#kati writes

[ursulaismymiddlename]

Where Memories Never Fade and Fairy Tales Come True | Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

The title is a mouthful, but the Dreaming and its master never do anything by half measures. Whether it's creating worlds or courting a new lover.

Rated S for Smiling Morpheus (and also sorta kissing)

Thanks to @captainpoopweinersoldier @whats-rambled-rambled and @laurelwen for putting up with me going on and on about the damn thing.

I'd apologize for the delay, but I'm honestly just happy I got this one done lol

---

The lush and verdant landscape before you can only be a dream.  The green of the rolling hills is too vibrant, the blue of the sky with its perfectly painted clouds too brilliant.  And yet, even knowing this, you find yourself in awe, feet trailing the gently worn path that splits through the field of wildflowers.  The air is thick with the perfume of them and you smile in the vague knowledge that no pollen will irritate your sinuses and that the butterflies and bees will leave you in peace.

A tree looms ahead, branches stretching upward and outward, blossoming against the vault of sky.  It draws you ever so gently, a tug in your chest you’re all too eager to follow.  But it’s beneath the breeze-blown boughs that you discover what truly calls.  A toy box.  Your toy box.  The one from your childhood that you haven’t seen in far too many years.

How strange and delightful to pick your way through it.  Old toys greet you as old friends, your heart aching with glee at the sight of ancient stuffed animals and wind-up toys long since forgotten.  All in perfect repair, as shiny and new as your furthest memories of them.  Still, it’s at the bottom of this mountain of joy that you find it.  You know this is what you were meant to find all along. And you know, with a giddy sob, exactly who has left it here for you.

There, sitting pristinely in the recesses of the toybox, untouched by the hands of time, you find your old typewriter.

It’s a child’s thing, and just as well since you were a child when you had it; long before you even knew what typing was or how to craft a story.  With great reverence, you lift the precious plastic thing into the dappled sunlight beneath the tree.  Turn it this way and that to inspect it, to recall the lines of it and the weight of it in your hands.  You remember it much heavier, in the hands of a little girl all of nine or ten.  Something in so minute a difference swells in your chest, makes it more real.

Vibrant color flutters in your peripheral, pulling your attention to the incandescent butterfly crossing your path.  You turn to follow it, watching the rainbows of its wings shimmering in the speckled sunlight.  And your wonder only grows when you see where the little creature leads you.  A desk, set amongst the wildflowers, chair pulled out so invitingly.  The butterfly alights upon a stack of clean white paper that awaits you and the typewriter in your hands.

With a delighted grin, you take the offered seat, placing the machine down gently.  Your kaleidoscope companion flutters lazily when you pull a sheet from the stack beneath it, but settles right back in while you spool the paper into the typewriter.  It’s been so long, you’re surprised you remember how, but you find things moving with practiced ease.  And like many a dream, the letters and symbols on the keys don’t seem quite right.  Yet, your fingers find their appointed places just the same.

The keystrokes flow from you in a fervor, your excitement tangible.  And while the inky symbols appear on the page in different fonts and sizes, hardly recognizable to the eyes, you know exactly in your heart what you type.  You think in a place like this, that’s all that really matters.

Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless…

A gentle breeze rustles through the leaves above you.  It even buffers against your little butterfly, sending it flittering into the air in a delicate twirl of color before the lively thing disappears into the grassland.  Anticipation thrums in goosebumps along your skin as you turn in your seat.  Feeling him before you see him.

“You called for me, little writer?”

Your smile grows at the sight of the Dream Lord mere feet away.  To say he looks out of place in such a natural scene isn’t entirely accurate.  If anything, his presence seems to bring everything into sharper focus, the romantic haze giving way to something more palpable.  His kingly countenance commands the attention of the entire world around him.  But his eyes are on you, curious and amused as he regards you.

“I suppose I did,” you tease, rising to your feet to greet him properly.  “I’m actually a little surprised you weren’t here already.”

“I thought, perhaps, you could use a reprieve from my company.”  His eyes never leave yours as you stand before him, lip quirking ever so gently.  “Our last encounter seemed to trouble you.  I wish for you to be at peace while you are in my realm.”

Though his voice holds a playful lilt, there’s enough sincerity in his words to set your cheeks ablaze.  Perhaps a reprieve is in order, though nothing quite so harsh as his absence.  You settle for turning to eye the greenery around you, to catch a breath.  “Very peaceful… and gorgeous.  Is every place you make here so beautiful?”

To your surprise and delight, Morpheus beams with pride and surveys the land beside you.  “I take great care in the things I create.”

“Like my typewriter?”

His attention cuts to you from the corner of his eyes, finding your smile there seems to ease him, though his head still ducks a little in chagrin.  “Pray you, forgive me for taking the liberties.  I’d only hoped to encourage you.”

There is something so soft about this ethereal creature beside you, that without thinking you reach to touch the sleeve of his black coat.  His head turns to regard your fingers, then your face, but he makes no move and you make no mention.

“Thank you.”  And you can only hope to sound as sincere as you feel.  “I can’t even imagine how you…”

You trail off, a realization dawning on you with a gentle gasp.  “Half of dreams are memories, aren’t they?  Whether mine or someone else’s.”

At this, Dream turns back to you fully, and the warmth of his expression nearly knocks the breath from you.  “You’ve found me out, little writer.”

It’s his turn to reach for you, with one graceful twist of his wrist, he finds your hand with his own, thumb grazing against your knuckles.  “There were a few different writing instruments in your memory, but this one seemed to have the most meaning.”

“That is… incredibly thoughtful.”  And finding yourself yet again at a loss for words before the King of Dreams, you settle for the ones that stick and swell in your heart.  “Thank you.”

If your ineloquence bothers him, Morpheus gives no sign.  In fact, he bows his head regally, bringing the back of your hand to his lips for a chaste kiss.  “I’m happy it pleases you.”

You try to school the giddy grin that overtakes you.  It wouldn’t do, to just melt entirely right in front of him, not when he’s just arrived.  And sure, he told you he wants to court you, but he’s still the King of Dreams and you don’t want to look like a complete… Holy shit, you’re being courted by an Endless! What the –

“Will you walk with me, then?”  That soothing voice interrupts the start of a good mental spiral.  And judging from the tilt of his head as he looks at you, he is well aware of it, too.  Still, you’re thankful, even if it takes you a moment to recover yourself.  “That is, if you’ve no intent to write at the moment.”

“Absolutely.”  

Your nod is all eager relief as he tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow.  How easy it is to follow his lead down the gently beaten path.  Sneaking a glance at him, you note just how proudly he walks, yet there’s nothing so severe in his face.  It’s formal, old-fashioned, some might even say a little stiff, but…. Somehow, this feels as intimate as any kiss upon your knuckles.  At least, if this Morpheus truly is anything like the one from your stories.

“Speaking of being pleased,” you eventually say, smiling when he crooks an eyebrow at you.  “I finished writing another story.”

His head tips in acknowledgement, but there’s a playful glint in his twinkling eyes.  “Yes.  You should be pleased.  Though… Matthew was quite saddened you had not worked on his tale first.”

The memory of your last meeting strikes you then, the gentle jibe of jealousy on his part and the fond look he’d given you.  You wonder briefly if you look the same when you say “Well, I only follow where the inspiration leads.”

This seems to tickle the Dream Lord, a sharp amused snort shaking his shoulders slightly.  It’s hard not to raise your chin in a bit of triumph at having elicited such a response.  

“Actually,” you dare to add, bolstered by the easy camaraderie.  “What I meant was I thought you’d be pleased to hear I finished it.”

“I am pleased indeed,” Morpheus assures, though he gently slows you both to a stop beneath another tree, a lush willow near a sweetly babbling creek.  “I was already fond of this particular story.  But you should take pride in your crafting.  It was… quite beautiful.”

The compliment lights you up like nothing else.  “You really think so?”

“Yes, Little Writer.”  An indulgent smile curls the corners of his mouth.  “It felt every bit the dream it was meant to; fever-pitched and ethereal.”

“I’m so glad you liked it.”  You beam, barely able to meet his gaze, fingers curling more firmly around his elbow lest your bout of giddiness send you reeling.  “I was a little worried since you didn’t really make a full appearance…”

“But I was there.  In the sand and the stars.”  His hand finds yours again, engulfing it with his fine pale fingers.  Something thick in his velvet voice feels like a promise, drawing your attention to his glimmering eyes so intent upon you.

Though, you do manage a bashful smirk.  “I didn’t think you danced.”

“I confess, I do not.  But that does not keep me from enjoying the sight of you doing so.  A wild and free thing.”  Dream tips his head closer to you, his little smile conspiratorial, and you’re struck by it as much as the sight and sound of the willow’s branches beginning to move; twisting and twining into a soft curtain of green to surround just the two of you.  “Is that how you wish for me to court you?  Shall I help you dance among the stars?”

“I…” The reminder of his intentions flutters in your stomach, a nervous, airy chuckle squeaking its way out of your throat.  “I don’t think I’m much of a dancer either.”

By the twitch between his brows, you think Morpheus means to argue, but he only offers a placating nod.  “Very well.  Then what else shall I offer you?  What might you wish of me? You need only ask.”

“I think you offering yourself is more than enough,” you guffaw, the giddy absurdity taking you.  

But when a ghost of an expression crosses his lips, as though surprised and flattered by your words, you find yourself suddenly much more sobered. It calls to question the smallness you feel before such an Endless being.  That you’d be so lucky to capture his attention, let alone his favor. And because he liked your writing of all things?

“I suppose I might ask…”  You suddenly feel a little ridiculous, but the curious arch of his brow serves to pry your bottom lip from between your teeth.  “Well, you said you like my stories.  For whatever reason, you enjoy my writing.”

“I do.”  

“And you’ve read every story I’ve thought of, written or not, because they’re all in your library?”

The slightest nod of his head seems to urge you on, eager to follow where you’re going with this line of thought.  “But then, why does it matter if I actually write them in the Waking World?  If they’re already here, you already have them to read whenever you want.”

Dream straightens a little, lips pursing as he seems to mull over his answer.  You get the feeling he knows exactly why, but perhaps is less sure how to put voice to it.  And there’s something beautifully mundane and endearing about the little crease of concentration between his brow.  

“Stories fuel the unconscious which, in turn, fuels The Dreaming,” he begins, slow and measured, as if weighing each word on his tongue.  “The more stories there are, the more people who read them, the more robust it makes this realm.”

There’s no denying his sentiment, of course, but… but something still tickles at the back of your mind.  Teases out your curiosity with an amused huff. “Can’t that be said of any story, though?  Why these?  Why mine?”

The Dream King’s dark crown tilts back at a regarding angle, only the softness of his features keeping his demeanor from aloofness.  A softness that melts some of the stiff angles of him, until he moves your hand from the crook of his elbow downward to cradle between his own. “When I first took notice, you were standing at the Gates of Horn, staring in, but too frightened to walk through.” 

He levels his gaze with yours, expression gentle and imploring.  “I merely opened the way.  You took the steps that lead you here, to this place.”

To me, your brain supplies.  And your stomach swoops, uncertain if it was your own voice in your ears or his.  With a gentle shake of your head, as much to hide your flushed skin as to express your confusion, you reply. “I don’t understand.  I thought the Gates of Horn were for true dreams.”

“Your words may be fiction, but there is truth at the heart of them.”  No small amount of pride flashes through his eyes, gaze hot upon your cheeks.  “I see it in the way you write The Dreaming.  And in how you speak of my siblings.”

“That… didn’t come from you?”  You blink in surprise at the thought.  Certainly you recognized the other Endless in your little fics. Despair, Delirium… They’d presented themselves quite naturally in the narrative.  You only assumed it was the influence of the Dream Lord himself.

“No,” he insists, amusement tinting his voice.  “Yet you write them as I know them to be. And the way you write me…”

Here his eyes finally stray from yours; flitting down to your hand in his, where his thumb traces the ridge of your knuckles, before finding you again through the dark rim of his lashes, an almost timid smile curling the corner of his lips. “Flattering as it may be, there is a realness to it that I can only hope to strive for.”

You’re not sure how to process this.  This Endless cosmic being enjoys the way you write him, is flattered by it… Aspires to it.  With dawning realization, you gasp.  “Dream of a Thousand Cats.” 

It’s the Dream King’s turn to look puzzled now, lips parted in silent question.  But you know, in the way one can only know such things in a dream.  And the thought alone leaves you awed.

“You hope if enough people read the way I write you…” A smile tugs your lips; the clench around your heart both fond and bittersweet in equal measure.  “If enough people dream it, then it will always have been true.”

Whatever sourness threatens Morpheus’s features is quickly released with a lighthearted huff. “Quite the clever little writer.”

A part of you wants to keen in triumph, but this Endless being before you looks caught out enough, you don’t dare to rub it in.  And you feel rewarded for it by the unexpected twinge of vulnerability in his velvet voice. 

“Do you think it selfish of me?”

“I…” Your fingers squeeze his a breath tighter, to reassure him or settle yourself, you’re not quite sure.  “If you think it’s a better version of yourself, then who am I to judge?  Of course… I might be a little partial to the way I write you.”

Any hint of uncertainty you might have imagined in him evaporates against the spark of fondness in his eyes; the brilliant blue of them fluttering behind your ribcage. “Another reason, then, to live up to it.”

You can’t help but think your knees ought to be buckling beneath you.  Perhaps in the Waking World, they would.  But here, with your hand in his, you managed to inch a little closer, your own boldness flushing you. “Can I ask something else of you?”

“Name it.”  There’s a quiet eagerness to it you might have missed beneath the obliging tip of his head. Except you’re a little too focused on him in this closeness.

“May I…”  It catches in your throat only a beat, slipping out before you can lose any more nerve.  “Kiss you?”

The curious twitch of his brow has you bracing, but then his face lights up in amusement.  “Is it not customary for the suitor to request the first kiss?”

If your laughter is quaking breathless, you still find a way to smile at him playfully. “Times change, my lord.”

“Morpheus,” he corrects gently, offering a gracious smile at your flash of confusion. “My station is deserving of respect and reverence, but when we are alone…”

It seems the Dream Lord’s turn to pause a thoughtful breath before speaking in a quiet voice meant just for you.  “When it is only the two of us, I need only be Morpheus.  Your Morpheus.”

His tone itself is enough to melt you, but his words… Those steal the air right out of your lungs.  You have to lick away the dryness from your lips before you can respond.  And even then, it’s little more than a reedy whisper. “Then, may I kiss you… my Morpheus?”

“By all means.” 

Dappled sunlight catches in his glimmering eyes when he leans in ever so slightly closer.  An offering.  And that voice thick with a promise you can’t quite name, but want to hold him to more than anything.  With a steadying hand on his chest, you close the meager distance, your lips finding the cool, pale expanse of his cheek.  The kiss is chaste, but his sharp breath and the way his jaw clenches beneath it makes you wonder if you’ve scorched him.

Yet, you barely manage to part from him -how ever reluctant- before Dream’s delicate fingers find the curve of your neck; stilling you as he turns his face to yours.  Your noses bump gently, parted lips sharing the same shaky breath as they brush together.  And when you make no move to pull away, when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, Morpheus, your Morpheus, seals his mouth over yours…

—

Your Monday morning alarm is quite possibly the most hideous sound you’ve ever heard at this moment.  Sure, you picked it because it would be enough to wake you without startling you silly first thing in the AM, but that hardly makes up for it pulling you from such a wonderful dream.

It’s left you in a strange state of longing, coupled with a clench around your fluttering heart.  With a twinge of sadness, you realize the details are quickly fading, but you manage to grab your phone.  Once the alarm has been silenced, you tap your note app and start typing what little is still solid in your mind.

The tall dark-haired man, his soft pink lips on yours, a butterfly with stained-glass windows for wings… your old typewriter?

That last one brings a confused smile to your face.  How absolutely silly… How lovely.

You can only hope, as you finally pull yourself from the warmth of your bed, that it will be enough to work with later when you can find some time to write.

[sicknessinmotion]

EVERY TIME I LOOK BACK, MY CHILDHOOD GROWS HORNS; ON AGING.

lorde // iasoup on tumblr // alain de botton // jenny slate // katie maria // silas denver melvin // chelsea wolfe

[inkskinned]

i got my isbn today for the book. 8 months to go. my mom and i were talking about what the next steps are. i was eating trail mix, standing on one foot, phone tucked into my ear.

"yeah," i said. "the problem is that tumblr as a market is like, not something that can be studied." there's this weird wave of nostalgia and affection for this place that came up over me: how lovely we avoid consumerism. okay, it sucks as a creator. but also? keep stickin' it to 'em.

my mother made the sound at the back of her throat that i also make, the one that means i've got an idea. "you should figure out some kind of reward for presale amounts. maybe you give out poems or a mug or a signed book or something. would your followers like that?" my mother is sweet, and kind, and i have no idea how to explain on this website you can buy someone crabs.

i put more m&ms down the hatch. i had to speak through peanuts and almonds. "if it passes 25 thousand i will print the book out in its entirety and eat it live on camera."

"oh god. no, you don't have to do that." she was anguished. "just tell them that you'd love them to read it, and that they've inspired you to write. you got started on that site, and they helped you keep going. raquel, you love these people. the community? you talk all the time about the other writers and artists and whatever else. tell them that you're hoping for their support, they'll come through."

"no," i assured her. i discovered i had dropped an m&m, but an ant had already found it, so it belonged to him now. i will let his little life have a surprise blue treasure in it, too. "i'm gonna fuckin' eat the book."

[rebelspykatie]

Steve’s never had anyone show any genuine interest in the things he likes. Robin rolls her eyes when he brings up sports or silly movies that don’t have a bigger plot or character work. Even though she played soccer, she doesn’t care about it in the same way that Steve cares about basketball or football. 

The kids make fun of everything from his taste in music to his choice in snacks for movie nights. Mike calls him a little housewife for baking one time and he never shows up with cookies again. They’re never intentionally mean spirited, or at least he doesn’t think so. He knows he can give as good as he gets when it comes to catty, sarcastic comments, but he tries to steer clear of personal attacks on someone’s identity these days. He learned that lesson with Jonathan. 

But even before the party came along, it was like that. His parents never stuck around long enough to find out what he was up to, never attending a game or meet, and certainly in the dark about what he might be up to outside of school. Tommy only ever cared about himself and Carol, only following Steve around for clout, popularity by association. If he asked him right now, he’d bet a lot of money that Tommy doesn’t even remember his favorite food or the movie he used to watch when he was sick. There was a point where he thought he could share things with him. Until he realized mid ramble about sports cars that Tommy wasn’t even listening to him. He was staring at Carol and nodding along with a vacant expression. 

So he stopped sharing. Stopped caring if people knew anything about him because they never asked. People always made assumptions about him anyway. The girls he slept with only wanted one thing. The kids were happy to let him chauffeur them around with no questions asked. Robin was the only one he let in, the only one that cared about digging deeper. But, and she never said in so many words, he could tell that she thought his interests were mundane, and clearly not something that sparked any enthusiasm from her. She couldn’t even keep up with the girls he slept with, giving him the same bored stare as Tommy. 

Even now, after a few years, Steve’s reminded that they never would have become friends if not for trauma and the secret inner workings of the Russian’s within Hawkins. He’s lucky to have her, but he doesn’t think she ever would’ve chosen this, chosen him. And that’s fine. He’s used to not being chosen. His parents didn’t choose him when they started leaving him alone at age 12. Tommy and Carol chose each other and the reign of a new king when Steve fell from his throne. Nancy chose Jonathan. 

He doesn’t think he has a lot to offer. 

Well, at least until Eddie comes along. He’s taken by surprise when Eddie asks after the song that’s playing in his car. He’d assumed Eddie only liked metal music, and yeah he pokes fun at the genre of music Steve seems to stick to, begging him to give metal a shot, but he doesn’t say a word about how lame it is. When they’re having a movie night, Eddie notices that Steve gravitates towards coke and brings him one without Steve asking.

After Eddie sees his bedroom, Steve gets a pack of hot wheels for Christmas. Eddie jokes that he should give one to each of the kids as their new ride, since they seem to be ungrateful little twerps. Steve places them right under his posters on his dresser and Eddie grins at them every time he comes over. They lay in bed and pretend to drive them on the ceiling like they’re kids again. It shakes something loose in Steve’s chest. 

Eddie hates sports, but he invites Steve over on Mondays, when Wayne is perched in his chair for football. He quietly works on his campaigns while Steve and Wayne watch the games. Eddie somehow worms his way into Steve’s heart, digging deeper and deeper with each new thing, like he wants to know more. Steve’s history is a minefield, but Eddie expertly navigates through it, leaving who they were behind, building something new together. Steve’s already halfway in love with him before he even realizes that Eddie is something that he likes. 

He expects to freak out a bit more, but who is going to stop him? Who is going to care if he wants to be with this boy? He’s spent so long ignoring parts of himself for others that he wants to cherish this fragile thing, to cradle it in his hands, make sure no one can ruin it for him. When he kisses Eddie, it feels like coming home, like he’s finally found that place he’s been searching for his whole life. It’s a kind of devotion that Steve’s not used to, born of love and not obsession or jealousy or anger. 

He’s not sure he deserves it, but he’ll do everything in his power to keep it.

[cheolism]

✧ CAUGHT IN A TRAP

✧ choi seungcheol x f!reader ✧ summary: you ask your brother's best friend to tie the top to your swimsuit. he's convinced that you've lured him into a trap and acts accordingly. ✧ wc is approx 4.5k ✧ tags: brother's best friend-to-lovers?? close proximity ✧ warnings: mdni. mentions of groping and luring!! grinding, oral and fingering, dick-in-vagina sex, overstim. cheol's dirty mouth, pet names (princess, baby, good girl, etc). begging, slightly mean cheol. this is basically all tension and porn. possibly morally questionable cheol? lmk if you think any should be added. ✧ author's note: first fic in a month! i've begun and quit so many fics in the past few weeks and this is the first one i've been able to finish. so i'm satisfied!! this is just desperate porn. this takes place during the summer so it is very out of season lol

"seungkwan," you call, opening your bedroom door just enough to peek out of it. you don't see your brother in the hall, so you call again; hopefully, he hasn't left for the lake already.

seungcheol appears before you can call for a third time. he's -- well. he's choi seungcheol and he's dressed for the lake, long trunks and a tank top that's somehow both too tight on his torso and just right, revealing his thick biceps and straining over his chest and making your eyes drop to trace the shape of them.

"seungkwan's already down at the dock," seungcheol answers, glancing at his phone. he looks back at you, lifting one of his thick brows at how you're poking only your head out. "everything okay?"

you can feel heat rush to your face. you refuse to look at his face, but then your eyes immediately drop back down to his chest and you can't look there because that would make you a huge creep, so you drop your gaze even further and it goes to his ankles.

"i need help," you mumble, "i can't tie the back of my top."

seungcheol's quiet and you refuse to look at him and repeat yourself. it's horrible. you think about him imagining you, the top of your swimsuit dangling around your shoulders and tits hanging out, and you slide the door shut just a little bit more.

"i'll just text seungkwan and tell him to come back up," you say, voice quiet with embarrassment. you shouldn't have even told seungcheol. he wasn't judging you out loud but seungcheol was -- he was perfect. he was the perfect man, the man you've dreamt about for as long as your brother's known him, and you're so overly aware of how you look to him -- of how he sees you as some silly little sibling to his dear friend, and you've just made yourself seem even more like a little kid.

"no need," seungcheol responds. his voice is deep, and you flick your eyes to watch him slide his phone into the pocket of his trunks. "i can tie it for you."

your eyes widen and your mouth drops a little. "no thanks!" you squeak, shutting the door entirely. "i'll just -- i'll just wear a shirt down!"

seungcheol laughs on the other side. he knocks against the door. "let me in, silly." he knocks again. "it's just tying a swimsuit."

right. it's just tying a swimsuit while you stand there, half-naked.

"no," you whine, "i'll really just --"

"let me tie your top." seungcheol's voice has taken on a more serious tone, the sort that he gets when he's trying to command a room.

you're quiet for half a minute, biting down on your lip and pressing your forehead against the door. it's just tying a swimsuit top, like seungcheol said; he just sees it as helping out his best friend's little sibling. but also, it's choi seungcheol, the man who inspires more crushes than he could ever be aware of, and you don't know if you can handle the mortification that comes with him seeing you like this.

but then, quietly, in the hopes that he'll miss it, you agree.

"let me in," he returns.

"just a second," and then you're moving from the door. you push your open suitcase behind the bed so he won't be able to see how your stripped underwear sits on top, and you kick your dirty clothes underneath the bed.

you reach behind you, grabbing the strings of your top and pulling them taut so your tits don't hang out. then you open the door, just a smidge. "hurry!"

seungcheol chuckles as you slam the door shut behind him. "it's just a swimsuit," he says, eyes twinkling. and he's so handsome, his dark hair hanging around his face and lips twisted in a smirk. it's so ridiculous, and you don't know why seungkwan ever introduced you to seungcheol because surely your brother knew you would end up like this.

(surely your brother knew that when he introduced you to seungcheol and mingyu and wonwoo but mainly seungcheol that in three years' time you would be standing with seungcheol in a bedroom in a lodge, turning so seungcheol could tie the strings to your top.

it was all seungkwan's fault.)

slowly, you turn your back to seungcheol. "quickly," you urge him. "we gotta hurry."

seungcheol scoffs at you. your body is so alert that you can practically feel every step he takes, that you can picture seungcheol crossing the room. when he grabs the strings of your top his fingertips skim along your back, and you can't help but jump.

"we're not going to get in trouble," seungcheol says, pulling the strings from your grasp. "we're both adults."

"can you imagine what seungkwan would say if he saw you leaving my bedroom when the door was closed," you hiss, bringing both of your hands to your front and crossing them over your chest. seungcheol's fingers slide against your shoulder blades and then he's beginning to tie your top, and you can feel every pull as he tightens them. every single movement seems to jostle your heart, seems to alert every single cell in your body to seungcheol's fingers. "forget kwannie -- can you imagine soonyoung? or jihoon? they'd tattle."

"they'd tattle," seungcheol laughs. "we're adults. if you're so worried we should've just left the door open."

"so someone can pass and look in to you tying my top?" you say, shaking your head. "no thanks."

the strings pull once more, and then seungcheol is tapping your shoulders. "finished."

"it's tight?" you say, turning over your shoulder to look at him. "it won't come undone?"

seungcheol tugs the knot he made. "nope. we'll have to cut you out."

you grin, turning to face seungcheol. "thanks."

"wasn't so hard now was it?" seungcheol smirked down at you, lifting one of his thick brows. you hate it when he looks at you like this -- hate it because a single lift of his brow sends a tingling rush through you, one that shoots straight down to your cunt and makes you feel electric. "you were worried over nothing."

it's then, watching as he lowers his eyebrow but that smirk remains, that you realize just how close the two of you are. seungcheol had stepped close to you so he could tie your top and hadn't moved away. that meant that when you turned around there was hardly two feet of space between you.

and fuck, when you became aware of it you became aware.

his wide shoulders, the way his skin -- lightly tanned by the sun, as if even the sun had a crush on seungcheol and couldn't bear to burn his skin red like it had jihoon -- tightened around his biceps when he raised his arms up above his head in a stretch.

as he stretched you couldn't help but let your gaze flick back over his body. you were ogling him like he was some prize but, horribly, you couldn't help it. you couldn't help but take in the sight of his pecs, of how his nipples poked through the fabric of his dark tank top. the slight curve of his tummy, how he hadn't tucked his tank top into his trunks, and how the shirt rose as he stretched, revealing just a sliver of skin.

his neck, wide and thick, and his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed and side, angling his face up towards the ceiling as he stretched.

seungcheol was like a flame, passion running through his veins. and like a moth, you couldn't help but reach.

you weren't even thinking. not a single thought was in your mind. it was as if your brain went offline, leaving nothing but your heart and the want that left little tingles in your cunt to command your body.

and you were reaching and placing your hand over his collarbone. his skin was smooth beneath your fingers, and you couldn't help but swipe your thumb over his skin, watching as your thumb moved.

then seungcheol's hand was shooting out and grabbing your wrist and your brain came online.

mortification shot through you. your brain began to go into overdrive as you gawked at seungcheol as if he had been the one to touch you unsolicited, as if he had been the one to press his hand to your skin and feel.

"i --" you began, a thousand thoughts shooting through your brain and yet not a single one leaving your lips. you can't speak. you can't because you just -- just groped choi seungcheol. "wait -- i --"

seungcheol cocks his head at you, brows lifting and you can feel -- despite the situation at hand -- more tingling in your pussy. "oh. i get it now."

"i-- get -- what?"

seungcheol grins at you, cherry blossom pink lips quirking. he moves closer to you, though there hasn't been that much space between the two of you to begin with and wasn't that where this entire problem started, so why was he getting closer?

"you were luring me in here," seungcheol announces, walking closer and closer and you begin backing up, straight into the wall opposite to the door. "i was just a passing fly you caught in your trap. is that right?"

your back hits the wall and you have nowhere to go. you're gawking up at seungcheol, feeling as if you were the fly in his trap. "what -- what are you talking about --"

"you wanted me to come in," seungcheol says, still grinning down at you. "you were pretending you needed your top tied. you were pretending so you could get me in your room, door shut. you were pretending so you could grope me."

your mouth fell open with an audible click. "i -- i didn't! seungcheol, i promise i didn't!"

seungcheol laughs at you meanly. he moves your hand, the one that, horribly, reached out and groped him, and presses it above your head and against the wall. he crowds closer, his other hand sliding along your jaw to cup your cheek. "you planned this."

"i didn't," you say, voice going quiet due to the lack of space between the two of you. "i was searching for seungkwan."

"you were," he mocks, and he's so mean. choi seungcheol is so mean. "you've got me in your little trap, baby. what are you gonna do with me?"

you wonder what the fuck he means. seungcheol's the one who's got you against the wall, he's the one with your wrist in his grasp.

seungcheol's eyes flick down. he's taking you in, you realize; he's admiring you.

"i've trapped you," you echo weakly.

seungcheol's eyes return to your face. "you have," he responds. "now what will you do with me?"

you lick your lips. your bottoms are soaked, you realize. you can feel their dampness, can feel the heat trapped between your thighs.

"i -- i've trapped you," you say, slowly, testing out each word. "i better -- i better use you, then."

"use me?" he says, cocking his head. seungcheol's eyes are sparkling, and you realize that he loves this. "how would you use me, baby? what would you do to me?"

your brain goes blank again. "uh. i'd -- i'd kiss you?"

"kiss me," he's grinning now as if you're amusing him. his thumb slides along your cheekbone. "is that it? you've got me in your hands for you to fuck around with and all you'd do is kiss me?"

"wanted to," you say. "i've wanted to kiss you for a while."

seungcheol's smile softens, and he's moving his hand from your cheek to press it next to your head on the wall. he's caging you in, and you're trapped between his arms, but you don't feel it. you don't feel like a trapped moth frantically looking for an escape.

shyly, you carry on. "i guess i'd -- if i had you, if i was going to use you -- i'd make you uh --"

"make me what?" he says, and he's enjoying it so much.

"you know."

"i don't," he says, brows raised. "you gotta tell me, baby. what do you want to do with me?"

you can't look at him. so you slide your gaze from his face and rest it on his collarbone. "i'd -- i'd sit on you."

"sit on me? that it?" seungcheol brings his face close, and his nose is against yours. "just sit on my lap? wouldn't do anything else? don't want to do anything else with me?"

you can't say it, so you shake your head.

seungcheol clicks his tongue. he trails his nose over your face, breath hot against your face. "okay. let me tell you what i'd do. if i had you in my trap i'd kiss you. kiss your cute little mouth, kiss your chin. kiss your throat, kiss your pretty tits. i'd kiss your tummy and i'd kiss your sweet little cunt -- i bet it's so pretty, princess. bet you have such a pretty little pussy."

you gasp, and his mouth is over your lips. he's not kissing you, but his lips are pressed to yours. you can feel them move as he speaks. "i'd have you take my cock," he carries on, each word sending heat and electricity to your pussy. "if i had you trapped i'd fuck you so good, baby."

you agree. you think of it, of seungcheol pressing his dick -- you just know he's big, know he's big and he'd feel so good around your cunt. you think of it and shift, feeling the wetness of your swimming bottoms.

"so?" he asks.

"so?"

seungcheol laughs at you. "would you let me trap you, baby? would you wander into my little trap and let me fuck you?"

"yes," you say, and it's the easiest thing you've ever said.

seungcheol kisses you. he immediately devours you, immediately traps you. seungcheol moves his mouth with intent, covering yours over and over and over, kissing you as if he had been wanting it, yearning for it.

you can't help but get lost in it--in him. his hands move from your wrists and to you, one of his hands sinking into your hair to guide you, his other going to wrap around your body and hold you close to him. he wants you, you think; wants you, wants you so desperately that he wants to mold your bodies into one.

your arms get trapped between your bodies, but you take the chance to press your hands against his chest and feel his body as he moves against you. it's not like you have the wits to do much else. with seungcheol's mouth devouring you, owning you, you can't do anything else than try and catch your breath between every eager press of your lips, can't do anything else than just stand there and let him take you.

seungcheol moves his tongue into your mouth, and that's when you break away. you gasp against him, trying to catch your breath, trying to focus. seungcheol moves on. he travels from your mouth, skimming his lips along your chin and jaw before going to your neck.

his hands move as his mouth does, and he's settling them on your hips and guiding them flush against his. you can feel his dick, can feel him as he mouths at your neck, never staying in one place, as if he would go crazy if he didn't press his mouth against every inch of you.

"seung--" you pant, your hands digging into the fabric of his tank top. he groans, a strangled noise against your skin. you try to speak again, but then he's skimming his teeth along your skin and you can't help but let out a high, keening whine.

he grins against your skin. "that's it, princess," he murmurs, "gotta me loud for me. gotta show me you really want it."

you groan, obedient, when he begins sucking at your neck. seungcheol works his mouth over you, sucking bruises into your skin.

"tell me," he commands, pressing his nose against your jaw, "tell me you want it."

"want it," you return, letting your head rest back against the wall. seungcheol moves his mouth back to your neck, and then he's running his lips along one of the strings of your swimming top, mouthing at it as if he was reminding you of how scantily clad you were. "want it, cheol, want you."

he hums. "tell me," he carries on, as if your words had no effect. "tell me you trapped me. tell me this was all part of your plan, baby."

you want to whine and protest, but then he's ducking his head and nipping at the exposed skin of your tits and you immediately give in. "it was," you whine, "i -- i trapped you, cheol. wanted you, want you so badly, cheol."

when seungcheol lifts his head, he's smirking. he presses you flat against the wall, mouth returning to the curve of your neck. seungcheol licks against your skin, drawing a noise from your mouth, just as he thrusts his leg between your thighs.

"too bad i caught onto your little plan, princess," he taunts. "i should turn around and walk out, shouldn't i? just leave you here in your room, all wet and desperate."

you whine, moving your hands against him. you run them over his pecs, over his shoulders. 

"don't," you beg, unable to keep your voice from going high in desperation. "please, seungcheol, please --"

"please what?"

"fuck me," you beg, wanton yearning seeking its talons into you. you wanted, wanted so desperately. he was all around you, surrounding you; you could feel the taste of him on your tongue, the feel of his skin beneath your hands. but it wasn't enough. you wanted him inside of you, wanted to feel him within. "please, please fuck me --"

"prove it to me, baby," he says. "prove it that you want me. show me. show me, precious."

he presses his knee up against you, shoving it underneath your cunt. "ride me," he commands, "ride my thigh, princess."

you immediately bare down on his thigh. you angle your hips so your clit is rubbing over his thigh through your bottoms, and the relief feels so good that you can't help but let your head fall back against the wall. seungcheol immediately takes advantage, pressing his face against your chest and mouthing at your tits, hands gripping your hips and guiding.

your nails sink into his skin. you fuck down onto his thigh, chasing that feeling that tugs at your cunt. it's as if you're mindless, as if you had been born just to fuck yourself against choi seungcheol's thigh.

and you ride him like that. ride him as if it was your one mission in life. your mouth falls open and he quickly covers it, licking into your mouth. "that's it, princess. gotta cum on me, gotta prove you want me."

"want you," you beg, "please, cheol. help me, want you so badly, cheol, please please --"

he curses. seungcheol pulls away from you completely, drawing a loud noise of disapproval from your mouth.

but then seungcheol's hands grip your hips, and then he's pulling you from the wall and spinning so he could push you back onto the bed. as soon as you fall he's on you, his mouth -- already red from the force of his passionate kisses -- covering your skin, frantically moving from the curve of your tits to your stomach to your bottoms.

seungcheol's hands go to your thighs and he's parting your legs. you don't even have a chance to get shy before he's mouthing at you through your swim bottoms, licking a broad stripe from your cunt to your clit.

your responding moan is loud, and you don't even have the presence of mind to try and cover it. seungcheol licks over your bottoms, pushing his tongue against them as if they weren't there at all. you're completely wet, you're soaked, it's as if you had gone down to the lake after all, but it's just from your cunt and you wonder if he's going to drown in it.

but you ride his face nonetheless; you move your hips as he works his mouth, chasing him, chasing that tongue of his. you can't help it. there's something desperate, something animalistic inside of you and it's taken over, and you can't help but wrap your thighs around his head and beg.

seungcheol slips his fingers into the bottoms, moving them aside. he uses his other hand to spread your pussy lips before he's latching onto your clit, sucking and sucking, and it's like something releases inside of you and you're cumming, thighs tight around his head and fingers twisting in the seats.

instead of giving you a moment to gather yourself seungcheol continues. he laps at your clit, laving his tongue over it, while he maneuvers his fingers against your hole. "be good for me," he says, breath hot against your cunt. "be good and prove to me that you want my dick, baby."

you nod, breathless, and he slides one of his fingers inside of your cunt. immediately you're clenching down on him, and he responds with a curse. seungcheol doesn't stop; he continues to lick at your cunt while feeds his fingers into your cunt, one at a time, spreading them out and preparing you for his cock.

you're electric. forget the moth and the flame. it's as if seungcheol's ignited something in you and you're buzzing with it. you just want more and more and more, and you don't even realize you're begging for it.

eventually, seungcheol pulls from your cunt. his face is soaked. he's smirking, though, and his eyes gleam as he pulls his tank top up and off. seungcheol lets you gawk at him, lets you look. and you really can't help but look.

you take in his pecs, his broad shoulders. his brown nipples and how they pebble in the cool air of your bedroom, his stomach. you can't help but be in awe of him, of the softness of his body and how it covers his strong muscles, and your cunt tightens around nothing.

seungcheol laughs at you, and then he's pulling your bottoms. you raise your hips off of the bed and let seungcheol pull them off and drop them onto the floor. he slips his fingers into the waistband of his trunks before they, too, drop to the floor.

he's beautiful, you think. he's completely bare before you, his dick large and straining, and he's absolutely beautiful.

seungcheol moves back onto the bed, slipping his hands underneath your thighs and moving them up. he presses them to your chest, and when he's close enough you can't help but thread your fingers through his hair and bring his face to yours. you kiss him, sliding your mouths together.

he grins against your mouth. seungcheol moves one of his hands, running it along your thigh before pressing his palm to your cunt. "you've trapped me, baby," he whispers, and then you feel his cock press against your pussy.

"please," you beg, fingers tightening around his blonde locks. "please cheol."

seungcheol guides his cockhead so it's against your entrance. but then he stops. he pauses, eyes flicking over your face. you can't help but feel frustrated; all of this playing and here he is, about to fuck you and stopping.

"seungcheol," you whine, wiggling against him in hopes he'll take mercy on you. "please, seungcheol. want you so badly, please, please!"

he hums. he's got a flush on his face, but he's trying to appear unaffected. "i don't know, baby. don't know if you really want it."

you let out a sob. in the future maybe you'll look back on this movement with shame. in the present, however, you feel tears spring to your eyes and you tighten your grip on his hair, bringing his head down so you can press desperate kisses to his face.

"please," you sob, pressing a kiss against his mouth. "please, cheolie. i -- i want you so bad, want you to fuck me, please, please --"

when he finally slides in he does it all at once. seungcheol fucks his cock into you in one swift movement, sheathing himself to the hilt inside of your cunt. you can't help but cry out, back arching and fingers digging into his shoulders.

it hurts, faintly. it's not an acute pain, but instead a dull ache of your cunt stretching around his cock. it goes away rather quickly, and then you're bucking your hips up against him.

"good girl," he whispers, and then he's withdrawing. he draws back until just the tip of his cock is at your entrance, and you can't help but be on edge -- every single neuron and electron in your body is on fucking edge, waiting, anticipating --

and then he fucks back into you, his balls slapping against your cunt. you let out a loud moan, uncaring of the noise. he does it again, drawing his hips out quickly and sheathing himself in a hurried movement. seungcheol fucks you deeply, quickly, and harshly.

he fucks you like a man depraved, like a man desperate. as if he had admired you all this time just as you had him.

every thrust drives you up the bed, every thrust making his balls slap against your pussy, each thrust accompanied by the loud slaps of skin and skin and the wet squelches from your cunt. you'll be sore in a matter of hours but you don't care. you don't care, not when he's fucking you so deeply and fitting so perfectly inside.

"good girl," he chants, slipping his hands behind your knees and keeping your thighs against your chest. he uses his grip on your body to angle himself, and the next time he thrusts into your cunt he's hitting that gummy core inside of you that makes your lips curl and your eyes squeeze shut.

"pretty girl," he carries on, thrusts punishing. "pretty girl with her pretty cunt, so fucking wet 'n warm, so fucking good for me, made just for me --"

"for you," you echo, a loud, ugly sob coming out. "you, cheol -- yours, you -- for you, for you --"

seungcheol curses, and then he's cumming inside of you. his cum is hot and there's so much, and he fucks into your cunt, fucks his cum into your pussy until his dick is soft and he's wincing.

seungcheol moves. his dick slips out of you but before you can miss it, before you can miss him, he's returning to your pussy. seungcheol slaps his hand against your cunt once, and then he's thrusting his fingers against your clit harshly, rhythmically.

"such a good girl," he growls, thick brows furrowed. "good fucking good, taking me so good -- good girl, pretty girl. all mine, all fucking mine."

he slaps your cunt again and you cum, and it's like a thunderous wave has plunged over you. you can't hear or see, and you don't know if you're even breathing. but you're cumming and cumming and cumming, and his hand is working furiously at your clit and you don't know if you'll ever stop cumming.

seungcheol is still moving his fingers against your clit when you come to. he's moving them slowly, softly, guiding you back down from that high. his large eyes are taking you in as if he's trying to memorize how you look before him.

you meet his eyes; you smile.

and then he grins so brightly that you just know.

he's got you in his trap.

[thoughtkick]

You must allow yourself to outgrow and depart from certain eras of your life with a gentle sort of ruthlessness.

Katy Maxwell

[perfectfeelings]

It's not your job to like me - it's mine.

Byron Katie

[thehopefulquotes]

What do you say when you’re not enough to make someone stay? What do you do when you meet the love of your life and realize it’s all about timing? How do you accept that no matter how perfect you are for each other, circumstances get in the way? How do you compete with that kind of fate?

Katie Kacvinsky, First Comes Love

[ursulaismymiddlename]

In the Grip of Despair - Dream of the Endless x Reader

The Realm of Despair is a desolate place, but Dream always answers a formal calling

Rated T for Trigger Warning: Suicide Attempt

Thanks again @captainpoopweinersoldier for all the encouragement You know Morpheus agrees with you on so many things haha Thanks also to @whats-rambled-rambled for squealing with me as well!

“Brother, I stand in my gallery and I hold your sigil.  I request an audience.  Attend, Dream.”

It was not often that Morpheus heard the call of his sister Despair.  She and her twin Desire were close, and as such, Dream found himself with a healthy caution when it came to either.  But from his place near the heart of The Dreaming, he could not ignore the formal request.  It would be… discourteous.

With little effort, he appeared in his sister’s realm.  The misty mirrors and rotten doorways littered the air as ominous as any nightmare he might have created.  And it was easy to follow the scurry of rodent feet as they rushed to return to their mistress, to live among her stringy hair and bite at her sallow skin.

“You called, sister?”

“Dream,” she rasped, his sigil still perched upon her worn fingers.  “Thank you for heeding me.”

Morpheus shifted slightly, straightening to his full height as he looked down at her.  “I presume this is no social visit.  What is it you want, Despair?”

It was her turn to move, lumbering to her gallery to replace his sigil in its appropriate spot.  Her snort of a chuckle held no mirth, but it also did not hold the malice he was so used to from her twin.

“Call it a professional courtesy then, brother,” she offered. A few rats squealed in protest as her feet shuffled her closer, parting them like underbrush.  “Though the matter for which I am calling is a personal one.”

“Speak your piece.”  Dream’s voice held all the command of his station, uninterested in being toyed with and thinking, in part, he knew what this could be about. 

Despite being their sibling’s shadow, Despair was not quite so cunning as Desire.  Not quite so interested in causing trouble for her older, more proper brother. She actually held quite the respect for him, especially after taking up her current mantle.  Aside from Desire and The Prodigal, Dream was a close third on her list of favorites.  Though she and Delirium had been growing much closer over the last centuries.

“I do not wish to take up your precious time, brother.”  She turned to him, sunken eyes averted as she lifted her own sigil to tear at the skin of her cheek.  “I only wanted to speak with you in regards to your lover.  Your former lover.”

Dream’s jaw clenched, mouth twisting into a grimace.  “That matter is not of your concern.”

The mention of you caught him off guard, a bitter taste in the back of his throat.  Things had not ended on good terms.  In fact, in the interest of your safety, the Dream Lord had made a quick and definitive exit, leaving no room for pleading. No room for second thoughts.  He even went so far as to banish you from The Dreaming, to save both you and himself from more heartache.

“Those in my realm are of my concern,” Despair countered, turning to shuffle her way through a row of dingy wall mirrors suspended in the fog.  Without needing told, he followed after her before she could disappear from sight.

Her words struck a chord in him.  Morpheus had certainly quit himself of you only a handful of months ago, the thought of you still raw in his chest.  But he had become too consumed by you, a mere mortal, and the closer the two of you became, the more he feared your ruin.  Dream would sooner rip out his own heart than see you waste away from your place in the Waking World.  See the vibrancy of your spirit worn down by the stress of loving an Endless being.  And so he had done just that, ripped the beating heart from himself and left you behind.  Built a wall to quell the temptation of returning to you again and again.

Though he would not dare to call you fickle, he knew that hearts of humans moved swifter than those of the Endless. He'd hoped that his feigned detachment would make things easier for you to move onto some other mortal being, no matter how it ate at him. But to know now that you resided in this desolate realm pained him.

And the pain only grew when his sister stopped in front of a familiar mirror.  Even adorned with cobwebs and cracks, he recognized it.  The mirror above your bathroom sink.  A window into Your Despair.  The sight of you alone was a stab to his heart, the blade of it twisting viciously at the dark circles and reddened rims of your eyes, the hollowness of them.  The vibrancy he once so cherished had been snuffed; a desaturated gray to match his sister’s realm.

His own eyes swam, head bowing under the weight of his guilt.  “Why do you show me this?”

“Because I have no quarrel with you, brother.”  Despair’s voice was grit out with the sound of unshed tears from countless eons.  “Desire is my twin, my mirror.  But I know neither of our powers would be as great without yours. Dreams sweeten the taste of desire and turn it to ash in the mouths of those who dwell here, with me.”

The truth of her words did little to assuage his heart.  Neither did the sniffle and quiet sob that drew his attention back to the mirror before him.  Your fingers were wiping almost frantic at your cheeks, knuckles dragging tears from your eyes as your other shaky hand tried to steady itself around some sort of orange bottle.

“What are they doing?” Dream stepped closer to the mirror, the rats beneath his feet parting in protest.  His eyes narrowed as he watched you close your eyes and take a ragged breath.

“That is why I called,” Despair crept forward to join his view.  The hook of her sigil dragged along her jawline in a bloody caress as she regarded the scene before them.  “Their sadness is… exquisite, but I take no pleasure in it.  I thought you should have a chance before they leave my realm in search of our eldest sister.”

Dream’s gaze snapped to his sister in shock, mouth dry and his heart sinking deeper into the void of his chest.  A glance back at the mirror showed you steady, resigned, reading the label on the bottle you held. Your face grim determination as your fingers moved to unfasten the lid.

“Sister?” His voice was a terrified plea.

“Go,” Despair nodded with unaccustomed encouragement.  “No door is locked to you here.”

In a blink, Morpheus was gone.  A swirl of black sand disintegrating into the ether.  Despair plucked a rat from her shoulder to cradle in her arms as she turned away, its teeth gnawing into her ragged flesh.  The rest of this story was not for her.  It was up to her elders now.

—

“Stop.”

The familiar voice shuddered along your skin, stunning you to stillness even as you clutched the now-open bottle of sleeping pills.  It took the breath from your lungs, it always had.  But you hadn’t heard it for months now, not even in the sleep deprived recesses of your memory.  You could feel as he materialized beside you, goosebumps rising on your skin.  And part of you wondered if this was madness finally taking hold of you as your eyes stayed transfixed on the contents of your hands.  Not daring to hope.  Not daring to breathe.

A broken sob slipped past your lips as Dream’s pale hand wrapped carefully around your wrist.  How long had you pined for his touch again?  The soft silk of his skin along yours, even as it held you fast.  Your eyes rose, first to the mirror and the sullen image of your reflection, then finally to his face.  His face as pale and handsome as you could remember.  Eyes dancing in the sparse light.

“You will not find my realm with these.  Only the Sunless Lands await you at the bottom of this bottle.”

His voice was softer, soothing, and it ached in your chest as you sniffed.  “Better there than this.. This nightmare of a waking world.”

Lord Morpheus, King of The Dreaming, proud creature that he is, lowered his head.

“I was a fool.”  Pain laced his voice, and guilt.  He dared meet your gaze again, closing the scant distance between you slowly, fingers plucking the bottle from your hands with little resistance as you watched him.  “I’d hoped you would live a mortal life, free of the complications of my station.  I thought it would protect you from further heartache.”

“You are a fool,” you spat, though the quiver of your lower lip hampered the venom of it.  Pain and indignation, sadness and fear, and even relief at the sight of his face… it all warred in you.  Overwhelmed you.  Until all that could come out was a mournful keen as tears welled in your eyes once more.  “I couldn’t even dream of you.”

Your knees buckled beneath you, but he was there.  Morpheus caught you easily, strong arms pulling you into the warm softness of his jacket.  Cradling you against his chest like a precious thing.

“Shhh, my love,” he murmured into the crown of your head.  “I will not let you go again.”

[judasofsuburbia]

something something the spicy six go to vegas and...slightly nsfw below

“Oh God, no” is the first thought that runs through Steve Harrington’s head as the morning light pulls through the windows and into his eyes. He buries his face into his pillow as he feels his stomach lurch, the sins from last night’s alcohol consumption returning with a vengeance. He knows he has to get himself out of bed and into the bathroom before disaster strikes but another thought hits him.

He’s naked.

Probably done in a fit of being too drunk and too lazy to leave his boxers on. He just hopes Eddie didn’t see him because they’re sharing a room on this trip. Though Eddie was just as plastered as he was so it’s unlikely he cares. Still, the idea of Eddie seeing him like that makes his face flush. That could also be the nausea though. 

Steve nearly jumps out of his skin when an arm wraps around his bare waist and a nose buries itself into his spine. There is hair, a lot of hair touching his skin.

Holy shit, did he bring someone home? To their shared hotel room?

Eddie must have bunked with Robin and Nancy or Jonathan and Argyle. They’re all going to be so pissed at him. 

Steve lifts his head just enough to turn over his shoulder and sneak a peek at this mystery person, already figuring out how to get them out of his hotel room before the others wake up and pound on his door for breakfast. 

It’s not someone sleeping next to him. It’s Eddie.

The someone as far as Steve’s heart is concerned. 

Steve’s head whips back forward as he tries to steady his breathing. Which ends up in not breathing at all as Steve stays completely still. Steve studies the way Eddie is curled up next to him. Not really holding him, more laying his arm on Steve’s hip. Hair tickling his back. Hot puffs of breath on his skin. It would make him smile if he wasn’t seconds away from throwing up. 

Steve exhales dramatically because his body is finally fighting back for air. Steve’s still naked, dear God, and Eddie’s kind of cuddling him, and this is bad and it’s going to be so awkward if Eddie wakes up in the midst of this.

Why are they sharing a bed? Why is Eddie so close to him? Does Eddie think he’s someone else? Is Eddie even conscious yet?

Something’s conscious but it’s not Eddie. It’s what’s attached to Eddie. 

Steve gets pulled back tighter into Eddie’s embrace as an erection is suddenly poking into the back of his thigh. Steve feels his stomach lurch again but this time it’s not the nausea. It’s everything he’s wanted over the last two years but he has no way of knowing if Eddie is even aware of his actions as he continues to snore right into Steve’s ear. Did they…how are they…they’re both naked as the day they were born in the same bed and nothing about this feels like a platonic mishap. 

Steve is trying hard to remember anything. Any detail of last night but it’s all a blur. He rubs his hands over his face and groans into his palms. He’s going to be sick and it’s no fault of the beautiful man lightly scratching on his stomach, making his cock slowly stir. As much as he wants to live in this fantasy world where he gets to wake up next to Eddie naked in the mere hours of the morning, he gently yanks Eddie’s arm off of him and rolls out of bed. 

He darts to the bathroom and crouches over the porcelain bowl as his body makes him pay for his crimes. 

After he’s emptied everything from his system, he stands shakily and turns the faucet on to rinse out his mouth. He looks positively debauched in the mirror. Hair standing at all angles and holy shit…hickies littering his neck and chest. His hands instantly go to them, pressing into them to make sure he’s not making them up when he notices a ring on his left finger. 

Eddie’s mood ring. 

No fucking way. 

[deviouz]

i kind of want to write a reverse sex pollen fic with astarion ): like. needy, desperate, writhing astarion begging for help from his partner because he got too close to a plant when they warned him not to.

or, like, what if (in an alternate timeline) vampire spawn had like. heats.

i am frothing at the mouth and need to be spayed!

[rebelspykatie]

Robin convinces Steve that Eddie is interested in him, just based on how frequently he flirts with Steve. Uses the same logic that Steve deployed to convince her to give Vickie a shot. Except, there’s no doubt about who Eddie could be attracted to. He’s gay and doesn’t really flirt much with women, keeps it more surface level. 

But with Steve, he’s all over him, getting in his personal space, tapping his chin, batting his eyelashes and draping himself over his lap during movie nights. Steve’s confident in his newly discovered attraction to men, and subtly tries to turn up the charm on his end. Flirting back, giving as good as he gets, but it never seems to affect Eddie. 

Steve’s gotten used to striking out. Never really catching anyone’s attention these days, what with the lackluster attempts at being interested in the mundane things some of the girls drone on about, to being afraid to sleep over for fear of a nightmare tearing him from sleep, to the way no one makes his skin buzz. He’s given up the pursuit of anyone else, setting his sights on Eddie, pushing gently at the boundaries that barely exist between them. 

Until the first time Steve and Robin are invited to see Corroded Coffin perform at the Hideout. He watches from afar as Eddie bounces across the room before the show. He hasn’t spotted them yet as he makes his way over to the bar. There’s a cute, older guy bartending, probably in his late twenties, buzz cut hair, ripped leather vest accentuating his arms. 

Steve watches in what feels like slow motion as Eddie leans over the counter to get as close as possible to this guy. That mischievous smirk that Steve’s used to seeing pointed at him is out in full force. Eddie is saying something, looking up at this guy, reaching out to squeeze a bicep and getting playfully batted away. Eddie lets the guy tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, almost a caress along the side of Eddie’s face. 

And there’s a moment where Steve feels like he’s floating on air, suspended in a moment in time before a catastrophic shift changes his trajectory. He’s careening to the ground at break neck speed and crash landing all in a matter of seconds. A vice-like grip squeezes his heart, reminding him that he’s not special. He’s dissecting every memory of Eddie flirting, finding nothing consequential there in the wake of this discovery. 

How stupid could he have been to think that it meant anything? That must be why Eddie never reacted to his advances, they were just a blip on his radar. He’s got this guy wrapped around his finger, just like he’s had Steve. Except Eddie’s never blushed like that around him, or let Steve tuck his hair away. 

As much as he wants to turn around and get the hell out of here, he promised he’d come to Eddie’s show, even if looking at Eddie right now feels like a shot straight through his heart. That inexplicable draw to Eddie doesn’t just disappear. He wants to cross the room and drag him away from this guy, but what right does he have to do that? 

He feels Robin’s hand slip into his, turns to look at her, sees a mirror image of how she looked on the grimy bathroom floor of Starcourt, letting Steve down gently. Their friendship past the point of needing to verbally communicate anything. Robin gently tugs on his arm to convince him to sit at a table, clasping his hand underneath it tightly when Eddie finally spots them and Steve has to pretend like he’s fine. And he is fine. 

But he’s also not. His heart is cracking open with each note Eddie sings, the fault line growing until it feels like he’s split in two, bleeding out on the floor of this disgusting bar. When is he going to get it right? When is it his turn to feel wanted? Nancy and Robin hurt, but he feels blindsided by this one. He was so confident he was right, that this time it was reciprocated. 

But maybe he’ll always be the fool.

[cheolism]

『 good influence 』

✧ kwon soonyoung x f!reader ✧ summary: slowly soonyoung begins to influence you into making some questionable decisions ✧ wc is approx 3.4k ✧ warnings: mdni. dom!hosh, top!hosh; sub!reader, bottom!reader. exhibitionism, perversion. dracyphilia. sex in public spaces. name calling (slut), praise (good girl). ✧ notes: this isn't a full-fledged fic as so much as a collection of bits. inspired by this ask. do not leave requests, as my requests are closed.

tag list: @coffeestay @tinkerbell460 @hyneyedfiz @wonuhour @sweet-like-caramel @immabecreepin

it starts with a too-small pastel pink skirt.

you're playing with the edges of it, turning in the mirror. it covers your front just fine, but when you turn to look at your ass you can see your striped underwear and how it clings to your ass cheeks.

you frown. you had liked the skirt a few years ago, had worn it religiously. it twirled prettily, sat high enough for you to be comfortable. but during the span of a winter you had forgotten about it, and it wasn't until you decided to go through your wardrobe before moving into your boyfriend's apartment that you had discovered it again.

soonyoung walks into the room, eyes on his phone. you turn one last time in the mirror, catching his attention. you watch, through the mirror, as he halts in his tracks. his dark eyes widen and his mouth drops a little, and soonyoung walks to you as if he had an invisible piece of rope tugging him along.

"it's too small," you explain, trying to tug the skirt down to cover your ass.

"yeah," he says, and then his hands are over yours. soonyoung pushes your hands aside and cups your ass, squeezing and kneading. he slips two of his fingers underneath your underwear, following the curve of your ass cheek to your cunt. "fuck, it's so perfect."

you're half-ashamed at how quickly you get wet. but your body responds to soonyoung's wandering hands nearly immediately, a tickling sensation traveling to your cunt and wetness leaking from it.

"fucking perfect," soonyoung hisses. and then he's pressing your face into the bed, your ass hanging over the edge. he doesn't pull your panties all the way down, just to your knees. he doesn't push aside your skirt; instead he fucks his fingers into your cunt with his other hand grabbing at the fabric of your panties and your flesh, nails scraping along your skin.

when he fucks into you -- his cock fat, stretching you farther than his fingers did -- he keeps the skirt down. he's frantic with it, his mouth a motor running a thousand miles a minute, spewing the dirtiest of things.

"fucking begging for it," he mumbles, pressing you down onto the bed while he slams his dick into you. you're whining into the blankets, voice pitching higher and higher until you're practically sobbing. but it's hard to hear your cries over the sound of his thighs slapping yours, his cock drilling into your cunt and making the wet noises of your pussy echo in your ears.

"fucking begging," he hisses, "standing in this fucking skirt. begging for my cock to ruin you, begging for my dick -- weren't you, baby? begging for me to fuck you raw."

you sobbed into the blanket, and soonyoung pulls out. he takes his cock into his hand and thrusts into it a handful of times before he's cumming over your skirt and ass. soonyoung pulls your panties up and covers your cunt once more, and at this point you're fucking sobbing, begging for relief.

"don't worry baby," he mumbles, "i'll give you want you want."

soonyoung brings his hand down on your covered cunt, striking it. you're sobbing, and he's spanking your raw pussy. after another slap he begins to rub at your poor clit through your underwear, the fabric a barrier between his hand and your clit.

when you cum you're screaming into the bed, tears and drool drenching both your face and the bed.

you think that's the end of it.

it's not the end of it.

nearly a week later soonyoung sheepishly approaches you. he's not looking at you and his ears are quickly taking on a pink hue. you wait, plopping a grape into your mouth, for him to speak. he doesn't.

"soonie?" you say, raising your brows at him. "what's up?"

he opens his mouth. shuts it. then he takes out his phone and quickly types before sliding it across the island counter and to you.

can i ask a favor

you nod. he takes back the phone, deletes, retypes. slides the phone back across the counter.

can u wear that skirt and climb the stairs from the 3rd floor to 4th and let me take pictures

you blink, furrowing your brows. you look back up at your boyfriend. his entire face is turning pink, and he's turned his shoulder to you. he refuses to look at you.

you check the time. it's evening, past the time when the apartment building buzzes with people returning from work and kids returning from school. the sun has begun to set, and it casts golden light into your apartment from where it faces the west.

the skirt hadn't been thrown away. the day after soonyoung fucked you against the edge of the bed you had finally managed to throw it into the wash as it was stained with his cum and your own juices and, even though you had the intention of donating it, you just couldn't donate it with your boyfriend's cum dried onto it.

then it had gotten mixed into the laundry again and you forgot about it.

"i don't know where it is," you say, grabbing another grape.

soonyoung turns his face from you completely. he reaches into his hoodie pocket and withdraws light pink fabric.

not just any light pink fabric, but the too-short skirt.

"didn't want you to donate it," he mumbles, twisting it in his hands.

you're horrified and embarrassed and horribly, ridiculously turned-on. "give it here," you say.

soonyoung moves to you. you grab the fabric from his hands, taking it in. it's wrinkled from where he's played with it.

"i'll need to iron it," you murmur, "for it to look nice in pictures."

soonyoung brightens, his shoulders dropping in relief. "really?"

grinning, you grab a grape. he opens his mouth obediently when you raise it to his lips, and then your fingers are skimming along his mouth as you press it in.

you want to change your panties to something more clean, but soonyoung stops you. "it'll be better if they're ones you've worn for a bit," he sheepishly says.

for a moment you're confused. but then you realize what he's insinuating and you feel heat rush to your face.

maybe, you think as you pull on the skirt, your boyfriend wasn't as innocent as you thought.

the two of you go to the stairwell. you wait for a moment, trying to listen and see if there's anyone coming up or going down. soonyoung fumbles with his phone, pulling up his camera.

"i'll go a few before you," you say. and then you begin up the set of stairs. he takes a few pictures of your bare thighs and how the fabric shows off the edges of your panties and the soft curve of your cheeks.

"what about a video?" soonyoung questions once you get to the top.

and so you go back down. you begin to retrace your steps, soonyoung taping the way your skirt bounces against your ass, when there's the sound of the stairwell door opening.

you turn to him, eyes wide with panic.

soonyoung climbs the stairs in swift steps, crowding you against the wall. he covers your side, one hand against the wall behind you and allowing him to partly cover your backside.

it's a young woman. she takes in how close soonyoung is to you, how you refuse to look at her. and then she averts her eyes and hurries down the stairs, ponytail bouncing as she practically sprints.

you burst into your apartment moments later, spinning on soonyoung as soon as the door is shut. "we're not doing that again."

"okay," he says.

but he's a liar.

he grows bolder in the days that past the incident. you've caught him with his dick in hand, the video of you climbing the stairwell replaying in a loop multiple times. you feel like a deer caught in the headlights each and every time soonyoung catches you, and soon enough the ache between your thighs is nearly constant from his harsh fucking.

someone at work comments on it, how you seem more relaxed than usual. you can't look at them and sputter about a new tea your boyfriend got you.

but as embarrassed as you are you don't bring it up to him. not when you begin shutting doors behind you in hopes of, whenever you open them again, he'll be on the other side with his fat dick in hand, eyes trained on his phone and your skirt-covered ass filling the screen.

but he becomes bolder, and this -- his perversion -- begins to leak into your life outside of your shared apartment.

it's a small thing at first.

"i can't believe minghao just left," mingyu huffs. there's not enough room in joshua's car for all of you.

you shrug, pulling your blanket close around your torso. it's not cold, not enough for a heavy jacket, but it's chilly enough to where the autumn air bites. "he did say he wasn't going to stay the whole game."

"he was my ride," mingyu pouts.

"then you should've been paying attention to his texts," joshua snaps, tired of mingyu's complaining. "unless someone wants to pay for a lyft someone is going to have to sit on a lap."

soonyoung is ridiculously happy to have an excuse for you to sit on his lap. you throw your blanket over your legs, feet knocking against his and chan's, who sat in the middle.

the car is barely moving before soonyoung's fingers are on your thighs.

the radio doesn't cover chan and mingyu's bickering, or hansol picking chan's side, but it does cover your soft gasp as soonyoung's fingers dip further, the tips of them brushing against the inner seam of your jeans.

"just making sure you're not going anywhere," he says, nose pressing against your neck. you nod, believing him for a minute.

and then his fingers, concealed by your thick blanket, dip to your cunt. it's covered by your panties and jeans but you can feel his fingers all the same. his fingers brush against your clit, but due to the fabric between his fingers and your clit all you can feel are tingles that have you yearning to buck up into his hands.

but you don't.

instead you step on his foot, heel pressing down on his toes. soonyoung hisses, softly, and then he's full heartedly fucking his fingers into your cunt.

there's layers between his fingers between your cunt but you can feel them, can feel the drag of them against your pussy and how he aims at your clit. it's not enough to bring an orgasm, not enough to do anything other than wind you up, but it makes you so stimulated that every point of contact between you and soonyoung seems magnified.

after, once you bid joshua and the rest of your friends goodnight and are in the elevator, you whirl on soonyoung. he's smirking, softly, satisfied.

"you're ridiculous," you hiss, eyes narrowed at him.

"you didn't stop me," he says, still grinning. "what a good girl you are. letting me use you like that."

and he's right.

it's midnight and you and soonyoung are halfway to your destination. you've pulled over, in desperate need of caffeine to stay awake. soonyoung says something about candy and you nod, stumbling towards the bathroom.

there's only one toilet in it and you wait for the woman before you to exit. you do your business and when you open the door soonyoung is there. you can barely form a word before he's crowding you back into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

"soonyoung? what are you doing --"

he's pressing you against the counter. soonyoung shoves down your sweats to your ankles and helps you jump onto the counter. "gotta wake you up, baby," he says, mouth pressing harsh, quick kisses to yours.

"gotta be a good girl and be quiet," he mumbles. soonyoung shoves his hand against your panties, fingers quickly finding your clit. he works furiously, fingers building an orgasm far more expertly than anyone else ever could. soonyoung's mouth muffles any noise from yours and his words are mumbled against your mouth.

but that doesn't stop him from talking.

"what a dirty girl," he says, "letting me fuck you in this bathroom. like a fucking slut -- is that what you are, baby? you my slut?"

you whine, his mouth moving to your jaw. he sucks a mark into your skin. "soonie --"

"say it," he commands, eyes sharp like a tiger's. "be a good girl and say it, baby."

you frown, eyes begging. but then you oblige, and he's dropping to his knees. soonyoung presses his tongue against the fabric of your panties and it's only a handful of seconds later before your cumming, biting down on your lip to stop yourself from moaning.

"sorry," soonyoung says as the two of you leave the bathroom. there's an older woman waiting. "my girl started her period and needed some help."

your eyes are tinged red from tears, and perhaps it's because of how pathetic you look the woman believes him. she gives you a look of sympathy and then moves into the bathroom.

"what a good girl," soonyoung murmurs as you leave the gas station. "such a good girl for me."

"i want you to do something for me," soonyoung says.

you look over at him from the driver's seat. it's so nice out that despite having to wait for your friends to show up you've rolled down the windows and turned off the car, content to wait with the sun and breeze.

soonyoung is looking at you directly. he's confident, eyes twinkling and a smile playing on his lips.

he reaches out, laying a hand on your bare thigh. he had gotten you a pretty sundress, he had said, just for this picnic with your friends.

soonyoung's hand smooths up your thigh. his fingers slide underneath your dress. "i want you to be good and take your panties off for me."

your eyes widen, and your hand slaps down on his. "soonyoung," you hiss. "we're in public. at a park!"

he smirks, leaning over the center console. "be a good girl," he chastises you. "come on, be a good girl for soonie."

you hesitate for a second more. you check outside of the car before you hook your fingers into your panties, pulling them down your legs.

"good girl," soonyoung coos at you. he grabs your panties and shoves them into his pocket.

you're so self conscious. you refuse to move from the picnic blanket, saying you don't feel well. soonyoung watches you with a grin, and, when no one is looking, takes your panties from his pocket and lifts it to his nose, smelling them. you're terrified. every breeze has you pressing your hands against the skirt of your dress, making sure it keeps down. you freeze whenever one of your friends gets too close, worried they'll somehow catch on.

you're scared, but your cunt is wet and throbbing with need.

once your friend date is over, soonyoung is pushing you into the backseat of the car. he fucks you quick, pushing the skirt of your dress up around your middle. each drag of his dick has you moaning, arching up into him.

"desperate little slut," he says, withdrawing from your pussy. he waits. "so worried about our friends seeing your little cunt and yet letting me fuck you in the car."

"please," you beg, and then he's fucking into you in one swift movement, drawing a loud moan that almost seemed like a scream from your lips.

the worst of it comes during a thunder storm.

jeonghan and you frowned over the weather app while seokmin and soonyoung continued to mess around, spewing nonsense about childhood cartoons and villains. it was raining badly, too badly for you to dare to try and make the drive back across the city to your apartment.

a bed is made for soonyoung on the living room carpet and you on the couch. it isn't until midnight that seokmin and jeonghan both retire to their rooms, seokmin impishly pressing a kiss to your temple before scattering.

you go about preparing for bed. you pull on one of seungcheol's shirts -- how it got there, you didn't know -- before stretching out on the couch, sinking into the sheet that covered the couch's leather and still smelled fresh.

soonyoung leans to give you a goodnight kiss. you hum, letting your eyes fall shut and meeting each press of his lips eagerly.

he pulls away for a moment, staring down at you. you don't quite have the time to question him before soonyoung is on the couch, pressing you against the seats.

soonyoung's mouth devours you. his tongue shoves into your mouth with every kiss, kissing you as messily as he knew how. your hands go to his shirt, tugging.

"gonna fuck you," he says, voice low. soonyoung pulls off of you just enough to reach for his shirt and throw it to the ground. "gonna fuck you on jeonghan's couch."

he throws your sweatpants to the floor, pressing his face to your panties. soonyoung breathes in against your underwear, inhaling the smell of your pussy and your day-old underwear. "smells so fucking good," he groans, and then he's licking a broad stripe up your cunt.

it's horrible, you know, that you muffle your moan with your hand and lift your hips up to his mouth instead of stopping him.

soonyoung sucks kisses over your clit and through your panties, arms hooking around your thighs. you can feel his biceps strain as you shift in his hold, soonyoung intent on keeping you still.

he drenches your panties with his tongue, laving against them as if there wasn't a fabric barrier between his mouth and cunt. you don't trust yourself to move your hand from your mouth, and your free hand goes to his dark hair and twists.

he slips one hand into your panties while he licks at you and after a moment of fierce rubbing against the sides of your clit you're orgasming, biting down on your wrist to stop yourself from moaning.

soonyoung moves you to the floor to fuck you. he raises your ass into the air and pushes your head into the pillow. his fingers press harsh marks into your hips as he drills his fat cock into you, forcing your walls to make way for his dick.

"good fucking girl," he hisses, dick striking against your gummy core, "fucking good slut, letting me fuck you. so fucking soaked for me, fucking -- you like this, baby? like me fucking you on our best friend's floor?"

you sob into the pillow, his dick dragging against your walls and hitting deep within you. you swear you can feel his dick in your throat, swear he's splitting you in half.

"what a slut," soonyoung says. "my little slut with a tight little cunt, fucking all wet 'n warm for me."

his nails press into your skin and he's cumming, his spunk filling your cunt. soonyoung is still cumming when the sound of a door opening fills your ears, and then he's forcing you flat against the floor and throwing the blanket over you two.

he's pressed against your back, dick buried deep within you still. you can feel his cum inside of you, can feel it on your cunt from where it had leaked during soonyoung's scramble. you can feel his balls against your ass, can feel his hot body against yours.

can feel the harsh thundering of your heart as your friend leaves the bathroom and moves to the living room, checking in on you two. he lingers for a moment, and you're so fucking aware of your breathing that you can barely hear when he moves back to his room.

soonyoung waits a few minutes. and then he's laughing softly into your ear. he slips his limp dick from your cunt only to replace it with his fingers. "not done with you," he says, pressing his smile against your clothed shoulder. "not done with you yet, baby."

it's so fucking messy down there. his cum leaks from your cunt with every thrust of his fingers, and you have to press your cries into the pillow.

in the morning you wake to soonyoung dressing you. he pulls your panties and sweatpants on, ignoring the mess that still stained your thighs. he pulls the sheets and blankets off of the couch and helps you onto it, tucking you back in with a blanket after checking to make sure there's no stains.

you hurt. hurt from laying on the floor, hurt from his rough fucking. your cunt aches and you can't help but take pleasure in every tingle of pain that shoots from it when you shift.

seokmin wakes and exits his room to soonyoung throwing the stained sheets and blankets into the washer. he's surprised, but he says something about how much of a good influence you've had on soonyoung.

he can't see the grin soonyoung throws you from over seokmin's shoulder.

[thoughtkick]

I crave space. It charges my batteries. It helps me breathe. Being around people can be so exhausting, because most of them love to take and barely know how to give. Except for a rare few.

Katie Kacvinsky

[perfectquote]

I crave space. It charges my batteries. It helps me breathe. Being around people can be so exhausting, because most of them love to take and barely know how to give - except for a rare few.

Katie Kacvinsky

[surqrised]

What do you say when you’re not enough to make someone stay? What do you do when you meet the love of your life and realize it’s all about timing? How do you accept that no matter how perfect you are for each other, circumstances get in the way? How do you compete with that kind of fate?

Katie Kacvinsky, First Comes Love