.

I playfully gasped at the hidden accusation, tickling the bottoms of Marwa’s feet who kicked them out and cackled as I stared incredulously at her, “Do you hear your papa little one? How ridiculous is he?” She leaned in, pecking my lips with a tiny kiss, before pulling back, her chocolate brown eyes bright and sparkling, “So so ri-ducky-lucky mama.” Eris chomped his teeth at her, “Honk honk,” snickering at her cheerful yelps. He settled the napping Twila, who had a tranquil smile gracing her face, on his hip, reaching his free hand, tattooed with our marriage vows to rest on the small of my back as we walked back to the estate.

They were most definitely sleeping in our room at nightfall.

Masterlist

General taglist: @nyotamalfoy @brekkershadowsinger @kennedy-brooke @fieldofdaisiies

#Girl dad!Eris x reader #girl dad!Eris #girl dad eris x reader #girl dad!eris vanserra #marwa and twila #babes #acotar fanfic #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra as a girl dad #girl dad!#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra acotar #eris acotar #girl dad!er

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